Last Train from Liguria (2010) (24 page)

‘Steaming him up on account of his lungs, cooling him down again on account of his temperature - that’s what it’s all about now,’ the doctor cheerily says, picking up his bag and leaving the room. He gets as far as the door, and turns back. ‘I don’t wish to be alarmist but at this point it might be as well to inform the mother, have her standing by anyway, should the worst - well, just in case.’

Edward carries Alec upstairs to the Signora’s room - the closest room with a ceiling fan. His shirt is stuck to him with the sweat of Alec’s fever. ‘He’s so hot,’ Edward says, moments after he’s put him down. ‘It feels like I still have him here in my arms.’

While Edward goes off to change his shirt, Nurse Willis arrives. ‘Alec will have to be moved again,’ she announces, the second she steps into the room.

‘Oh surely not?’ Bella says.

‘Why, look at the bed, Miss Stuart! The bed is a ridiculous size - now how am I supposed to get at the laddie? And the steam tent - are we forgetting about that? It’s a tent m’dear, not a marquee!’

Edward moves him again, and again has to change his shirt. This time it’s into Bella’s room, which has the smallest bed in the house. It will seem strange to have people wandering around all hours of the day and night; it will make her fret a little about what they might see or surmise. And yet in some way it is a comfort too, having Alec in her room.

The Signora cannot be located. Bella tries everywhere, by telephone, and later by telegram. She is not in Sicily. ‘She rarely is these days to be honest,’ the English housekeeper brusquely advises. ‘Try Naples - why don’t you?’

‘I have.’

‘Well, you’ll just have to try it
a-gain
, Miss Stuart. And a-gain. That’s all you can do. Keep trying.’

‘I have tried it again and
a-gain
. There’s no answer from the house.’

‘No cause to get snippy, I’m sure. What about Signor Tassi’s office?’

‘I don’t have a telephone number.’

‘Well, I do, Miss Stuart, all you have to do is ask, you know.’

The call to the office in Naples starts off well enough. Avvocato Tassi is in Germany on business, the Signora is certain to be with him, as she happens to be his client in this matter. Then Bella is connected to Tassi’s private secretary, who can’t resist an opportunity to show off his appalling and almost senseless English. She can’t get him to switch back to Italian and in the end has to pretend to be called away, handing the phone over to Elida. ‘Whatever you do,’ she whispers, ‘don’t let him know you speak a word of English.’

There is no telephone number for the Avvocato. There is no forwarding address. He could be in Dusseldorf, or maybe Bonn. As far as the secretary is aware there are business matters to attend to in both cities, although it’s not his place to question his superiors. Naturally, as soon as the signori return or make contact he will pass the message on.

Bella remembers then that Eugenia has relatives in Dusseldorf - presumably also related to the Signora. Eugenia isn’t at home either but her maid manages to find the number for Dusseldorf.

Getting a call through to Germany is an ordeal. Edward and Mrs Cardiff have to go to the British Consul, who in turn has to go to the mayor of Bordighera, who then turns to a bishop in Genoa. Eventually they are allowed to skip the usual formalities, and the call is put through to Dusseldorf. After all that trouble - the relatives have moved away. Emigrated, in fact. When or where, nobody seems to know or give much of a damn.

Nurse Willis makes a little hospital ward out of Bella’s room, complete with a steam tent that by now is the talk of Bordighera. All day, tubs and pots of boiling water are carted up and down the stairs by Elida, Rosa, Edward and even poor old bandy Cesare, until the corridor leading out of the kitchen begins to resemble a London alleyway in November. Neighbours have sent servants to lend a hand or have personally called with baskets of fruit he will never eat, and flowers he will never see. In one door and out the other, these gifts have been swiftly redistributed via a grateful Mrs Cardiff, to her various charities.

Bella has been excused from water duties on account of her back problems and is kept upstairs to assist Nurse Willis, whose face pops in and out of the tent like a big boiled moon and gives her little jobs to do. Bella begins to wonder if Nurse Willis has won her reputation for having a special way with children because she treats everyone just like a child, even down to the way she delegates tasks and then lavishes praise on their completion. There is no doubt she is an excellent nurse - if at times irritatingly cheerful - and that she brings a much needed air of confidence into the sickroom. However, beyond taking his temperature or checking his pulse, Alec won’t have her near him. It’s the same when it comes to the doctor, any lingering and he begins to grow distressed. Weak and delirious as he now is, he makes it quite clear that Bella and Edward are the only ones he will allow to wash or change him.

Nurse Willis accepts this rejection with good grace and in fact looks on it as a promising sign: ‘Shows he’s aware of the who’s-who and what’s-what!’ she beams. Then, instructing them on how best to give a sponge bath and change the sweat-soaked sheets and dry him as quick as ever and leave his pores closed awhile before steaming them open again, she plucks her cigarettes out of her bag and leaves them at it while she ‘pops out for a wee puff and a cup of tea’.

On the night before Alec’s tenth birthday the doctor weighs the lollipop of his stethoscope in his hand and tells them the next twelve hours can go either way. ‘Any luck with the mother?’ he asks then and Bella feels as if he has shoved his fist through her stomach and twisted her guts.

She tries Naples again, and again. Still no sign of Avvocato and wife. And then Sicily. This time the English housekeeper is seething. ‘Shoving him into a school with all sorts. I mean what’s she expect? It would never ‘ave done in old Signor Lami’s day, I can tell you that straight off. Then she buggers off with not a word to no one. What sort is she anyway? Well, no sort of a mother, I can tell you.’ There is a few seconds’ silence and Bella thinks they’ve been disconnected. Then she realizes the English housekeeper is weeping.

‘Are you all right?’ she asks.

‘I may never see him again. My poor little Ali Baba, my poor little lamb.’

On the way back upstairs Bella meets Elida. Elida is also crying and for one awful moment Bella thinks the worst has happened. It turns out that Edward has ‘growled as a dog’ at her, only because she’s suggested the priest. ‘Growled as a dog, Signora Stuart, and say to me - get out of here with your stupid witch talk before Alesso hear and you frighten him.’

Later that evening just after his steam bath, while they are changing his sheets, Bella on one side of the bed, Edward on the other, Alec seems to stop breathing. It’s just a split second; such a short time in fact that Edward hasn’t even noticed. Up to this point his breath has sounded like a tin of sewing needles being gently shaken from side to side. Now there has been that split second of silence. The steam is already on the wane and when she looks down through it, Alec is disappearing in front of her eyes. As if he is melting away with the steam. His narrow shoulders, the cage of his prominent ribs, even his thick coarse hair, all dissolving.

She is about to put down the sheet and whisper his name. But then the needles resume shivering in his throat again. Bella, saying nothing to Edward, continues her task for a few more seconds. Then a large fat sob blurts out of her mouth. It just seems to fall out of its own accord. She puts her hand out as if to catch it and shove it back in.

Edward reaches across and touches her arm. ‘You go outside,’ he says. ‘I’ll finish here.’

She shakes her head and closes her eyes. ‘Is? Is he?’

‘It’s all right, Bella, it’s all right. He’s still here,’ Edward says. ‘He’s still with us.’

*

Suddenly out of nowhere Alec improves. His temperature starts to slide towards normal, his breathing eases, the colour on his face and chest comes up, as the mottled look recedes. The doctor says, ‘It’s a bloody relief - I don’t mind telling you.’

Nurse Willis dismantles the steam tent. Edward apologizes to Elida. Elida, through her tears, graciously accepts - after she has made a slow sign of the cross and a pointed acknowledgement to the Madonna’s intervention. Rosa, who has hardly been home in a week, kisses everyone in the room including Dottor Inglese and says she is off now to see if she can find, never mind recognize, her own children.

‘The crisis is over,’ the doctor explains, ‘but that doesn’t mean he’s recovered. He needs peace, quiet. Vigilance. He should sleep now for quite a bit, but the minute he opens his eyes, telephone me, no matter what time it is. If I don’t hear from you I’ll look in again first thing.’

Bella says she will sit with him, after all it is her room and she has more of a right to be there than anyone else. ‘So go,’ she says, pushing Nurse Willis and Edward to the door. ‘Go. Sleep. Eat. Smoke. Get drunk. Chase each other through the streets naked. Do whatever it is that pleases you. Just leave me.’

She is light-headed with tiredness and a relief she is almost afraid to allow herself to feel. All she wants now is time on her own with Alec, a chance to absorb the shock of the past few days, to monitor and accept the hope for the days to come.

Elida brings in supper, her large hand conducting a tour of the tray: ham, cheese, one or two other things on a plate. ‘It’s cooked
prosciutto
- not
crudo
- and soft the way you like, Signora, and a nice
caraffa
of
Rossese
to do you some good. There is the coffee pot with the English cosy to keep the warm in. And here at last is one of the peaches we preserve in September. So sweet, I can’t say it.’

Bella turns off the main lights and puts a match to the night lamp. The wine goes straight to her head. She sucks on a peach and gets into her pyjamas, then changes back into her day clothes in case Alec wakes up sooner rather than later, and the room starts filling with visitors again. She pads the window seat with pillows and cushions and settles herself in. Then, afraid of getting too comfortable and dozing off, whips everything away again.

With one cushion moulded into her back Bella sits upright where she can have a permanent view of Alec. She stares at him for a while and then begins to sing. Anything that comes into her head - ‘Silent Night’; an alphabet song; the dwarves song from
Snow White
; and the ditty the troops brought back from East Africa last year about the little black face looking out to sea - ‘
Facetta Nera
‘, which Alec never tires of hearing or singing himself.

A few minutes later there is a tap on the door and she opens it to Edward. ‘How long have you been out there?’ she asks.

‘Long enough to know you’re a crow.’

‘Very funny. Anyway - I thought I told you to get lost.’

‘Can’t bloody sleep,’ he begins, stepping into the room. ‘I did everything you said. Had a smoke - several smokes. Then something to eat. As you know it’s probably not a good idea if I get drunk. And I didn’t particularly want to run through the streets naked, especially with Nurse Willis running ahead of me - she wobbles a bit, you know.’

‘Does she indeed?’

‘Yes. So, I thought I might as well keep you company. How is he?’

‘Fine. Sleeping peacefully.’

‘And his breathing?’

‘Perfect.’

‘Good.’ He walks over and looks down at Alec. ‘Ah, the colour is back. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, Edward, that’s a good sign.’

‘I suppose it’s all right if we talk? We won’t disturb him?’

‘It’s fine. It might encourage him to come round actually, just to make sure he’s not missing anything.’

He turns away from the bed. ‘Are you eating that?’ he asks, his hand already stretched towards the plate on the tray.

‘I thought you had something to eat?’ she says.

‘Still hungry. And there’s no point in wasting it - you won’t eat it.’

‘How do you know I won’t?’

He raises his eyebrows at her, then sits into the sofa, the plate on his lap. ‘So,’ he begins, leaning back to rest an olive on his lips, then sucking it in. ‘How come you eat so little anyway?’

‘I don’t eat so little.’

‘You eat nothing. You’re too skinny, by the way.’ He spits the olive stone out onto his palm and lets it fall on the tray. ‘You ought to fatten up a bit.’

‘You shouldn’t speak with your mouth full,’ she says. ‘It’s very rude. And you’re hardly Charles Atlas yourself, by the way.’

‘True, but at least I try.’ He picks up a bit of cheese, sticks it under his nose, sniffs and then eats it. ‘A bit mild for my taste. Elida gets it for you specially. In fact, if she thinks you don’t like something, she won’t rest until she finds an alternative.’

‘I have noticed, yes.’

‘You’re very ungrateful. Poor old Elida.’

‘Oh, it’s poor old Elida now? A few hours ago she was a witch.’

‘Christ, don’t remind me. But all that talk about limbo and weeping souls wandering about for eternity - I couldn’t listen to another word. Apparently, whatever the rest of us say, a
meticcio
has no chance at all on the other side.’

‘A what?’

‘Half-breed.’

‘Because his mother is Jewish? She said that?’