chair.
‘Do you know them?’ asked Carla, who had been watching this pantomime attentively.
Corinna shook her head.
‘Not really. But they came by this morning to pick up a file I’d been ordered to close and return. Their names are Roberto Lessi and Alfredo Ferraro. They’re agents of the Carabinieri’s Raggruppamento Operazioni Speciali.’
‘The Special Operations Group?’ queried Carla. ‘What sort of operations?’
Corinna made a gesture which read, ‘Who knows, and anyway I doubt it.’
‘Anyway, at least they’re on our side,’ Carla exclaimed with evident relief.
Corinna looked at her with a distant smile.
‘That reminds me,’ she said. ‘I gave your father a packet to pass on to you.’
Carla frowned.
‘My father?’
‘He’s just the cut-out. I didn’t want to be seen handing it over directly. For both our sakes, yours particularly’
‘Why, what is it?’
‘Nothing that need concern you, my dear,’ Corinna replied. ‘It’s just a few papers that I need taken care of for a little while. They’re all packed up in an envelope which your father will give you on Saturday, if not before. He thinks it’s a birthday present. Just hide it away somewhere in your apartment. In due course, I’ll either tell you to destroy it or ask for it back. Is that all right?’
Carla nodded.
‘But I’m not to look inside?’
‘No, don’t do that.’
‘Like Pandora’s box.’
Corinna smiled.
‘Yes,’ she exclaimed. ‘Very much like Pandora’s box.’
‘All the good gifts of the gods turned to evil and flew out to plague the world,’ Carla continued pertly. ‘All except Hope.’
Corinna sighed as the waiter neared their table.
‘There are various versions of the legend,’ she replied. ‘According to some, not even Hope remained. It was the last to leave, though.’
She smiled across the table.
‘Shall we order?’
Zen was terrified of flying. This had always been a fact about him, like his height and other physical characteristics. He was terrified of flying, but what was terrifying him now was that he wasn’t terrified of flying, and this was all the more terrifying because everyone else on board clearly was.
Moments earlier, the pilot had instructed passengers to fasten their seatbelts in anticipation of ‘some possible turbulence ahead’. Seconds later, the Airbus A320 had thrown a spectacular grand mal epileptic fit, jerking, shuddering and leaping in an apparently uncontrollable series of spasms so violent that they sent one of the flight attendants flying into the row of seats just in front of Zen, while another sank to her knees and started crossing herself and chanting the Hail Mary in a loud voice. As for the other passengers, they screamed and closed their eyes tight, clutched one another and threw up.
Meanwhile Zen sat there calmly, scared out of his wits at the realization that he was the only person on the plane who wasn’t scared. Which was truly scary. For your eyesight to deteriorate, your hearing to fail, your hair to thin and your memory to malfunction, that was normal, to be expected. But if your fears deserted you, what was left? Take those away, and all that remained was a hollow shell.
What made things worse was the suspicion, amounting almost to a certainty, that his whole trip was the result of having fallen for a practical joke, one of those infantile pranks that Gilberto Nieddu loved to play on unsuspecting friends and colleagues. The Sardinian was still furious that Zen had dropped him socially after that disgraceful incident involving the stolen video-game cassette. Now he had decided to get even in a characteristically cruel, cynical and effective way.
For if it was a practical joke, then it was one that Zen could hardly have avoided falling for, particularly after that conversation with Maria Grazia. The Airbus took another groin-tingling lurch, accompanied by a loud metallic clang which elicited a renewed chorus of
‘Do you know them?’ asked Carla, who had been watching this pantomime attentively.
Corinna shook her head.
‘Not really. But they came by this morning to pick up a file I’d been ordered to close and return. Their names are Roberto Lessi and Alfredo Ferraro. They’re agents of the Carabinieri’s Raggruppamento Operazioni Speciali.’
‘The Special Operations Group?’ queried Carla. ‘What sort of operations?’
Corinna made a gesture which read, ‘Who knows, and anyway I doubt it.’
‘Anyway, at least they’re on our side,’ Carla exclaimed with evident relief.
Corinna looked at her with a distant smile.
‘That reminds me,’ she said. ‘I gave your father a packet to pass on to you.’
Carla frowned.
‘My father?’
‘He’s just the cut-out. I didn’t want to be seen handing it over directly. For both our sakes, yours particularly’
‘Why, what is it?’
‘Nothing that need concern you, my dear,’ Corinna replied. ‘It’s just a few papers that I need taken care of for a little while. They’re all packed up in an envelope which your father will give you on Saturday, if not before. He thinks it’s a birthday present. Just hide it away somewhere in your apartment. In due course, I’ll either tell you to destroy it or ask for it back. Is that all right?’
Carla nodded.
‘But I’m not to look inside?’
‘No, don’t do that.’
‘Like Pandora’s box.’
Corinna smiled.
‘Yes,’ she exclaimed. ‘Very much like Pandora’s box.’
‘All the good gifts of the gods turned to evil and flew out to plague the world,’ Carla continued pertly. ‘All except Hope.’
Corinna sighed as the waiter neared their table.
‘There are various versions of the legend,’ she replied. ‘According to some, not even Hope remained. It was the last to leave, though.’
She smiled across the table.
‘Shall we order?’
Zen was terrified of flying. This had always been a fact about him, like his height and other physical characteristics. He was terrified of flying, but what was terrifying him now was that he wasn’t terrified of flying, and this was all the more terrifying because everyone else on board clearly was.
Moments earlier, the pilot had instructed passengers to fasten their seatbelts in anticipation of ‘some possible turbulence ahead’. Seconds later, the Airbus A320 had thrown a spectacular grand mal epileptic fit, jerking, shuddering and leaping in an apparently uncontrollable series of spasms so violent that they sent one of the flight attendants flying into the row of seats just in front of Zen, while another sank to her knees and started crossing herself and chanting the Hail Mary in a loud voice. As for the other passengers, they screamed and closed their eyes tight, clutched one another and threw up.
Meanwhile Zen sat there calmly, scared out of his wits at the realization that he was the only person on the plane who wasn’t scared. Which was truly scary. For your eyesight to deteriorate, your hearing to fail, your hair to thin and your memory to malfunction, that was normal, to be expected. But if your fears deserted you, what was left? Take those away, and all that remained was a hollow shell.
What made things worse was the suspicion, amounting almost to a certainty, that his whole trip was the result of having fallen for a practical joke, one of those infantile pranks that Gilberto Nieddu loved to play on unsuspecting friends and colleagues. The Sardinian was still furious that Zen had dropped him socially after that disgraceful incident involving the stolen video-game cassette. Now he had decided to get even in a characteristically cruel, cynical and effective way.
For if it was a practical joke, then it was one that Zen could hardly have avoided falling for, particularly after that conversation with Maria Grazia. The Airbus took another groin-tingling lurch, accompanied by a loud metallic clang which elicited a renewed chorus of
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