In the Dusty Streets of Pisa

I scraped myself up off the floor and checked all over for damage, but, fortunately, nothing important seemed to be broken. The girls then spent an enjoyable few minutes dusting me down.

Many of the other Perfectionists, however, began drifting out of the hall. I noticed Fisher in the middle of a small group which was leaving, and was about to dash after him, when Bonnie grabbed hold my arm.

‘Are you going, Matt?’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I thought we had to.’

She shook her head.

‘No. First Lucia and I must do the washing up. Perhaps you would like to dry for us?’

‘Of course I would,’ I said.

The girls smiled and led me off to the kitchen, where we passed a happy enough half an hour among the dirty pots and pans. But when we came out into the dining hall, it was empty.

‘I’m afraid,’ I said, ‘that I shall have to go now, but I’ll see you tomorrow in … what was the name of that place?’

‘Piazza Dante Alighieri,’ said Lucia.

‘Yes, that’s it. I’ll see you both there.’

The girls accompanied me to the entrance and told me which landmarks to watch out for on the route across city to the Hotel Sonnino. Leaving them waving from their doorway, I returned to the streets of Pisa. I don’t know whether it was because it was later in the day, or that I was becoming acclimatised, but their dust and heat seemed more bearable now than previously.

Their directions brought me safely to the hotel, where I showered and changed.

Evening came and the city’s population took to the streets, just strolling around – not aimlessly, but with no more obvious aim than that of enjoying the cool of the air. I joined them and did likewise. So little to do, so much to see. I liked Pisa and was glad now that Holly had made me come.

When the various groups dispersed, I returned to my room and unpacked The Hound of the Baskervilles. I was particularly anxious to find out what Holmes was going to do about the news which Mortimer brought.

The following day, after taking a light breakfast at the Sonnino’s bar, I set off across the city for Piazza Dante Alighieri. The route was little different from that of yesterday. Indeed, I had to pass through Piazza Garibaldi, but now it was much quieter.

Leaving the piazza on its western side, I walked along an alley which linked the square with Piazza Dante Alighieri. In the distance was the sound of singing and, as I came out into bright sunlight, I saw a company of white-clad people standing in the shady corner of the piazza. Some of the group played harps while the rest sang a song in Italian to a tune I didn’t know.

Watching from a cautious distance was a company of students who seemed as puzzled by the song as me. As I drew closer, I spotted Lucia and Bonnie standing side by side in the second row, but nowhere could I see either Richard Fisher or Marco Rossi.

Mercifully, the song came to an end, but, before the listeners had time to recover, a man stepped forward and began to harangue them in Italian. The students listened politely for a while, but, as the onslaught continued, some gathered their wits and walked away. This response only served to increase the fervour of the speaker – which, in turn, drove away even more of his audience. With the majority of the congregation streaming out of the piazza, the orator conceded defeat and called upon the choir to sing once more. This stemmed the flow of listeners, who evidently found the music of the Perfectionists more attractive than their sermons.

The song came to its natural end, and the members of the choir dispersed to round up the unwary and inflict their literature upon them. Seeing Lucia and Bonnie heading towards the fountain in the centre, I ran across the square to catch them, but was too late to prevent them cornering a Libyan student beside the statue of Poseidon. Only after he’d accepted their leaflets did the girls let him go.

‘Hello,’ I said.

‘Ciao, Matteo,’ said Lucia.

‘Hi, Matt,’ said Bonnie. ‘It’s good to see you. What did you think of the singing?’

‘It was great!’ I lied.

They smiled with pleasure.

‘I’m surprised,’ said Bonnie, ‘because that last song, Coi Tempi che Corrono, was one we’d only rehearsed once before.’

‘Unbelievable,’ I said. ‘Anyone would think you’d sung it together every day for a year.’

Flattered, the girls giggled and beamed from ear to ear. Lucia took me by the arm.

‘Sing with us, Matteo.’

‘But I can’t sing in Italian.’

‘I will teach you,’ she said.

‘Thank you, but some other time. I’m afraid I can’t stop.’

‘No?’

Both girls looked disappointed and Lucia let go of my arm.

‘I promised Richard I’d visit him and see how he’s getting on. Do you know where he is?’

Lucia frowned.

‘He is with group that went to Piazza del Duomo.’

I took out my guide and unfolded the map.

‘Where’s that, Lucia?’

‘Is there.’ She placed her finger on an area well to north of Piazza Dante Alighieri. ‘You cannot miss it. The cathedral is there.’

‘We had hoped to see more of you,’ said Bonnie, somewhat grumpily.

‘So had I, but I must keep my promise to Richard.’

‘After you’ve seen him,’ she said, ‘come to Palazzo Marinelli and have dinner with us again

‘Thanks,’ I said, turning to go.

‘Ciao, Matteo,’ said Lucia, with such a sweet smile that I was almost persuaded to cancel my journey and stay with the girl.

~ by Christopher Jealous on October 24, 2008.