South to Potenza

We left Chieti in a rush and, heading east, it wasn’t long before a thin blue segment of Mediterranean Sea was visible through a hollow of the hills.

The road crossed over a motorway, then suddenly doubled back on itself to join it. We’d paused at a tollbooth, paid for the privilege of using the Autostrada Adriatica, then headed into the sun.

For most of the journey, our route was too far from the sea to provide any scenes of interest and at the end of two hours of utter boredom, Lucia instructed me to leave at the next exit.

‘You will see a sign for Foggia, Matteo, but do not go into the town. We go round it.’

‘And then what?’

Lucia gave a shudder.

‘Do not ask.’

‘Why not? What’s wrong?’

The girl frowned and refused to give me answer.

We found Foggia sitting in the centre of a great, empty plain, but this fact didn’t become apparent until we’d driven past it. Thereafter, the land stretched ahead of us, dry, dusty, and as flat a pancake. Across the horizon wriggled a wave of purple mountains.

‘Do we keep straight on?’ I asked.

‘Sì,’ said Lucia, somewhat tensely.

We crossed a couple of rivers and, for a while, the fields around us were greener, yet however far we travelled, the mountains seemed no nearer.

‘Hungry?’ I asked.

The girl nodded.

‘We must stop at Ascoli Satriano,’ she said. ‘Is not on this road, Matteo. Turn left at the next cross-roads.’

I did so, and soon we careered into the central piazza of a sun-baked market town. Parking the Multipla on the shady side of the square, we climbed out, stretched our arms and legs, and stumbled into what was probably the only restaurant for miles.

Lucia grabbed the waiter and ordered spaghetti Bolognese for us because, she said, it reminded her of home. Then, after the meal, we relaxed over a bottle of wine. When it was empty we returned, with reluctance, to our original route.

The mountains were close now – oppressively so – and our road rose steeply into their foothills. No sign of tree or bush, the earth was stripped away to expose bare, white rock.

‘This is not Bella Italia,’ murmured Lucia, chiefly to herself. ‘Is another place – more ugly, less friendly.’

‘I know. I can see now why whoever it was that kidnapped Richard brought him here. Whichever way you look, there’s nothing – absolutely nothing. Surely no-one would come here unless they had to.’

Lucia nodded and buried her nose in the atlas. Suddenly, she shivered and pointed out of the window towards a lowering peak.

‘Matteo! Look at that mountain! The map say it is Monte Vulture!’

I considered it out of the corner of my eye, while trying to keep on the road. It‘s sinister outline made it obvious why it had such a name and I said a silent prayer that the car wouldn‘t break down as we passed it.

The road continued up through a white-bleached landscape until it slipped over a col and spiralled down the other side into a miserable region of dust and rock.

‘Goodness,’ I said. ‘You’d think we were on the surface of the moon.’

‘This was once called the Garden of Europe,’ said Lucia.

I found it hard to believe her.

‘What? When was that?’

‘Many years ago, Matteo – before the people cut down all their trees and the soil was washed away.’

I stared around at the ghastly landscape. Could it really have supported a healthy population? We hadn’t seen a soul for ages. Suddenly I felt immensely depressed at the short-sightedness of men. Yet, round a bend, we came across evidence that still humanity clung to life here. On a ridge between two valleys was a town, and our road ran straight towards it.

‘That is Potenza,’ said Lucia.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Sì, Matteo. There is nowhere else.’

Parched with thirst, we stopped at a roadside bar on the edge of town. The local folk were surprised to see strangers, but Lucia walked straight up to the counter and ordered coffee for me and an orange juice for herself. We carried the drinks outside to the shade of an umbrella.

‘Thanks, Lucia,’ I said. ‘I couldn’t have managed without you.’

She looked embarrassed.

‘Is not difficult to buy coffee,’ she said.

‘No, I’m talking about the whole trip. I wouldn’t have got this far on my own. In fact, I’d have got lost immediately I’d set foot outside Pisa.’

Lucia blushed.

‘Is nothing,’ she said, with a careless wave of the hand.

It took a while to recover from the journey, but, later than we realised, we drove into Potenza and took lodgings at the Albergo Valentino. Gabriella Marchesi, the youngest of the owner’s four daughters, booked us in, after which we strolled around the town.

I didn’t sleep well that night. The air was too hot, the mosquitoes too busy, and the bed too uncomfortable. The following morning, I crawled down to breakfast and found Lucia relaxed and sitting at a little table on the terrace. She looked fresher than ever and greeted me with a smile and a wave.

‘Ciao, Matteo.’

I groaned.

‘Ciao, Lucia.’

‘Where do we look for Riccardo today?’

‘Don’t know. Wait a minute.’ I thumped my head with a fist in an effort to make my brain work, but it made no difference. ‘No, sorry, I still have no idea.’

‘Do not hurt yourself,’ she said, unfolding a street plan of Potenza. ‘Look at this map. La Signora Marchesi lend it to us.’

She shifted crockery and stretched it over the table.

‘That’s very kind of her,’ I said, ‘but we’re hardly likely to see Richard in the street.’

‘Maybe he escape from the cowboys and come here by himself.’

‘Then he wouldn’t have left us a message. He’d have gone straight back to Palazzo Marinelli.’

Lucia wrinkled her brow.

‘What you think has happened, Matteo?’
‘I would say that he’s been kidnapped again.’

‘Who would do that?’

‘Well, Dan Corbett was in the area and he’s an extremely dangerous man, Lucia.’

Her mouth dropped open.

‘You tell Bonny and me he is your friend. You say you play games with Daniele Corbett, no?’

I sighed.

‘Yes, but that was when I couldn’t tell you the truth. Corbett’s actually head of security where Richard works and he’s probably out here to stop him passing on their company secrets to the wrong people.’

‘Like the Lucky Strike Gang?’

‘Yes.’

She frowned at me. I would have loved to have known what was going through her mind. She didn’t look particularly happy, but, on the other hand, she didn’t seem angry either – which was surprising.

‘I’m sorry I lied,’ I said. ‘Does this change things, or will you still help me find Richard?’

‘If Daniele Corbett is as dangerous as you say, it is even more important to get Riccardo away from him. We are here, Matteo,’ she said, pointing to a street on the map. ‘Let us go here, to Largo Duomo. It is the centre of Potenza. We must look for him and for Riccardo there.’

‘Alright,’ I said, relieved that she seemed to understand the situation.

Lucia refolded the map, tucked it in her handbag, rose and left the terrace. I swilled down a cup of cold coffee and ran after her.

I caught up with the girl as she marched through the hall. Gabriella teetered overhead on a pair of wobbly steps as she tried to dust the ceiling.

‘Buongiorno, Signor Allen,’ she called. ‘Have a nice day.’

‘Buongiorno, Gabriella. I hope that you have a nice day too.’

She scowled.

‘Is never nice here, Signor Allen. Is always the same – work, work, work. No time to go out. What you do this morning?’

‘We thought we might have a look at the town centre,’ I said.

Gabriella climbed down the steps and came up close to me.

‘Is nothing to see in Potenza. Tomorrow I take you to Napoli. Is more interesting, no?’

‘No!’ barked Lucia, grabbing hold of my hand and dragging me out of the door. When we were well away from Albergo Valentino, she stopped and turned to me.

‘That girl is no good,’ she hissed.

‘I thought she was quite nice, Lucia.’

‘Signorina Marchesi has fantasies, Matteo. Do not encourage them.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said and we continued the walk in silence.

~ by Christopher Jealous on December 6, 2008.