Section Ten
Her ears were still ringing as she approached the station. She shook her head to clear them. Hesitated. Gulped. Strode forward. -Right. -Into the tourist office get a replacement map then I shall be registered again then I shall have a touch of the place then the tortoise will regain its shell, now let us confront the man behind the counter and his professional smarminess. -Oh shit, can't do it. "Excuse me, but do you speak English?" -You coward. -You COWARD!
"Yes, signorina."
"I'd like a street plan, please, and I'd like to book some accommodation."
"Certainly, signorina. Single?"
"Well, yes I am, but what's that got to..."
"Single room, signorina?"
"Oh, yes. Sorry. Yes, please, single room, please. In fact..." He took no notice, but produced a map, which he opened with a flourish.
"I believe I can find you a single room in a very pleasant hotel just here." (A jab of the finger.)
"But that's just around here." (A sweep of the arm.)
"Yes. Very convenient."
"Yes, thank you, but I already have an address, which I'd like you to try." She handed over a crumpled piece of paper.
He took it from her, and unfolded it brusquely. "Mergellina? That is here." (Another jab of his finger, indenting the map's coastline.) "But this will be expensive. Things would be much cheaper here, and I could arrange it very easily."
-Yes, I bet. -But your nepotistic heeler-dealing doesn't cut any ice with me, bud. "I'm sorry, but I don't care. I would like to stay here and I am prepared to pay."
"Very well, signorina." (A shrug of the shoulders.) "I shall see what I can do." (A reach for the phone.) "For how many nights?"
"For a week, please."
As he made the phone call, she stared at the relief map of Italy on the wall. It seemed to be cracking across from left to right straight through Rome.
He put the receiver down. "Very well. I have arranged it. Please go straight there to register. You can see it on the map here." (A tapped triplet with his index finger.) "You can take a train from here. Here is your map." (Handing it over.)
"Thank you."
"Prego, signorina."
Mission accomplished. Two cordial but cold "Arrivederci"s. Two steps further to survival.
-Mergellina, here we come.
Down the steps, down down into the scurrying depths of the bustling waiting hall of the station - a tremendous light switched off to a tremendous gloom - an assemblage of booths and queues that looked like some sort of purgatory with people dutifully buying their tickets for heaven or hell.
-Now where the hell do I go? -Why all these sodding ticket booths? -What sort of way to run a country is this? -Which of all these damned places do I choose? "Oops, sorry." (A barge aside. A holdall dropped on a toe.) "I mean, 'Scusi'"
"It's all right. Guess we speak almost the same language."
"Are you American?"
"Yeah. Are you lost?"
-Oh, yes, brother, you could say that - was ever a person as lost as much as I am?
"Beg Pardon?" He stooped over her to hear more clearly. He was tall. Evidently used to stooping. He reminded her of her uncle, after a lifetime bowed beneath the rear corner of a coffin.
"Er, sorry. Yes, I think I am. I've - er - just arrived."
"Well, no matter. I'll give you a hand. Welcome to Naples. Let me tell you, you're gonna have a great time - the people here are fantastic, the sights and scenery are fantastic; everything's - fantastic." His voice trailed off, a lame imprint in the air.
"Really?"
"Yeah. What's your name?"
"Janey."
"Hi, mine's Walt."
-Are people really called Walt? "After Whitman or Disney?"
He looked blank. "Beg pardon?"
"Oh, nothing. Pleased to meet you, Walt." His handshake was unexpectedly dry, like the skin of a snake.
He paused awhile. Looked at his feet. Looked at her again. "Well, guess we'd better be getting your ticket. Where you going?" She handed him her rumpled piece of paper. "Mergellina, hey? Pretty up-market there. Hang on." He handed the slip back over. Even more rumpled. One more set of fingerprints to add to the collection. He moved over to one of the booths, bought a ticket and returned. He handed the ticket to her, waving away any attempt at payment. "This way", he gestured, picking up her holdall. They passed through some barriers and moved along a corridor. He seemed to fill it with his musty smell. They stepped onto a moving walkway. He plonked her bag down. "So - what you doing here?," he asked.
"Er - in Naples?"
"Yeah, what angle you playing here?"
"I'm here to look around."
"Why's that?"
-God, his questions are getting a bit bloody impertinent. "I'm a student. Studying Italian. I'm thinking of spending a year here. So I'm checking the place out."
"Oh, really? You looking forward to that?"
"Yes. Certainly am. What about you? What do you do?"
"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that, you know?"
-Yes, buster, I can guess. "Arrangiarsi."
"Beg pardon?"
"Arrangiarsi - you know - it's Neapolitan: means sort of getting by by fair means or foul."
"Oh, right. Never got round to learning all the lingo yet."
-Surprise me, why don't you?
"Plenty other things to do."
-Yeah, I bet. I bet you fit in like a native. "What sort of things?"
"Oh, a bit of this, bit of that."
"We seem to have been here before."
"No. Where?"
"This conversation."
"Oh, sorry, yeah." He picked up the bag. They stepped off the walkway. "Left here." They turned down a tunnel. He stooped again. "You're travelling pretty light."
"Not light enough."
"You heard much about Naples?"
"A little. Enough."
"Big bad rumours, eh?"
"Something like that, I suppose."
"Well, don't believe everything you're told. It can be dangerous, especially for a woman, but if you're street-smart, you can find your way around."
They reached the platform just as the train was arriving. The doors slid open. They got in. The train set off. She looked around, at the dramatis personae performing in the ennui of the dust-bowl non-conditioned air:
Curious youngsters.
German tourists with a big tent.
Old men muttering.
Old women crossing themselves.
Spectacular-looking young girls, poised like models.
Women dripped with elegance.
Slouched hawkers on the prowl.
Spiky faces, spiky hair, edged in black, the line continued from top of head to side of chin - sinking in the shadows.
Young male posers with slicked-back hair and slicked-down leather jackets giving cool appraising glances at her.
She met their eyes with equal insolence. They looked away. Down and away. "Is it like this all the time?"
"Well, sort of. The thing is, if you don't mind me saying so, that Naples is a very masculine city in a lot of ways; the male principle, you know, like certain kinds of rock'n'roll music have this sort of leathery pulse to them, you know what I'm talking about; very upfront and aggressive and chicks sometimes don't really get off on it, you know?"
-Chicks? -Christ, what have I got myself into? -He's got a vocabulary frozen two sodding decades ago. -Almost before he was born. -But, let's be patient. -I guess he could be useful.
"Anyway, these men go crazy for girls with blonde hair, so you should have a good time."
"Thank you. I'll bear that in mind."
"You gonna be OK?"
"Yes. Just finding my feet at the moment, is all - I mean, that's all."
"Hey, why don't you let me show you around? I mean - this place has got so much life. But you need to know your way around. To see the sights."
-The only sights I've seen, buster, are some scruffy outskirts, a flyblown square and a dirty railway system. So, if there are any sights to be seen, I suppose you could prove useful in finding them. But could I stand it? "Mm. Thanks. I - I'd like that."
"Hey, you eating anywhere special tonight? If you like, I could take you to the Borgo Marinaro. It's the place where traditionally you're supposed to have your first meal in Naples. Some really good little fish restaurants. You into fish?"
"Yes. And vice versa."
"Beg pardon? Oh, right. Hey, nice sense of humour."
"Thanks, Walt."
"Let's have a look at that map. You got that slip of paper again? O.K. Where you want is here. The station to get off at is Mergellina, which is here and then you walk down here. OK?"
"Yeah."
"Right. I get off at here, which is Piazza Cavour, so the easiest thing is probably to meet somewhere around here - whatever fits in best with what you're gonna do for the rest of the day.
"OK. Well, how about here?"
"Piazza Dante? Sure thing. I'll see you by the statue."
"Of whom?"
"'Of whom?' Dante!"
"Oh. Right. Yes. Sorry. Er - when?"
"Eight o'clock? You change the time on your watch yet?"
"Er, no. Thanks."
"You're welcome. You got all that?"
"Yes."
"OK. I gotta get off here. See you later." The train stopped. He eased his way through the crowd and out through the doors. He turned to wave. She waved back. The youths in the carriage started to stare again.
-Oh, brother. -What have I let myself in for? She put the headphones on. Stared them out. -Stare away. -I might get stooped over by hick Yankees, but I'm still taller than you!
She clicked a cassette into the machine, and pressed the start button. The familiar voice swirled in again.next...
"Yes, signorina."
"I'd like a street plan, please, and I'd like to book some accommodation."
"Certainly, signorina. Single?"
"Well, yes I am, but what's that got to..."
"Single room, signorina?"
"Oh, yes. Sorry. Yes, please, single room, please. In fact..." He took no notice, but produced a map, which he opened with a flourish.
"I believe I can find you a single room in a very pleasant hotel just here." (A jab of the finger.)
"But that's just around here." (A sweep of the arm.)
"Yes. Very convenient."
"Yes, thank you, but I already have an address, which I'd like you to try." She handed over a crumpled piece of paper.
He took it from her, and unfolded it brusquely. "Mergellina? That is here." (Another jab of his finger, indenting the map's coastline.) "But this will be expensive. Things would be much cheaper here, and I could arrange it very easily."
-Yes, I bet. -But your nepotistic heeler-dealing doesn't cut any ice with me, bud. "I'm sorry, but I don't care. I would like to stay here and I am prepared to pay."
"Very well, signorina." (A shrug of the shoulders.) "I shall see what I can do." (A reach for the phone.) "For how many nights?"
"For a week, please."
As he made the phone call, she stared at the relief map of Italy on the wall. It seemed to be cracking across from left to right straight through Rome.
He put the receiver down. "Very well. I have arranged it. Please go straight there to register. You can see it on the map here." (A tapped triplet with his index finger.) "You can take a train from here. Here is your map." (Handing it over.)
"Thank you."
"Prego, signorina."
Mission accomplished. Two cordial but cold "Arrivederci"s. Two steps further to survival.
-Mergellina, here we come.
Down the steps, down down into the scurrying depths of the bustling waiting hall of the station - a tremendous light switched off to a tremendous gloom - an assemblage of booths and queues that looked like some sort of purgatory with people dutifully buying their tickets for heaven or hell.
-Now where the hell do I go? -Why all these sodding ticket booths? -What sort of way to run a country is this? -Which of all these damned places do I choose? "Oops, sorry." (A barge aside. A holdall dropped on a toe.) "I mean, 'Scusi'"
"It's all right. Guess we speak almost the same language."
"Are you American?"
"Yeah. Are you lost?"
-Oh, yes, brother, you could say that - was ever a person as lost as much as I am?
"Beg Pardon?" He stooped over her to hear more clearly. He was tall. Evidently used to stooping. He reminded her of her uncle, after a lifetime bowed beneath the rear corner of a coffin.
"Er, sorry. Yes, I think I am. I've - er - just arrived."
"Well, no matter. I'll give you a hand. Welcome to Naples. Let me tell you, you're gonna have a great time - the people here are fantastic, the sights and scenery are fantastic; everything's - fantastic." His voice trailed off, a lame imprint in the air.
"Really?"
"Yeah. What's your name?"
"Janey."
"Hi, mine's Walt."
-Are people really called Walt? "After Whitman or Disney?"
He looked blank. "Beg pardon?"
"Oh, nothing. Pleased to meet you, Walt." His handshake was unexpectedly dry, like the skin of a snake.
He paused awhile. Looked at his feet. Looked at her again. "Well, guess we'd better be getting your ticket. Where you going?" She handed him her rumpled piece of paper. "Mergellina, hey? Pretty up-market there. Hang on." He handed the slip back over. Even more rumpled. One more set of fingerprints to add to the collection. He moved over to one of the booths, bought a ticket and returned. He handed the ticket to her, waving away any attempt at payment. "This way", he gestured, picking up her holdall. They passed through some barriers and moved along a corridor. He seemed to fill it with his musty smell. They stepped onto a moving walkway. He plonked her bag down. "So - what you doing here?," he asked.
"Er - in Naples?"
"Yeah, what angle you playing here?"
"I'm here to look around."
"Why's that?"
-God, his questions are getting a bit bloody impertinent. "I'm a student. Studying Italian. I'm thinking of spending a year here. So I'm checking the place out."
"Oh, really? You looking forward to that?"
"Yes. Certainly am. What about you? What do you do?"
"Oh, a bit of this, a bit of that, you know?"
-Yes, buster, I can guess. "Arrangiarsi."
"Beg pardon?"
"Arrangiarsi - you know - it's Neapolitan: means sort of getting by by fair means or foul."
"Oh, right. Never got round to learning all the lingo yet."
-Surprise me, why don't you?
"Plenty other things to do."
-Yeah, I bet. I bet you fit in like a native. "What sort of things?"
"Oh, a bit of this, bit of that."
"We seem to have been here before."
"No. Where?"
"This conversation."
"Oh, sorry, yeah." He picked up the bag. They stepped off the walkway. "Left here." They turned down a tunnel. He stooped again. "You're travelling pretty light."
"Not light enough."
"You heard much about Naples?"
"A little. Enough."
"Big bad rumours, eh?"
"Something like that, I suppose."
"Well, don't believe everything you're told. It can be dangerous, especially for a woman, but if you're street-smart, you can find your way around."
They reached the platform just as the train was arriving. The doors slid open. They got in. The train set off. She looked around, at the dramatis personae performing in the ennui of the dust-bowl non-conditioned air:
Curious youngsters.
German tourists with a big tent.
Old men muttering.
Old women crossing themselves.
Spectacular-looking young girls, poised like models.
Women dripped with elegance.
Slouched hawkers on the prowl.
Spiky faces, spiky hair, edged in black, the line continued from top of head to side of chin - sinking in the shadows.
Young male posers with slicked-back hair and slicked-down leather jackets giving cool appraising glances at her.
She met their eyes with equal insolence. They looked away. Down and away. "Is it like this all the time?"
"Well, sort of. The thing is, if you don't mind me saying so, that Naples is a very masculine city in a lot of ways; the male principle, you know, like certain kinds of rock'n'roll music have this sort of leathery pulse to them, you know what I'm talking about; very upfront and aggressive and chicks sometimes don't really get off on it, you know?"
-Chicks? -Christ, what have I got myself into? -He's got a vocabulary frozen two sodding decades ago. -Almost before he was born. -But, let's be patient. -I guess he could be useful.
"Anyway, these men go crazy for girls with blonde hair, so you should have a good time."
"Thank you. I'll bear that in mind."
"You gonna be OK?"
"Yes. Just finding my feet at the moment, is all - I mean, that's all."
"Hey, why don't you let me show you around? I mean - this place has got so much life. But you need to know your way around. To see the sights."
-The only sights I've seen, buster, are some scruffy outskirts, a flyblown square and a dirty railway system. So, if there are any sights to be seen, I suppose you could prove useful in finding them. But could I stand it? "Mm. Thanks. I - I'd like that."
"Hey, you eating anywhere special tonight? If you like, I could take you to the Borgo Marinaro. It's the place where traditionally you're supposed to have your first meal in Naples. Some really good little fish restaurants. You into fish?"
"Yes. And vice versa."
"Beg pardon? Oh, right. Hey, nice sense of humour."
"Thanks, Walt."
"Let's have a look at that map. You got that slip of paper again? O.K. Where you want is here. The station to get off at is Mergellina, which is here and then you walk down here. OK?"
"Yeah."
"Right. I get off at here, which is Piazza Cavour, so the easiest thing is probably to meet somewhere around here - whatever fits in best with what you're gonna do for the rest of the day.
"OK. Well, how about here?"
"Piazza Dante? Sure thing. I'll see you by the statue."
"Of whom?"
"'Of whom?' Dante!"
"Oh. Right. Yes. Sorry. Er - when?"
"Eight o'clock? You change the time on your watch yet?"
"Er, no. Thanks."
"You're welcome. You got all that?"
"Yes."
"OK. I gotta get off here. See you later." The train stopped. He eased his way through the crowd and out through the doors. He turned to wave. She waved back. The youths in the carriage started to stare again.
-Oh, brother. -What have I let myself in for? She put the headphones on. Stared them out. -Stare away. -I might get stooped over by hick Yankees, but I'm still taller than you!
She clicked a cassette into the machine, and pressed the start button. The familiar voice swirled in again.next...
© 2006 by Adrian Benson
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