Section Three
She replaced the papers in the folder and took out a map, splattered with stickers at key localities.
She listened to the rustle and interplay of the sections of the map as she unfolded it.
Her finger rested on the sea in anticipation.
She traced streets with her finger. -So where are you? -Where are you? -Don't be so elusive. Was this it? She traced the grid of streets. Almost like New York or Milton Keynes. Thick black lines wavered before her eyes. She blinked; tried to erase the image; glanced across. -Go on, you coward, speak to her in Italian.
"I'm sorry, my dear. We haven't introduced ourselves."
-Too late. "No, you're right. Being frightfully Anglo-Saxon, aren't we? I'm Janey - Janey Moore."
"Piacere. Scandone - Mariella." She waved her fingers stroboscopically as she spoke, then seemed to flex them, ruefully.
"Pleased to meet you."
Signora Scandone craned forward. "May I ask you what you're looking at? Is that a street-plan of Naples? Do you know where you intend to stay?"
"Well, that's one place - just here. It's been recommended."
She nodded approvingly. "Yes, a very pleasant area."
"And also I'm trying to work out where the Spanish Quarter is. Is this it here?"
"Yes, it's that whole area around here, to the west of the Via Toledo." She leant over and pointed, with a finger that still seemed to be shaking slightly. "But you don't want to go there, my dear - it can be extremely dangerous."
"Really? Even during the day?"
She raised a warning finger, which was now steady as a church steeple. Hooked it and stroked her cheek. "Yes, even during the day it is best avoided, if you take my advice."
"I didn't realise that it was quite that dangerous. I mean, everyone knows that there's drug-dealing and corruption and - and all those sorts of things going on, but I thought that it didn't really affect tourists."
Signora Scandone waved her hand and shook her head in warning. "I think that would be - how to say it? - a naive assumption. Things there have changed. There was always - what do you call it? - vice there. There was contraband and protection and bad things like that but nowadays it is always la droga - the drugs, I'm sorry."
"Non preoccupaci. Ho capito."
"Oh, you speak Italian?"
"A little."
"Well, anyway," she continued regardless, "I would strongly recommend you not to go there. Why do you wish to go to the Spanish Quarter anyway?"
"Oh, just interested, I guess."
The woman's eyes narrowed slightly.
-Does she believe me?
"Well please take my advice - stay away."
"OK."
"If you don't mind me asking, why are you going to Naples? I'm sorry." She waved her arms in the air again. "It seems like I'm being nosy. It's just that you say that you hear that things don't really affect tourists but you also say that you have business to attend to."
-SEE, SHE DID HEAR YOU!
-Be quiet, mother.
"So, are you really going just as a tourist?"
-A lot of questions all of a sudden. Janey waved away an invisible cobweb. "No, I'm meeting up with a friend of mine. He's working in Naples."
"Oh, what is he doing? Teaching?"
"No, he's involved in a sort of community programme."
"In the Spanish Quarter? "
"It could be; I'm not sure."
Now there was a clanking and a screeching and a grinding of wheels and different items of food in little blue plastic houses were being distributed to eager recipients at the far end of the plane.
"So, is your friend meeting you?"
"No, I don't think so. Not at this time of day. He'll probably be busy. So I'll make my own way there. There's a bus from the airport, isn't there? I have to get a ticket from the tobacconist's or something weird like that."
"Yes, I'll show you when we get there." The woman looked across at the flurry of arms and trolleys. She replaced the magazine in the wallet of the seat in front of her. The seat rocked slightly. "It seems that we are about to be fed. One of the strategies you mentioned for making you feel less nervous." She took off her reading glasses and put them away.
Janey grinned wryly. "Yes, let stage three of the anaesthetic commence."
The Signora put down the folding tray with just a touch too much gusto. The occupant of the seat in front bounced with the force of her delivery. A quick fire interchange, belligerent but good-natured, ensued in completely incomprehensible Italian. Signora Scandone grinned and turned to Janey. "Hai capito, tu?"
"Neanche una parola."
"Don't worry, my dear, we have an accent - un po' scuro. Keep trying; if you persist, you will succeed in communicating even with us poor Campanese, who are more used to looking inward using our own dialetto than communicating with the outside world."
"Thank you, I'll try."
-IF YOU PERSIST IN THE PATH OF RIGHTEOUSNESS, YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR REWARD!
-Yes, thank you, Mother, you'll be getting the I Ching out next.
-BLASPHEMY!
The creaking caravan had now reached the row in front, and the little man who had been the victim of Signora Scandone's leverage was eagerly grabbing at the plastic shiny box that seemed almost like a dislocated extension of the stewardess's smile.
-Yes, here we go. -Feeding-time at the zoo. -Let the ritual commence.
She dumbly waited while her companion accepted her tray, then took her own as the stewardess, with a practised flick of the wrist, removed the lid and handed the brittle plastic underbelly to her.
-Right. -Time for some tandem chomping:
-Do the mastication rhumba
-Though your stomach swells like thunder
-And you stand with legs asunder
-Because what goes in goes under.
She laughed, choking on a morsel. At precisely the correct moment, the stewardess arrived, hot from the mould, to proffer the choice of tea or coffee. Janey pointed, thumbs up, at the coffee, whilst the Signora accepted a half-cup of tea from the drinks-monitor.
"Are you all right, my dear?"
"Er, yes, thanks. Just something went down the wrong chute. Breathing Airline Bakewell Tart is about as easy as eating air. Mind you, eating Airline Bakewell Tart is a reasonably praiseworthy achievement."
Signora Scandone nodded, then nodded some more, then, as helping hands reached out and removed all the accoutrements of the meal, she nodded and nodded and nodded to oblivion.
Janey looked at her, through eyes that were in itself hooded with sleep. She put the headphones on. Bach flooded in. Voices wafting in and out. Proclaiming Passion.
She took out one of the documents from the folder and opened it. Started to read.
She listened to the rustle and interplay of the sections of the map as she unfolded it.
Her finger rested on the sea in anticipation.
She traced streets with her finger. -So where are you? -Where are you? -Don't be so elusive. Was this it? She traced the grid of streets. Almost like New York or Milton Keynes. Thick black lines wavered before her eyes. She blinked; tried to erase the image; glanced across. -Go on, you coward, speak to her in Italian.
"I'm sorry, my dear. We haven't introduced ourselves."
-Too late. "No, you're right. Being frightfully Anglo-Saxon, aren't we? I'm Janey - Janey Moore."
"Piacere. Scandone - Mariella." She waved her fingers stroboscopically as she spoke, then seemed to flex them, ruefully.
"Pleased to meet you."
Signora Scandone craned forward. "May I ask you what you're looking at? Is that a street-plan of Naples? Do you know where you intend to stay?"
"Well, that's one place - just here. It's been recommended."
She nodded approvingly. "Yes, a very pleasant area."
"And also I'm trying to work out where the Spanish Quarter is. Is this it here?"
"Yes, it's that whole area around here, to the west of the Via Toledo." She leant over and pointed, with a finger that still seemed to be shaking slightly. "But you don't want to go there, my dear - it can be extremely dangerous."
"Really? Even during the day?"
She raised a warning finger, which was now steady as a church steeple. Hooked it and stroked her cheek. "Yes, even during the day it is best avoided, if you take my advice."
"I didn't realise that it was quite that dangerous. I mean, everyone knows that there's drug-dealing and corruption and - and all those sorts of things going on, but I thought that it didn't really affect tourists."
Signora Scandone waved her hand and shook her head in warning. "I think that would be - how to say it? - a naive assumption. Things there have changed. There was always - what do you call it? - vice there. There was contraband and protection and bad things like that but nowadays it is always la droga - the drugs, I'm sorry."
"Non preoccupaci. Ho capito."
"Oh, you speak Italian?"
"A little."
"Well, anyway," she continued regardless, "I would strongly recommend you not to go there. Why do you wish to go to the Spanish Quarter anyway?"
"Oh, just interested, I guess."
The woman's eyes narrowed slightly.
-Does she believe me?
"Well please take my advice - stay away."
"OK."
"If you don't mind me asking, why are you going to Naples? I'm sorry." She waved her arms in the air again. "It seems like I'm being nosy. It's just that you say that you hear that things don't really affect tourists but you also say that you have business to attend to."
-SEE, SHE DID HEAR YOU!
-Be quiet, mother.
"So, are you really going just as a tourist?"
-A lot of questions all of a sudden. Janey waved away an invisible cobweb. "No, I'm meeting up with a friend of mine. He's working in Naples."
"Oh, what is he doing? Teaching?"
"No, he's involved in a sort of community programme."
"In the Spanish Quarter? "
"It could be; I'm not sure."
Now there was a clanking and a screeching and a grinding of wheels and different items of food in little blue plastic houses were being distributed to eager recipients at the far end of the plane.
"So, is your friend meeting you?"
"No, I don't think so. Not at this time of day. He'll probably be busy. So I'll make my own way there. There's a bus from the airport, isn't there? I have to get a ticket from the tobacconist's or something weird like that."
"Yes, I'll show you when we get there." The woman looked across at the flurry of arms and trolleys. She replaced the magazine in the wallet of the seat in front of her. The seat rocked slightly. "It seems that we are about to be fed. One of the strategies you mentioned for making you feel less nervous." She took off her reading glasses and put them away.
Janey grinned wryly. "Yes, let stage three of the anaesthetic commence."
The Signora put down the folding tray with just a touch too much gusto. The occupant of the seat in front bounced with the force of her delivery. A quick fire interchange, belligerent but good-natured, ensued in completely incomprehensible Italian. Signora Scandone grinned and turned to Janey. "Hai capito, tu?"
"Neanche una parola."
"Don't worry, my dear, we have an accent - un po' scuro. Keep trying; if you persist, you will succeed in communicating even with us poor Campanese, who are more used to looking inward using our own dialetto than communicating with the outside world."
"Thank you, I'll try."
-IF YOU PERSIST IN THE PATH OF RIGHTEOUSNESS, YOU SHALL HAVE YOUR REWARD!
-Yes, thank you, Mother, you'll be getting the I Ching out next.
-BLASPHEMY!
The creaking caravan had now reached the row in front, and the little man who had been the victim of Signora Scandone's leverage was eagerly grabbing at the plastic shiny box that seemed almost like a dislocated extension of the stewardess's smile.
-Yes, here we go. -Feeding-time at the zoo. -Let the ritual commence.
She dumbly waited while her companion accepted her tray, then took her own as the stewardess, with a practised flick of the wrist, removed the lid and handed the brittle plastic underbelly to her.
-Right. -Time for some tandem chomping:
-Do the mastication rhumba
-Though your stomach swells like thunder
-And you stand with legs asunder
-Because what goes in goes under.
She laughed, choking on a morsel. At precisely the correct moment, the stewardess arrived, hot from the mould, to proffer the choice of tea or coffee. Janey pointed, thumbs up, at the coffee, whilst the Signora accepted a half-cup of tea from the drinks-monitor.
"Are you all right, my dear?"
"Er, yes, thanks. Just something went down the wrong chute. Breathing Airline Bakewell Tart is about as easy as eating air. Mind you, eating Airline Bakewell Tart is a reasonably praiseworthy achievement."
Signora Scandone nodded, then nodded some more, then, as helping hands reached out and removed all the accoutrements of the meal, she nodded and nodded and nodded to oblivion.
Janey looked at her, through eyes that were in itself hooded with sleep. She put the headphones on. Bach flooded in. Voices wafting in and out. Proclaiming Passion.
She took out one of the documents from the folder and opened it. Started to read.
© 2006 by Adrian Benson
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