“When we talked, you didn’t mention your, uh, calling,” Rick said after being crushed in a bear hug. “What does one say? Congratulations?”
Zeke beamed. “Whatever you’d like. I’m still somewhat surprised myself. The Lord works in strange ways. In my case it was through a Marine Corps chaplain, but that’s a story for another day.”
“Well, I’m relieved that it all worked out. As I recall, after graduation you kind of dropped off the map. Your friends knew you were in the Marines, and several of us tried to contact you, but you never got back to us. We finally gave up.”
“There was quite a bit going on in my life, and especially in my head. You’ll have to find it in your hearts to forgive me. But what about you? Tell me about what you’ve been doing. I’m sure you are the finest translator in Italy and turning down offers.”
“I wouldn’t exactly say that, but it pays the bills, and I like the flexibility of my schedule. If I worked nine to five, I wouldn’t have been able to come up here to see you.”
“Very true.” Zeke nodded and slapped his knee. “Goodness, what a pleasure to see you, Rick. I’m sorry that it had to happen under these circumstances.”
“Tell me about this tour group and how you are involved. I wondered why you were going to spend so much time here in Assisi, but now I can understand. This is probably not one’s typical group of tourists.”
“No, not at all. It was organized by the diocese of Santa Fe, where I have been assigned temporarily.” He looked up to see if anyone else was nearby and lowered his voice. “All the participants are prominent supporters of the diocese.”
“Fat cats?”
“I would not have used that term, Rick, but let’s say they have been very generous in what they have done, and continue to do, for the church. It was the bishop’s idea to organize this pilgrimage. As you will recall, the cathedral basilica in Santa Fe is dedicated to Saint Francis, so it made sense to bring them here to Assisi. We are visiting other places where Francis preached, of course, and doing some regular tourism, but it is very much centered around the life of the saint. And just before we return to New Mexico, we are scheduled for an audience with the Holy Father.” Unintentionally, he held up his hands in a very papal gesture. “It hadn’t occurred to me, but of course, you will have to join us.”
“It would be an honor. Assuming I don’t have to work that day. But tell me about this group. Everyone is from New Mexico, I assume. I may know someone.”
“I never thought of that, but perhaps you do. But other than Chris, our driver, and me, there are only six. We wanted to keep the numbers down so we could travel by a small van. Easier to navigate narrow streets.”
“That is indeed a small tour group. I trust these people are paying premium prices for the exclusivity of the tour.”
“Let’s just say they were not bothered by the price.”
“Which I assume included another generous donation to the church.”
“But they get their own resident priest to minister to their spiritual needs while traveling.”
“Such a deal. Who are these people?”
“They have a free afternoon and are out and about, so I can’t introduce them to you until this evening at dinner here at the hotel. This morning we celebrated mass at the cathedral and then heard a talk by one of the priests about the life of Francis. We were going to cancel it when I realized that Biraldo had gone missing, but the old guy insisted he could do it in English. I’m not sure when he learned his English, but I suspect it was before he entered the seminary, and he hasn’t used it much since then. We could have used you, but thankfully, everyone was polite to him, even though they didn’t get half of what he was saying.”
“By the way, Zeke, I drove by that address you gave me, and nobody answered when I rang the bell for the apartment.” He didn’t mention the suspicious-looking man.
“Thank you for that; I hope it wasn’t too much trouble.” Again he glanced around the lobby, which was still empty. “Just between us, Rick, Biraldo wasn’t my choice for a guide, but we were desperate, and he was recommended by one of the members of our tour group, so I couldn’t protest too much. And now I’m beginning to be concerned.”
“Did he just disappear?”
“Not exactly. When we got to the hotel yesterday afternoon he seemed to be quite agitated. Everyone was checking in, and he told me he had an appointment on a personal matter and would not join the group for dinner at the hotel. Then he walked out.”
“Did he leave his ID at the desk when he checked in?”
“He never registered. He left his suitcase with the desk clerk and told her he would be back in the evening to check in. The bag is still there.”
“Perhaps the personal business was very personal, Zeke, since he spent the night somewhere else.”
Zeke frowned and shook his head. “He does consider himself quite a ladies’ man. I may be a priest, but I could see the way he talks with women, especially attractive ones.” He inclined his head toward the woman behind the reception desk. “By the way, I’ve got another address here in Assisi where he might be found. I was going to try and find it this afternoon, but it would be very helpful if you could go with me, in case there is a language issue with someone. The hotel clerk said it’s relatively close by, but from the looks of the town everything is close by.”
“Let’s go right now. We can catch up some more while we’re walking.”
“Great.” Zeke got to his feet. “Let me go up to my room and drop off this jacket. It’s warm enough out that I don’t need it, and I’ve found that the black shirt really picks up the heat in the sun. You can check in while I do that.”
“Check in?”
“Yes, of course. I can’t offer to pay you for your services, but we can certainly provide you a room in the hotel. I’ve already arranged for it; they have your name at the reception desk. I’ll be waiting for you back here.” Zeke walked to the elevator and pressed the button.
Fortunately, Rick had not taken his suitcase out of the car at Aunt Filomena’s villa. He retrieved it, came back inside, and was greeted by the young woman at the reception desk. She wore a blue blazer, white shirt, and blue tie, the unisex uniform of her profession. He couldn’t see if she wore a skirt or slacks, and decided he shouldn’t lean over the counter to find out. Since he was now with a priest, he had to be on his best behavior. She flashed a welcoming smile. Yes, they were expecting him, and yes, he could leave his car where it was. He filled out the registration form, turned over his identification document, and was pleased that the key she gave him was not a plastic card but rather a real key, hanging from a heavy tassel.
His room was on the third floor on the side of the building that faced the valley. He went in, dropped his bag on the bed, and opened the window and shutters, letting light stream into the room. He stood for a few minutes taking in a view that was even better than that from Aunt Filomena’s terrace, though he wouldn’t tell her that. For a moment he thought of taking a picture with his phone and sending it off to Betta, but he remembered that Zeke was waiting downstairs. He would get a picture later—the vista begged to be photographed.
When he emerged from the elevator, he found Zeke talking with an imposing woman who wore loose jeans and a white blouse, both cinched by a belt of silver and turquoise. Strands of gray hair were visible under a dark wide-brimmed hat, and she held a carved walking stick topped by more silver and turquoise. For footwear it was high-end hiking shoes. Zeke looked up as Rick approached and the woman turned to appraise him.
“Adelaide, this is Rick Montoya, whom I was just telling you about. Rick, Adelaide Chaffee.”
She was still checking him out when Rick shook her hand. “Ms. Chaffee, it is my pleasure.”
“I hope you don’t think I look so aged that you can’t call me Adelaide.” She pressed on before Rick could react. “Father Zeke tells me you will be stepping in to take the place of that bounder Biraldo. I never should have recommended him. So we’ll have a New Mexican rather than an Italian guiding us in Italy. Somewhat ironic, I’d say. Well, I’m off to walk around the town before dinner. Not as healthy as hiking the Sandias, but it will give me my needed exercise. I like your boots, Rick. See you both later.” She took the first of her long strides toward the door.
“Nice to meet you, Adelaide,” Rick called after her. When she was outside, he turned back to Zeke. “Is everyone in your group like her?”
“No one is like Adelaide.”
“I felt like I was back on the Plaza in Santa Fe. All she was missing were pastel cowboy boots and a squash blossom necklace.”
“She’ll be wearing those at dinner.”
“Is there a Mr. Chaffee?”
“No, and I don’t think Adelaide ever married. She is accompanying her niece on this trip. She thought a spiritual experience might knock some sense into the girl, to use Adelaide’s phrase, so she talked her brother into sending Jessica along. She’s keeping the girl on a tight rein.”
“How old is Jessica?”
“She’s a sophomore at UNM. Photography major, so she’s always got her camera with her.”
“There’s a lot to photograph in Assisi, including the view from my room. Shall we go find our missing guide?”
“Absolutely. The desk clerk said the address was easy to find. Perhaps she can give us exact directions.” They walked to the reception desk.
“Yes, Padre?”
Zeke took a sheet of paper from his pocket and spread it on the counter. “You said this address was easy to find. Can you give us some specific instructions?”
“I can do better than that, Padre. Let me show you on a map.” She reached behind her and brought back a map of Assisi, which she unfolded in front of the two men. “The hotel is here.” She pointed with a pen and then made a mark while explaining the route. Her English was smooth but heavily accented.
“That should be easy,” said Rick. “How long will it take to get there?”
“Ten minutes. Perhaps fifteen.”
Rick took the map, folded it, and put it in his pocket. “Thank you very much.”
They got outside and Zeke said, “Why didn’t you talk to her in Italian?”
“First, so that you could understand what we were saying. But more importantly, when someone makes an effort to use a language other than their own, you have to encourage it.”
They stepped onto the street, which, like those of all ancient towns in Italy, had no sidewalk. It climbed sharply before they walked through the double arches of the Porta San Francesco. A set of tall wooden doors, held by massive hinges and studded with iron rivets, was pushed to the side, ready to slam closed with a crash if marauders were spotted in the distance. Today the invading hordes were not barbarians but tourists, and they were welcome. Assisi, as much as any city in Italy, was accustomed to this constant invasion. Since the thirteenth century, when word of the deeds of Francis began to spread, those who came were pilgrims wanting to walk and pray where the saint had walked and prayed. The city had its share of ancient ruins and famous art, but over the years it continued to be the saint that brought visitors. As if aware of the seriousness of its spiritual reputation, Assisi maintained an air of spirituality, helped by the number of religious institutions it hosted. Priests and nuns mixed with the tourists, and dressed as he was, Zeke fit right in.
As they walked, the two men updated each other on their lives since they’d parted ways more than a decade earlier. For Zeke it was the Marine Corps, seminary, a short stint in a parish in southern Arizona, and his recent assignment to the diocese of Santa Fe due to his college connection with New Mexico. He was hoping to be sent to a church in downtown Chicago.
“I think a Black priest could do some good work among the young people.”
“And being a very large and athletic Black priest certainly wouldn’t hurt,” Rick said. “I hope you get the assignment.” Rick recounted his odd jobs after getting a master’s degree and then starting his translation business in Albuquerque. The big leap had been when he decided that he could do better out of Rome, including branching into interpreting.
“What’s the difference?” Zeke asked.
“Translating involves the written word, interpreting the spoken. Two different skills, and I enjoy doing both things. One I do in my apartment with my laptop, and for the other I work at conferences or small group meetings. Like what I’ll be doing here.”
At the address Zeke had been given was a narrow two-story stone structure wedged between other buildings of the same height. Rick estimated its construction to be from the fifteenth century, but like so many adobe buildings in Santa Fe, it could have been built in the twentieth and made to appear old. It had a narrow door on one side, which he assumed opened to a stairway to a second-floor apartment. Most of the street level was given over to a small store with only a metal-and-glass display case to alert pedestrians as to what was on sale inside. The shop, which sold paper supplies, was just far enough from the cathedral and other sites that it catered to the locals rather than tourists. Zeke stood back while Rick pressed the button next to the smaller door. When there was no response, he rapped on the wood, in case someone upstairs might hear it. Zeke was lifting his large fist to give it a try when they heard a voice from the door of the shop.
“Rucola’s not there.” The woman wore a long gray apron which matched long gray hair done up in a bun. Reading glasses hung from a cord around her neck. She eyed Rick and Zeke as if they were attempting a break-in.
“We were actually looking for Ettore Biraldo,” said Rick in Italian.
“He lives in America.”
“In fact he is here in Assisi, or at least he arrived here yesterday.”
Rick’s comment elicited a scowl. The phone rang inside the store, and she gestured toward the door before turning and going back inside. Rick told Zeke what she’d said, and they went in after her. The shop was a combination stationery and toy store, its shelves behind the counter and under the glass case filled with pens, pencils, workbooks, greeting cards, backpacks, and games. A metal rack hanging just inside the door held postcards to tempt any lost tourists who might wander by. The woman was behind the counter now, but kept her eyes on Rick and Zeke as she talked on the phone.
Rick looked around the tiny space and said to Zeke, “There was a cartolaio like this near where we lived when I was a kid, and I loved going in. I still have some of the notepads from the place that I keep for sentimental reasons without using them. For my interpreting gigs, I always carry a pen and notebook, but now I get them at Vertecchi, a huge store in Rome. I can’t walk past their pen selection without buying one.” He pulled a pen from his pocket and was clicking it when the woman ended her conversation.
“If Biraldo is here in Assisi,” she said to Rick, “he might have been the one I heard yesterday afternoon. He owns the building.”
That got Rick’s attention. “So he stays upstairs when he’s in Assisi?”
“No, no. He rents it to Agostino Rucola. Maybe Rucola hadn’t paid his rent. That wouldn’t surprise me.” She glanced at Zeke who was perusing the postcards. “Doesn’t the padre talk?”
“He doesn’t speak Italian. He’s leading a group of American pilgrims on a trip to Italy. Biraldo was part of it, and he’s gone missing.”
She snorted. “That doesn’t surprise me either. Probably ran off with some woman. But I am surprised that a priest would allow the man to be part of his group.”
“You said you may have heard him yesterday?”
“Yes, there was a commotion upstairs just before I closed for the day, and I could hear Rucola shouting at someone.” She pointed toward the ceiling that was crisscrossed with dark wood beams. “At least I think it was Rucola, since I couldn’t make out the voices. The other person must have been Biraldo. He didn’t stop in here to see me, but of course I pay my rent regularly to the agency.”
Two boys, both about ten years old, came through the door and went to the glass counter, passing Rick and Zeke as if the two men were invisible. The kids stooped down, eyed a row of matchbox cars on the middle shelf, and began a whispered conversation. The woman shook her head. “They’ve been in here every other day for the last week, trying to decide which one of the cars to ask for as a birthday present.”
Rick bent over and looked past their heads at the cars. “Forget the Ferrari, take the Topolino,” he said, before turning back to the woman. “Thank you very much, Signora, we’ll leave you to take care of your customers.”
She held up her index finger. “I am not a gossip. I would not have said anything, but since you are with a priest, I trusted you. Do you understand?”
“I understand.”
“What did she say?” Zeke asked when they got back to the street.
“Your man owns the building, and she rents the store. The apartment above it is rented to a guy named Rucola, and she thinks she heard him and Biraldo arguing up there in the late afternoon yesterday. She did not seem to think much of Biraldo. She confirmed what you said about him being a ladies’ man. When I said he had gone missing, she thought he could be with a woman.”
Zeke sighed deeply. “I never should have allowed him on this trip.”
Rick didn’t mention that the woman had said that very thing. They started walking back to the hotel. In Assisi, one walked either up a hill or down; now they were going back down.
“She also said she wouldn’t have told me anything if I hadn’t been with a man of the cloth.”
“Really?”
“Yup. When did you start to exude that aura of spiritual authority? They didn’t teach that in Marine boot camp, did they?”
“At seminary. Spiritual Authority 101. Required course.”
Back at his room in the hotel, Rick hung up the few items from his duffel that needed hanging and extracted his laptop from its bag. The room’s furnishings could have been original, including a small writing desk that had the standard notebook of hotel services, a notepad, and pen, and now he set up his computer on it. He turned it on, typed in the hotel password, and signed in to his website email. There was only one new message since he’d checked it that morning in Rome, a request by a Milanese biology professor to translate a paper to be read at a conference in Warsaw. He had heard about Rick’s services from a colleague in another department at his university. Science was not a subject Rick enjoyed working with, but he could do it, and the deadline wasn’t until the end of the month. He typed in a quick reply. Then he called Aunt Filomena.
“It’s not a problem,” she said after he explained what was going on in Assisi and that he would be staying at the hotel that night. “I’m having dinner with a someone in town and was going to invite you along, but it is better that you are with your friend.”
He pictured a doting blue-haired woman, not nearly as sharp as Filomena, who would try to pry into his private life while calling him a dear. He had dodged a bullet.
“You can meet Eduardo another time,” she continued. “He’s a busy man, what with the bank and his real estate, but we see each other often.” Her phone buzzed. “That’s him calling now. Ciao, Riccardo.”
So much for the lonely maiden aunt. He got up and walked to the window while punching in another number. His uncle answered on the second ring.
“I trust you are enjoying Perugia, Riccardo.”
“After a lovely lunch with Filomena, very much so. But it turns out I’m now in Assisi and may be here for a while.” He gave Piero a brief rundown of the situation. “As a result, I’ve checked in to the hotel here and am at this moment looking out on a beautiful view of the upper Tiber River Valley. I’ll be meeting Padre Zeke downstairs in the bar so he can tell me about the people in the group.”
“Padre?”
“Didn’t I mention that my friend has become a priest?”
“A minor detail. But I thought all your compagni from the university were debauched and dissolute.”
“I thought so too. Zeke is quite a disappointment.”
Piero laughed. “I have to go. Give my love to Filomena when you next see her.”
Rick stowed his phone in his pocket and took another look at the view from his window. The sun was beginning to drop toward the horizon, and soon it would be shining directly into the room. He closed the louvered shutters but left the window open to allow outside air to circulate. No use turning on the room’s air-conditioning if it could be avoided. He picked up his room key and headed for the door.
Zeke was waiting for him in the hotel bar, a long rectangular room with tables lined up along the wall across from the counter. Two women sat at a far table sipping tea. Probably Brits.
“I just got here,” said Zeke. “What can I get for you?”
“No, this is on me. I think a cold beer would be in order, just like old times.”
“That sounds perfect. I’ve heard that Italian beer is good, and I haven’t had any yet. That walk up the hill worked up my thirst.”
Rick ordered from the bar and returned to take his seat. “It will be fun to be with a group of New Mexicans again. Tell me about them.”
Zeke sat back in his chair, clasped his hands together, and held them over his stomach. It struck Rick as a very priest-like gesture, and he wondered if his friend had picked it up at the seminary.
“Rick, I will try to be as subjective and nonjudgmental as I can. They are all essentially good human beings, but there have already been some clashes of personalities. Nothing serious, of course, but as you would imagine, these people are used to getting their way. I suppose that comes with wealth.”
“You can count on me to be discreet.”
The waiter arrived with two bottles of Peroni and two glasses, as well as a small dish of peanuts. He poured half of each bottle into each glass and departed.
“Here’s to old times,” said Rick, raising his glass.
“To old times. But it does seem strange that we’re not drinking directly from the bottle.” They tapped the glasses and took their first drinks. “And I do appreciate your discretion, Rick. In fact, I’ve been thinking how good it will be for me to have someone to talk to who is not part of the tour group. Even a priest has to be able to confide in someone occasionally.”
“I can’t hear your confession, Zeke, but I’ll be glad to listen to your gripes.”
“No gripes, really.” He took another sip. “This is quite good. I’ll have to order it at meals. Not that the wine is not excellent, of course, and someone in the group always orders some fancy bottle. But there’s nothing like a good cold beer. All right, our fellow New Mexicans. Let me start with Leon and Vicki Alameda. He has been very successful in construction and real estate in Santa Fe, both residential and commercial, including some buildings near the Plaza. They live in Las Campanas, and he plays golf there. He’s told me he is very interested in history, and has urged us to include some historical places on the itinerary along with the religious ones. Not that he isn’t a very pious man.”
“And his wife.”
“Vicki is somewhat different. Much younger than her husband and somewhat—how shall I say it?—somewhat flashy. Opposites attract, they say. No children.”
“Sounds like a trophy wife.”
“I would not want to characterize her in that way.”
“You being a priest.”
Zeke shrugged and had another swig of the Peroni. “The other married couple in the group are the Raels, Peter and Lillian. He’s an Albuquerque businessman, owns a research firm in the tech park near Sandia Labs. He doesn’t talk about what his company does, but of course it’s defense related like most of them in the tech park. He’s originally from Texas, and proud of it. Lillian is also from Texas and will tell you that she gave up a career to become a mother. I have not decided yet if she’s bitter about the decision or proud of it. Their kids are grown up and living on both coasts. They live in Tanoan.”
“That’s the gated community in the center of town with the golf course. So he must play golf, like Alameda.”
Zeke shook his head. “No, he’s a tennis player, and he and Leon have argued over that. Peter says golf is just a game for old men, while tennis is a real sport, for athletes. Leon points out that Tiger Woods has more muscles than most tennis players.”
“Perhaps the two just like to argue.”
“There may be something to that. It’s never become heated; they always pull back before it gets to that point.”
“Because there is a priest present?”
“That could be part of it.” He took a peanut. “Adelaide you met. She owns an art gallery and is a member of an old Santa Fe Anglo family that was in ranching for generations. The Chafees used their cattle money in the middle of the twentieth century to buy up property in Santa Fe. Very prescient on their parts, given what it is worth today.”
“And she’s the one who recommended Biraldo.”
Zeke nodded. “And as you heard from her, she now regrets it. Biraldo apparently talked her into importing some art from Italy to feature in her gallery. Perhaps it didn’t sell, or maybe there is some other reason the relationship soured. I don’t know and don’t want to ask.”
“What about her niece?”
“Yes, Jessica. A very pretty girl, but possibly spoiled too much by her father. Adelaide may have been correct in thinking that a spiritual experience would do her good, but the girl is suffering from withdrawal.”
“From drugs?”
“No, her cell phone. Her aunt insisted that she could not bring it on the trip. Adelaide didn’t want the girl constantly texting and staring at the small screen when she should be seeing great works of sacred art. Jessica’s father, who apparently makes all major decisions for his daughter, agreed. The poor girl was close to tears on the flight and the first day in Italy, but she’s starting to get used to it. She takes a lot of pictures with the fancy digital camera her father gave her for the trip.”
“It must also be difficult to be the only young person in the group.”
“Well, there is Chris Carson. He’s what you might call my administrative assistant, but his main job is driving the bus and getting the luggage on and off. Chris was an exchange student in Italy for a semester, so he speaks some Italian and has driven here before. Also, he is the son of a couple who have been very generous to the church. He’s just a few years older than Jessica.”
“Are they…?”
“Chris seems very interested, but she not so much, as far as I can tell.” Zeke drank the last beer from his glass. “So that’s the lot of them. I’m sure you will get along well with everyone.” He checked his watch. “The hotel will be serving our dinner at seven. That seemed a bit late to me, but the manager said they normally don’t open until seven thirty.”
“You’ll get used to it, Zeke.”
The priest looked over Rick’s shoulder toward the door. “You won’t have to wait until dinner, to meet Vicki Alameda. I can introduce you to her now.”
Rick sniffed the air, catching the unmistakable scent of Shalimar. Could it be?
He got up and turned around. Yes, it could.