‘First.’
‘Then it looks most appropriate.’
‘ Appropriate. Va bene. I am in possession of an appropriate dress.’ She undresses and steps into it. ‘The hand is a woman’s right hand, severed at the wrist. All the carpal bones have been cut. Cut very badly. It wasn’t a clean dismemberment at all.’ She puts the fingers of her left hand against the wrist of her right hand. ‘It was hacked off. The first blow came here, near the thumb area. The second was made from higher, above the top of the wrist, parallel to the knuckles. I suspect the arm was turned back and more chops attempted from the first area below the thumb, until finally the hand separated rather raggedly from the wrist. Nasty. Very bloody and nasty.’ She pulls out two pairs of shoes from the bottom of the locker ‘Stilettos or pumps? What do you think?’
11
The easyJet plane from Paris into Rome Ciampino arrives late. It hits the tarmac just before five p.m., or almost seventeen hundred hours, as Valentina has grown accustomed to calling it.
It takes twenty-five minutes for Tom to clear customs and baggage control, and when he appears she almost doesn’t recognise him.
He’s dressed in a brown leather jacket, ribbed brown sweater, faded blue jeans and smart brown cowboy boots. His hair is much longer than she remembers, and unless she’s mistaken, his chiselled face is shadowed with a hint of designer stubble.
Tom can’t see her.
She’s hidden in a dense crowd of expectant families and taxi drivers holding signs with the names of businessmen they’re picking up.
‘Tom! Tom!’
His head turns. Now he spots her.
He swings his suitcase her way and within seconds she throws her arms around him and buries her head against his face. He squeezes her tight and then holds her by the waist like he’s admiring a giant bouquet of flowers. ‘You look amazing. Wow! I bet you’re the hottest capitano the Carabinieri have ever seen.’
‘ Grazie.’ She strikes a pose for him and smiles. ‘And you look good too. But what happened? Someone take a punch at you?’
Tom looks embarrassed. ‘A long story.’ He points to her mouth. ‘I could say the same. Have you been brawling with your new bosses?’
She touches her face self-consciously. ‘ Sono stupido. A prisoner hit me with her head.’ She slaps a palm on her forehead. ‘She just went crazy in her cell. I’ll tell you in the car.’
The traffic isn’t good and the journey from Ciampino on the south of the city to Valentina’s apartment off Via Annia Faustina gives them plenty of time to catch up on things. She tells Tom all about the strange happenings the previous night in Cosmedin, and he tries to explain his bruises and busted lip.
‘So you have some money to spend on me,’ says Valentina mischievously. ‘I think tonight you can pay for dinner. It can be your punishment for behaving like some drunken teenager.’
Tom protests that he was championing the cause of vulnerable French youths against a seasoned bully, but somehow the reasoning doesn’t seem as sensible as it did last night.
Valentina squeezes the little Fiat into a gap between a Smart car and an old Ford Fiesta that looks like it’s never been washed. She links Tom’s arm and leads him through an iron gate in a long brick wall that cordons off her apartment block.
One set of stairs later, she opens the front door to her tiny apartment and instantly wishes she’d made more of an effort to tidy up.
‘Nice,’ says Tom, ‘small but very nice.’
‘Liar. It’s horrible.’ She abandons her jacket and handbag and heads straight to her treasured DeLonghi coffee machine. ‘Are all ex-priests bad liars?’
‘It’s possible,’ he concedes, standing by her settee, not sure what to do with his suitcase.
She switches on the machine and smiles at him. ‘Now we’re inside, I have something to ask you.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You need to come over here to answer it.’
Tom drops his jacket over the case and steps into the kitchen area. She puts a finger gently to his damaged lip, almost as though she’s inspecting it. ‘Is your mouth too sore to kiss me a proper hello?’
‘A proper hello?’
She doesn’t let him prevaricate any longer. She tilts her head and gently kisses him. The unharmed corner of her lips touches the unharmed corner of his. A kiss as light as the fluttering wings of a butterfly.
Neither of them close their eyes. It’s like they’re watching each other unwrap long-awaited presents.
Tom’s hands find her waist.
She lets the tip of her tongue run sensually along the length of his dry lip.
The contact is minimal but electrifying.
They press together, so close they can feel nothing but the warmth of each other.
Somewhere in the room her phone rings.
Valentina tries to ignore it.
Tom slowly kisses the side of her neck.
She goes weak at the knees.
The phone trips to the answering function. ‘This is Lieutenant Assante – Federico. I tried your cell phone and left a message. Forgive me calling your home, but we have an incident at the hospital with the woman we arrested. I really need to talk to you urgently. If you can’t reach me, it may be because I’m already leaving for the pysch unit and I don’t have hands-free in my car. Ciao.’
12
I am blessed by Her now.
Blessed by Mother.
In death She became life so that in ashes I may become spirit.
The spirit of Mother and those of my sisters are with me.
Henceforth they will always be with me and I with them.
This is how it is meant to be – how it was written – how it will always be. We are followers of the Great Books and writers of the future. Their word is our truth and our words are the truth of their tomorrows.
My sisters lead me through the darkness to Her house, to the great temple that lies at the magical confluence of three pathways in a womb-shaped clearing.
It is gated above ground and guarded below by the Galli.
I can hear drumming, dancing and chanting as we enter.
The Korybantes pound spears against shields and stir the air with their nimble steps.
A deep thumping beat flows through the bodies of all those gathered. We are touched by the unseen.
Mother has become the rhythm.
Mother the heartbeat.
She becomes the air and penetrates our skin.
She flows through our blood and our organs and makes us quiver with Her power.
My heart trembles as Her sound presses into me.
Mother is invisible, like the start of the rain.
Mother is all powerful, like the pull of the ocean.
Mother cleanses and renews us throughout our life and our death.
The sisters of the mortal world look frightened.
