Adrian D'Hage - The Omega scroll

‘You should have let me try, Ahmed,’ Yusef said angrily through his tears.

‘And have you dead, too?’

‘You don’t know that.’ Yusef spat the words at his brother. ‘Even poor little Muhammad tried to protect them!’

‘What will you do now?’ Ahmed asked, realising that it was not the time to argue the point.

‘What does it matter!’ Yusef stormed away, tears streaming down his cheeks, a hatred for the Israelis and a new hatred for his brother’s cowardice blazing in his heart.

With great sadness Ahmed watched him go. He sat beside his buried family trying to make sense of it all. He would not see his brother again for many, many years, and then only fleetingly in circumstances that no one could have predicted.

Tricarico and Milano

‘ B uona fortuna, Allegra!’

Tricarico’s top piazza was crammed with well-wishers and a huge banner had been hung from the old stone balcony of Bishop Aldo Marietti’s palace. News travelled fast through the hill towns and there was not a single villager for miles around who was not aware that the Vatican had selected Allegra for this singular honour.

‘The Holy Father has approved it, personally,’ La Signora Farini, leader of the ‘Will of God Brigade’, said to anyone who could hear her over the more than slightly out of tune town band that was playing with gusto. The music reached a crescendo as Tricarico’s only car driven by the portly Bishop Marietti inched its way through the crowd. Allegra’s father had taken the front seat and Allegra, her mother and her two oldest brothers were crammed into the back of the little Flavia. Nonna wiped away a tear while Giuseppe clung to Nonna’s faded black dress, waving vigorously, his curly black hair shining in the morning sun that bathed the craggy granite of the mountains surrounding Tricarico.

It took over an hour to travel the 20 kilometres to the valley below the village. Bishop Marietti was not renowned for his driving skill and he struggled to keep the little car on the rough mountain track that led to the train station on the single rail line that served hill towns such as Tricarico and Grissano.

‘We are all very proud of you, Allegra,’ Bishop Marietti said, as they climbed onto the small deserted platform. ‘You will be a wonderful ambassador for the Church.’

‘I won’t let you down, Bishop Marietti. I promise.’

Mamma wiped at her tears as Papa beamed. The mournful whistle of the Taranto-Napoli Express could be heard in the distance as the old locomotive struggled through the mountains further down the line. The ramshackle train arrived in a cloud of steam and the driver waited patiently during the seemingly endless ritual of hugs and kisses. The whistle echoed across the valley again and the train lurched forward.

‘ Arrivederci! Scriva presto! ’

As the train rounded a bend and the little group frantically waving on the siding disappeared from view, Allegra settled back into her empty compartment with its cracked leather seats and wire luggage racks, her mind in turmoil. A short while later the train slowed for a herd of goats on the track, nibbling at the weeds and in no hurry to get off. Allegra was oblivious to the heated exchange between the driver and the gesticulating, wizened goatherd that could be heard above the noise of the engine. She reflected on how hard it had been to leave home to join the convent across the ravine. Milano seemed like the other side of the world. The train lurched and she gazed out the window at the granite foothills and beyond them to the mountains of Basilicata, rebellion and excitement competing with sadness and acceptance. Accettazione and testarda.

With so many thoughts buzzing around her head, Allegra could not settle down and she spent the twenty-four-hour trip dozing fitfully. When Trenitalia’s overnight service from Napoli via Roma arrived at Milano’s Stazione Centrale adrenaline took over. She clambered down the carriage’s absurdly high steps and looked around for a Father Giovanni Donelli, the senior postgraduate student charged by the Vatican to meet her. It was seven in the morning and as Allegra stood on the platform she was faced with what seemed like thousands of people rushing to work. She wanted to take in everything at once – the people, the fashions, the warm glow of the cafes, the smells, the noise. She knew she was ready to take on the biggest challenge of her life and she scanned the crowd eagerly.

As if on cue, a ruggedly handsome priest materialised out of the melee. He was dark-haired and at 175 centimetres, just a little taller than Allegra.

‘ Buongiorno, Signora! ’ Allegra was immediately captivated by the warmth of the brilliant smile that lit up Giovanni’s tanned face, and his blue eyes held an irreverent sparkle that was infectious.

‘Sister Allegra Bassetti?’ he asked, extending his hand. ‘ Mi chiamo Giovanni Donelli. Benvenuta a Milano! ’

‘ Grazie, Father. You are very kind to have met me at such an early hour,’ Allegra replied shyly.

‘I know habits die hard, no pun intended, but you must get used to calling me Giovanni,’ he said, taking Allegra’s battered suitcase and guiding her through the crowd. The Piazza Duca D’Aosta was even more frenetic than the train station but it didn’t faze the taxi driver at all. The car horn had been installed to overcome that problem and they charged across Via Vitruvio towards Ca’ Granda, a short distance away in the historic centre of the city. Allegra’s eyes widened; from the single-car mountain town of Tricarico to Milano was a thrilling culture shock.

‘I’ll call by later tonight to see you’re OK,’ Giovanni said after he made sure Allegra was officially admitted to the university. ‘ E benvenuta di nuovo a Milano! ’

It did not take Allegra long to unpack her meagre belongings. With a mixture of trepidation and excitement, Allegra headed out to explore the busy grounds of the old university. Built in 1456 it had once been a hospital but now the Renaissance archways and lawn courtyards were home to the liberal arts faculties of Milano’s Universita Statale. Orientation week was in full swing and everywhere she looked there seemed to be students handing out brochures and pamphlets. Candidates for the Student Union, invitations to join anything from the Ca’ Granda Debating Society and book clubs to UNICEF. There was even a University Film Club and from the look of the upcoming attractions, Allegra decided that the Bishop of Tricarico could be more relaxed about the ‘men only westerns’. An hour later and overwhelmed by information Allegra headed through Ca’ Granda’s main stone archway towards Milano’s cathedral.

Il Duomo was only a short distance away and when she arrived Allegra stood for a time in the piazza, staring up at the vast cathedral in awe. Three and a half thousand statues adorned the roof and the stone walls, dominated by a 45-metre gold statue of the Madonna. Inside, the five aisles were separated by massive stone pillars and high above the space reserved for the choir, Allegra could see the small red light that marked the vault where, since 1841, a nail from the Cross had been secured. The world’s third largest church, after St Peter’s and the cathedral in Seville, it had taken over four hundred years to build.

Allegra had promised Nonna she would say prayers for the family, as Nonna had insisted that in Milano they would carry greater weight, and she sank to her knees in one of the pews, not far from the altar where Napoleon had been crowned King of Italy. Silently she mouthed the words, ‘Hail Mary, full of grace, the Lord is with you. Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb Jesus…’ Allegra asked her God to protect her family and to see her through the coming years of study. ‘Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners