The Museum of Things Left Behind. Seni Glaister

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СКАЧАТЬ in the scent of hops and tea while looking around to see who might be there to hear his news. He hung up his hat next to those of Mario Lucaccia and Giuseppe Scota and sauntered slowly, luxuriously, to the bar with affected patience and the quiet smile of a man who knows he has a story to share with a willing audience.

      He told his tale in the smallest detail, with only the tiniest embellishment, describing the onion-skin quality of the perfumed paper and the gold-leaf emblem of the royal stamps, his immediate ascent through Parliament Hall and his private audience with the president, who had read to him, word for word, in the flawless hissing articulation of the English language as if he himself had been raised among the British nobility.

      ‘Oh, yes, the president’s English is word-perfect. Not a thotthage in thite for the president.’ The postman mimicked a peasant’s pronunciation of the country’s second or third language, depending on the number of years they had been immersed in pursuit of a full and useful education.

      Remi continued to regale his audience with the contents of the letter, that none other than the royal Duke of Edinburgh, brother, he thought to the King himself or uncle to the Queen. One of the two. Anyway, a senior royal, certainly, who had set his sights on visiting their country, for he had heard such fine stories about it around the globe.

      Draining his cup of tea, and pushing it back across the bar, he waited for a refill. Immediately speculation was rife, and the topic of conversation bubbled across the bar and out onto the adjoining pavement, trickling to those standing at the mouth of the alley and across into the New Bar. It was as if Remi himself were being carried above the heads of the drinkers, a victorious matador at the annual Bull Fling. His words seeped through the New Bar, gathering a momentum and meaning all of their own as they were taken, doubled and passed on.

      By the time the president greeted his audience from the balcony there were very few who hadn’t heard one of the many unofficial versions of the extraordinary news.

CHAPTER 5

       In Which a President Addresses His Nation

      Angelo, Sergio’s chief of staff, had masterfully managed to intercede just in time to pull the president back from the potential error of donning full military uniform. However, Sergio’s smart black suit was decorated with a scattering of medals to add a sense of sobriety to the occasion. As the president slid open the long windows of his sitting room and stepped onto his balcony, he felt his mood lifted by the formality of the occasion and the splendour of pageantry. Behind him filed Angelo, Mario Lucaccia, the minister for the exterior, and his ten other senior ministers who now fanned out at either side of him. They stood to attention, their arms straight at their sides, their feet shoulder-width apart, as was the custom when the president made any public address.

      Despite the dull spring day and the ceaseless drizzle, a curious crowd had assembled in Piazza Rosa, propelled by the contagious enthusiasm of Remi the postman. By the time the president had taken his position, at least fifteen hundred people were gathered in the piazza. As he approached the front of the balcony, the onlookers allowed their conversation to peter out and turned instead to fix their eyes on him.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen, serfs and servants,’ Sergio began, using the protocol that had been introduced by his father. ‘Today is a day that has been much anticipated but always expected. A day when, finally, the rest of the world has decided to look kindly upon our statedom.’ Here, Sergio looked up from his notes and, with all the confidence of a gifted orator, spoke from his heart. ‘A day that marks a turning point in our history and is, perhaps, the end of the beginning of our history and the start of the middle.’ Losing his drift, he returned quickly to the notes. ‘A day when I have had pressed into my hand by our very humble servant Remi, the postman, a letter that bears the royal insignia of the British Isles and Her Majesty’s Great Britain.’

      Here, he held up the letter, as if, from one storey below, the audience might be able to read for themselves the contents. With one arm raised high, he thrust his chest forward, allowing his deep baritone to ricochet off the piazza buildings, which provided natural amplification to the row of basic microphones in front of him. He drew a breath, then announced grandly, ‘It is my very great privilege to inform you that we shall be receiving a noble visitation from Britain’s far shores. No less than the royal Duke of Edinburgh himself shall begin a month-long tour of our humble state on June the fifth of this year. I therefore declare that the four days preceding the visit, from June the first to June the fourth, will be devoted to preparation. I ask that you all join me and my government to ensure that we come together to use this opportunity to showcase our country not just to Britain and Europe but to the rest of the world.’ Sergio paused, then continued, ‘June the fifth, when our royal visitor will arrive, will be marked by a day of celebration. We shall have just enough time to fortify some wine and fatten some pigs.’

      At this, the susurrus of assent could be heard. General calls to celebration were open to misinterpretation, but specific detail – permission, they gathered, to turn a goodly portion of their wine reserves into something a little stronger – they could interpret very clearly. As the men turned to each other to discuss the specifics, Sergio became aware that he had lost their attention. ‘Carry on!’ he bellowed into the microphones, then retreated to his rooms.

      Inside, he brushed the raindrops off his jacket and started to address his men. Angelo dropped into a chair to take notes and began scribbling.

      ‘Right, men. This is an opportunity for you to shine. First, we must form a committee. It will meet once a week until our preparations are well under way, then daily, of course, for the first crucial days of June. Agreed. Now, we’ll need you, Roberto, to look after the budget for the event. Perhaps we’ll form a separate working group to deal with the finer details.’ Roberto Feraguzzi nodded. ‘And you, Enzo, I’ll need you to ensure the first-flush tea is harvested and ready for consumption.’ Enzo Civicchioni grinned enthusiastically, patting his pockets for a non-existent pen with which to take notes that he’d only later mislay. ‘And you, Alix, you have a crucial role to play – that of national security. I cannot stress heavily enough the gravity of the situation. I suggest we are on Code Red between now and our visitor’s safe departure. Agreed?’ Alixandria Heliopolis Visparelli saluted smartly. ‘Mario Lucaccia, you are, of course, essential to proceedings, as minister for the exterior. What finer opportunity than this to showcase our country to the outside world? You, likewise, Settimio. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for you to realize some of your goals, touristically speaking. Giuseppe Scota, you may not think there is much of a part for an education minister to play but I see you as vital in bringing the students to the occasion. Exclude them at your peril.’

      ‘Of course,’ agreed Scota, already dreaming of the opportunities this might afford some of his older students.

      Sergio continued, ‘Decio, there are many aspects of your role that will come into play. I want you in from the start. We’ve got health and safety to consider, not to mention the ongoing physical health of our visitor. I want absolutely no illness lurking to sabotage proceedings. You must see to it that everyone is well, understood?’ Dottore Decio Rossini smiled and agreed.

      ‘Vlad, I want you to work with Giuseppe Scota. Education and employment go hand in hand, as always.’ He scanned the room full of expectant faces. ‘Pompili and Cellini. This is your moment. This will be the best festa in the history of Vallerosa. You understand? That is a command.’

      The two men nodded gravely.

      ‘And I’ll need you, Rolando, on board too. Detail, detail, detail. Proper planning will prevent a poor performance, yes?’

      ‘Yes, СКАЧАТЬ