Return to Umbria David Wagner (english novels for students TXT) 📖

“Sure. And we can ask how to get back to the hotel.”

“I’ll buy the coffee, you ask the directions.”

***

Darkness dropped into the streets of Orvieto, and with it the traffic and noise subsided. The town, as it did each evening, eased back to its medieval past, but with electric street lamps rather than torches attached to the stone buildings. Only the occasional Vespa ruined the effect. Rhonda Van Fleet was surprised that the street she walked was still familiar after all these years. A storm sewer cover in the shape of a lion was there, as was the ironwork gate guarding the entrance to a building near the corner. Nothing changed much in Italy, which made it so fascinating, so comforting.

Despite the familiar surroundings, she didn’t feel comfortable. Was this a good idea? Agreeing to meet tonight? She slowed her walk and almost turned back. Francine and Gina would already be at the villa, having a glass of amaretto on the patio. Perhaps she should catch the bus and join them. She shook her head. No, absolutely not—this was why she’d come back to Italy. It wasn’t just the place, the town. It was the people. And everything was going according to plan. She reviewed again their agreement to meet that evening. Rhonda had suggested the bar, one of her favorite hangouts from those days, and was pleased to find it was still there. Again, nothing changes.

She rounded the corner and saw that something had changed. On both sides of the doorway round lights hung from metal brackets, lighting the arched entrance to the wine bar. They looked ancient, and perhaps they were, but they had not been there thirty-five years earlier. It had been a running joke with her compagni that the place was so sleazy the owners didn’t want anyone finding it. Clearly the proprietors had chosen to go more upscale. She hesitated again before reaching to open the door, but this time the unease passed quickly. It disappeared completely when she stepped inside; Enzo’s interior had not changed.

The tables looked the same—small and round, with metal-backed stools squeezed around them. The bar lined the right side of the rectangular room, its dark wood surface showing the same nicks and circular glass marks, larger scratches at floor level thanks to years of scuffing. She didn’t see Enzo, but the present occupant of the space behind the bar looked the same, maybe a son or nephew. And the glasses stood on their same shelf, above a row of uncorked bottles. It had been the cheapest place in Orvieto for wine by the glass; perhaps it still was. There was something, though, that wasn’t the same. It came to her as she took her first deep breath just inside the door. It was the smell. Italian anti-smoking laws, which nobody back then even considered, had changed the atmosphere from hazy to clear. Gone was the acrid smell of tobacco, usually cheap tobacco, that everyone had smoked then, including Rhonda.

She was still standing at the doorway when a hand drew her arm. The voice behind it was calm and soothing.

“Rhonda, let’s go somewhere less crowded.”

Later, the two stood on a deserted street at the edge of the city, staring over the wall into the darkened valley below. Rhonda had not spoken for several minutes, her thoughts as dark as the night which had closed in on Orvieto.

The two figures huddled in the darkness of an alley while sirens wailed in the streets around them. The smell of explosives hung in the damp air.

“How could you have let this happen?”

“Things sometimes don’t go according to plan, Rhonda. Things go wrong.”

“That’s all you can say? Things go wrong? He believed in the cause and he believed in you, and that’s all you can say?”

“He knew the risks, and you did too.”

“I never thought there was a chance Luca would die.”

“We all die eventually. His time came early.”

She turned her head and pressed it against the cold stone. The sobs started to convulse her entire body, bending it into a fetal crouch. The man looked down at her with disgust.

“It’s clear that you weren’t cut out for the revolution, Rhonda. Go back to America.”

She turned from the darkness and looked him squarely in the face. “Do you still think about that day?”

“It’s ancient history, Rhonda. I’ve moved on, and I assume everyone else has as well.”

“I’m trying to do that. It’s why I made this trip and sought you out, to put it all behind me. But instead of helping to heal, it’s opening the scar, reminding me what I was like those many years ago, and how it all changed in an instant. I didn’t just lose Luca, I lost my idealism.”

“What are you going to do now?” He was staring intently at her.

“That last time we saw each other you said I should go back to America. That’s what you’d like me to do now, I’m sure of that. But I’ve returned. It took all this time, but I’ve returned. This will be my last visit to Orvieto, so I intend to make the most of it.”

Chapter Four

It was a warm and clear morning, and the hotel staff had moved breakfast outside to the rooftop terrace. Rolls, fruit, jellies, and yogurt were arranged on a long table close to the glass doors, and a uniformed waitress shuttled coffee and hot milk from the kitchen to the tables set up on the paving stones. Only a few speckled rays from the new sun peeked over the rooftops to bother the guests, and potted white and red flowers at the edge of the terrace gave off pleasant scents that mixed with the aroma of coffee. The view directly across the street was another building, but there was just enough of an angle so that most tables could see the top of the cathedral. Rick stepped from the doorway, fresh from his morning