Episode 1 (start)          Episode 14 (next)            Info         Use Search for other Episodes 

Short Fat Stubby finger Stories Presents

Episode 13

Feeling much better following the exposure to the fresh air Joseph climbed the final steps and made his way into the foyer of the Café De Monde.

   The effects of the strange events that had taken place back at the office were quickly wearing off, and Joseph was starving as he made his way to the reception desk expecting to be advised that his permanently pre-booked single seat table was awaiting his presence and would he care for his usual order, but he was surprised to be told that he had company waiting for him and as a result he had been allocated a table for two rather than the single seat table where he usually sat.   A waitress was called to the reception desk and directed to take Joseph to his new table.   Joseph had asked the receptionist who was waiting for him, but all he received in reply was a knowing smile.

   Joseph was disappointed to have lost the table he normally occupied, a space in the busy restaurant he had always considered to be the perfect position for his needs.  He preferred the balcony to sitting inside.   It felt less confined than inside: the air was fresher there: it was protected from the sun by the balcony from the apartment above and where he sat he was too far from the rails to be affected by rain should it fall before they got the protective blinds in place.   Situated beside the entrance to one of two doorways that led into the restaurant proper, the table was shaded and gave him the peace and quite he preferred.    Diner’s passing through the doorway would hardly even notice him there, his back to the wall, his face hidden behind the various coloured shrubs sitting proudly in the large decorative pot plants that guarded the entrances on either side, as he dined on his food, drank his latte, read through the newspaper and annihilated a scratch-it-card with an over active fingernail.  

   But today Joseph’s mind was in some bafflement as to who could possibly want to meet up with him … he didn’t actually know anybody that was likely to turn up unexpectedly – he didn’t actually know anybody who would want to turn up if they were invited.   It was not like he had a normal social life where he would tell all and sundry where he dined each day and expect somebody to occasionally join him of their own free will.   Social involvement was the last thing he wanted at the best of times … never mind during his lunch break.   In truth, Joseph just didn’t have any friends … nor did he want them.  He was happy enough in his own company, and would remain that way until somebody very special came along … and he doubted very much that was going to happen in the near future.   He wondered if it was somebody from the orphanage.   But why they would go to all this trouble was beyond him.   They could contact him at the office if they needed to speak to him – after all, every thing about him was on the orphanage records.

   As Joseph’s mind tried its best to understand what was going on he suddenly realised the waitress had been speaking to him.

   “I’m sorry, what did you say?”  Joseph asked belatedly.

   “The lady what said that you were expecting her – that’s her over there.”  She said, pointing a finger in an obscure direction over Joseph’s shoulder as she spoke.

    Joseph turned, but got a shock when he saw not one, but four two-seat tables appearing about fifty feet from where he stood … and three of them were occupied by women … all of which were singular occupants of their respective tables.   “Which one?” he asked as he turned back, but his words were falling on deaf ears as the waitress, who had absolutely no idea which one the woman was, only which table she was sitting at, but for reasons unknown had decided to keep that detail to herself, had already peeled off and was fast making her way back to the reception desk.

   Joseph watched as she disappeared through the open glass doors into the café proper, and realised that he had now found a new problem to deal with as he returned his gaze to the three tables he had to choose from.  

   He remembered that the waitress had said it was a young woman which meant that he could eliminate the middle aged woman that occupied the closest table, but he still had two more to choose from … and they were both young.   And to make matters worse for him, the two women were seated at tables side by side which meant that he could clearly see their faces, but he did not recognise either one of them.

   Joseph still had another twelve or fourteen paces to reach either table and attempted to use the precious little time he had left to try and identify the right table by means of deduction before he got too close and ran the risk of embarrassing himself, despite the fact that he had no idea how he would so … he just hoped his intuition would automatically kick in.

   He selected the girl seated at the table on the right first.   She was around eighteen or nineteen, Joseph estimated as he did his best to emulate a combination of Sherlock Holmes and Poroit.   ‘Perhaps a baby-faced early twenties?’ he wondered.   Thought her face pretty, but pale, though not unhealthy, and perhaps a shade too much rouge and lipstick had been applied, but it did her no real injustice.   Her clothing suited her even though it was off the rack from one the large chains.   Though sitting, she appeared slim, but not too thin, and judging by what he could see of her legs without staring, she appeared to be tall.   And, finally, he noticed the long slender fingers that indicated a strong possibility of artistic capabilities; however the broken nail on the index finger of her right hand indicated work of, possibly, a more physical nature.   Joseph shook head at the futility of his actions,   ‘This was ridiculous.”.  He thought to himself, “What am I doing … conducting a fashion show, writing some bizarre Raymond  Chandler chic lit .   I have no idea what I am doing, but what am I going to do.   Just walk up to the tables and ask which one of them it was that I am supposed to be meeting?   It is, however, likely to be the only way that I will be able to resolve this problem, but it is a rather unsatisfactory way seeing as I then have to tell one of them that I am not the right person anyway.”

   Joseph then turned his attention to the other young woman for no particular reason other than the fact that he had lost his concentration talking to himself and now found himself walking directly towards her.   And as he got closer he began to notice the young woman in more detail.    Her features were a bit indistinct at first as she had her head turned downwards to sip at her drink, but as she raised her head upwards his heart began beating uncontrollably at the sight of this incredibly beautiful stranger that sat patiently at the table; ‘Beautiful,’ he corrected himself, ‘she was more than beautiful: she was stunning.’   To his eyes her face was perfection itself.    It was the eyes that he first noticed: eyes that were flirtatious, dangerous and innocent simultaneously.  Then the tanned skin that reeked of Mediterranean beach-side colouring, and her hair: her gorgeous long dark hair that ran down over her slender shoulders, reached almost the complete length of her back before curling upwards in a massive wave enriching the image of a sensual golden princess in the form that Disney presented to a waiting world in every fairy tale movie he ever made.      

   And to complete the image of a beautiful, rich, intelligent woman; a woman totally confident within her own mind; the young woman was dressed in an outfit which, even to Joseph’s meagre knowledge of women’s clothing, appeared to have been commissioned from a catalogue that was only usable by the top ten percent in the world’s money list.  

   But she too failed to deliver a sublime message to him simply by her presentation … then suddenly Joseph began having a change of mind as he had an idea that this was the one he was to meet, becoming more certain in his mind by the minute that it would be this one … because he was absolutely certain that he had not a thing in the world that would be of use to her.   For her, this would truly be a case of mistaken identity … and there was no doubt that somebody would pay for the error.    He only hoped she would be reasonably easy going on Marilyn, because he was now certain that it had been Marilyn who had incorrectly set up this mistaken rendezvous.

   Then three steps from both tables the young woman of the indeterminable age on the right looked up and smiled a welcoming smile, and began to rise out of her chair.   And as she did so Joseph began to turn his footsteps and a reciprocal smile towards that table, and he may have continued with his intentions had it not been for the well built young man who, in two strides, overtook him on his right hand side and reached out for the now standing woman and pulled her into a passionate embrace.  

   Joseph was quick to realise that he had misread things just then and knew his instinct had been right.   He gritted his teeth in anticipation of how this would go and stopped but inches from the table on the left as the beautiful young woman looked up and broke into the most heart wrenching smile possible and also stood up and placed her long, tender hand toards his.  “Hello, James,”   The young woman’s low, sultry Italian accent nearly melting him as she reached out with her hand, “I am Rosetta.” 

   Joseph looked at the girl.  ‘She is absolutely stunning’, he thought to himself.   The young woman could easily have been mistaken for a model, such was her presence, however, she was not on the catwalk; she was here, at his table, and Joseph was both stoked and confused at her being there, but he knew for certain she was there by mistake, and he had no doubt that the error would be picked up by her within seconds.  Joseph sighed and moved forward expecting the inevitable apology from her as she got up to leave, but as their hands touched Joseph felt a new sensation flowing through him.  A feeling he could not ever remember having had before: Joseph felt instantly betwixt by this beautiful young woman in a way he never knew could exist.   It felt wonderful.   It felt weird.

   Joseph was confused by the way his mind was working.  It hadn’t taken him long to realise this was a case of mistaken identity, but he was surprising himself with his delight in being in this situation.  Although he knew that the meeting and greeting would soon be finished and the truth of the matter revealed to her, Joseph found himself enjoying her company to the point he didn’t want to cut her loose with the truth straight away. 

   ‘Surely a minute or two more couldn’t cause too much of a problem, then I will reveal the truth to her.’ His heart argued with his conscience as Joseph released the young woman’s hand and settled himself into his chair.   But Joseph’s conscience, backed and aided by his moral ethics programming, won the internal bickering immediately and he snapped out of his thought process just as quickly as he had slipped into it.  ‘If this was an error; a case of mistaken identity, then both Rosetta and whoever she was supposed to meet needed to be together much more than she needed to be at my table pandering to my bloated ego, he had argued with himself’.  The ego gene accepted defeat and the conscience and moral programming departments of Joseph’s brain decided the matter was now closed and all that remained was to find a soft, easy way of pointing out to her that she had come to the wrong table. 

   She would depart gracefully, he envisioned, albeit; apologetically, perhaps, unfortunately, a tad embarrassed and Joseph immediately felt sorry that she would have to endure that situation, ‘But it can’t be easily avoided’, he thought,  “Once she had left the table I will simply will get back to my mundane routine, though, perhaps with a drop of selfish sorrow.”

   “I’m sorry,” Joseph replied softly, and slightly nervously as he made his first move to clear the air with the facts, “my name is Joseph, not James.  Do I know you?

   “My apologies, Joooooooooseph!” she purred, flashing him a coy smile.  “I forgot.  Martin said that you might use a different name.”

   A quizzical look crossed Joseph’s face.  This was not the way the script was supposed to play out,’ he thought.  ‘I’ve told her my name and it was obviously not the name she had expected, so why is she so ready to accept the name change?   A worrying thought began to cross Joseph’s mind … ‘Was this some kind of set up?  Was he being set up for something illegal?’  He wondered.

   Rosetta’s smile suddenly changed to a look of genuine concern as she misread the meaning for the facial meanderings that were taking place on Joseph’s face as his vivid imagination began taking over rationality, “We are safe here aren’t we?” Rosetta’s voice had suddenly dropped from a pleasant, almost seductive tone to an agitated whisper: Joseph could sense panic forming in her voice and now he was becoming even more concerned about what he was becoming involved in. “Martin assured me that we could talk freely here.” Rosetta stated firmly, but her tone did not carry a lot of confidence in her own words.

   “I am sorry, Rosetta, but I haven’t got a clue what you are talking about.   I am sure you are at the wrong table.   I wasn’t actually expecting anybody.”   A perplexed Joseph objected, his voice soft, relaxed, but still questioning her words as he looked around for a hidden camera or microphone: Joseph’s mind was beginning to wonder if he was being set up for some Candid Camera type television show where somebody suddenly jumped from behind a pot plant and yelled ‘Gotcha!’, or something just as embarrassing, at the top of their voice.   “I don’t know any Martin.  I am only a clerk down at Johnson’s Import and Export.   Perhaps you could tell me who you are, and what you and this Martin, want?”   

   “Oh, you are good!” she replied, misinterpreting Joseph’s eye movements, “Where are they?” she whispered.

   “I really think that you may have the wrong table,” Joseph inadvertently offered a shade too sharply.   He was becoming increasingly frustrated with this conversation, now seriously doubting that his luck had improved, to the point where he was actually beginning to feel the opposite.   He had to find a way to convince her that he wasn’t whoever she thought him to be.

   All he had originally wanted when he had first arrived was his food, some coffee and some peace and quiet.  Now he would settle just for some peace and quiet … even if she was stunningly gorgeous; the most sensuous, beautiful thing that had ever entered his dull and monotonous life.   He knew she had to go to be with whoever she was supposed to be with, but things were taking steps in directions he was not expecting and he had no idea how to deal with them.   Never mind find a subtle way of breaking contact with her. 

   Sensing that something was wrong, Rosetta decided to change tact. ‘Perhaps they were being watched, despite Martin’s assurances.’ she wondered.  “Joseph, Martin said you could help me retrieve some items that … how should I say it?  They may have been relocated by a well meaning, but interfering party.   He assured me you were the right person for the job, but he said with your workload I may have trouble convincing you.  I am sorry, Joseph, but I don’t know what I have to say to get you to help me except to say, Please.”

    “Me?” Joseph asked in astonishment, and then shuddered inwardly when he saw the tears glistening in her eyes.  Rosetta’s words and sudden display of emotion distracted Joseph’s thought pattern so much he momentarily became a victim of his own imagination and took his place in the ongoing events seriously.   Something in the young woman’s tone was tugging at Joseph’s heart-strings.  Although he saw no validity in the strange conversation, to his way of thinking something was upsetting the young woman.   He had no idea just who she thought he was, or what he could do for her, but he decided to play along, at least for the moment until he could find a way out without causing embarrassment, or pain to her.  Joseph knew that he could not handle the situation if she started to cry … and that was what she was threatening to do as far as he was concerned. 

   In an instant he decided that if he got her to explain what was going on, then perhaps he could find someway of giving her a bit of advice without hurting her feelings and then she might leave him alone, or detect him as a fraud.   But she would need to hurry up.  He was on his lunch break – not a rostered day off.   If he was late getting back again he was sure to be in trouble with senior management.    

   Conveniently, a young couple seated a few tables away to Joseph’s right got up to leave and as they vacated the space they had been occupying Joseph was surprised to notice three men, obviously of middle eastern origin, who had been hidden from view by the young couple also rise and depart the restaurant.   Joseph took advantage of the situation.   He looked in their direction for a couple of seconds, two fingers covering his lips before returning to face Rosetta.  

   “I’m sorry.  I was a bit uncertain – still it is better to be prudent; it seems safe now.  Please go on.”

Rosetta had turned to look where Joseph was facing and her face immediately relaxed, and once again it was emblazoned by a beautiful smile.

   “Grazia, Joseph!  I am sorry … I had no idea they were there.   I don’t know where to begin.”   

   From out of the blue Joseph came up with a plan, a plan he was certain would be of mutual benefit to them both.   “Well, perhaps the beginning would be the best place … ,” Joseph suggested with a soft smile, ‘as they say in the movies.” – Then threw his ‘plan’ into action.   “Rosetta, before you do go on, there is something that I must say to you.”

   “Yes, Joseph?”   Rosetta asked, uncertain what Joseph was going to say.

   “Rosetta,”   Joseph spoke softly and friendly, putting Rosetta at ease with his gentle tone, “there was somebody that I was supposed to meet here, who may or may not have arrived.   However, I was not given a name, or a description other than she was very beautiful.    You certainly meet that description, actually you meet it in excess of the description,” he said with a smile, “but to make certain that we are both talking about the same problem may I suggest that you begin to tell me the reason why you are here, and should your problem not seem to match up with the limited information I have been given I will cut you short and we will go our separate ways and try to meet up with whomsoever we were supposed to meet.   Is that agreeable?”

   “Thank you, Joseph,” Rosetta replied, her face slightly flushed as a result of his unexpected compliment, “and, yes, that would be a marvelous idea … though I would be disappointed if you weren’t the right one.”   Rosetta added with a coy smile.   Joseph realised that she was flirting with him, but he had no idea why … and it took him some effort in order to not react to it.   He knew that he very well may have under other circumstances, but considering what his intentions in regards to their future relations were he considered it inappropriate for the occasion.

   “Then please go on.”   Joseph’s voice was soft and confident, but inwardly he felt a strange sensation knowing that his plan might actually be going to work.   Now all he had to do was keep his ears open for something she said that he could say was not what he had been expecting.   Once that happened he could make up a story about what he had been expecting her to say which would be far different from her tale, they would agree that they were not who the other had been expecting, apologise to each other and go their separate ways.

   “The story is not that easy, Joseph, but I will try.”  Rosetta began, “My father, Antonio Tuscanni, is a renowned amateur archaeologist in my country, and a fully qualified professor in that field, as well as coming from a very well respected, and extremely wealthy, Italian family.   It was due to his being so financially well off that allowed him to spend most of his life on his passion for archaeology.   A few months ago, somewhere overseas, in the Middle East I think it was … I get a little vague where he is most times, he changes countries so often.   I’m sorry for becoming distracted … it just that what happened worries me so much. ”

Joseph, who was listening intently to every word that came out of Rosetta’s mouth as he looked for his plan’s escape clause, became a bit worried as Rosetta’s eyes again threatened to dispense tears.   He automatically reached out with both hands, clenching hers to give her comfort and support.  It was the only way he knew how to deal with the possible problem her crying may cause and hoped she wouldn’t react the wrong way to his honourable intention.   However he needn’t have worried.   Rosetta, seemed pleasantly surprised by his action, smiled and composed herself mentally as quickly as she could, but she made no move to untangle their hands which, in turn, surprised and confused Joseph who had been expecting a quick retraction.   “Grazie, Joseph,”   Rosetta offered with a soft, personal smile.  “I am fine now.   I will get back to the story and try to stay there.”   Then to add to Joseph’s growing discomfort and confusion, Rosetta gave his hands a quick squeeze before she continued with her story … her hands not leaving his … and Joseph, reservedly, made no attempt to remove his.

   “My father” Rosetta began, “came across a discovery of immense value to those that are interested in such items and …” Rosetta paused for a second and took a deep breath, “also to those that still believe in pagan gods.”   

   Joseph’s eyes lit up with interest at the unexpected direction that the conversation had begun to take, however his ‘plan’ was quickly becoming unstuck because he knew right then and there that he should speak up and dismiss her story as different to his.   But all thoughts of revealing the truth of the mistaken identity situation disappeared momentarily, as did the need to physically place her with the man who still awaited her arrival at his table, wherever he may be sitting.   Joseph found himself becoming hooked on the adrenaline rush that was taking place in his veins, and he was finding difficulty in abandoning the young woman at his side until he heard more of her intriguing story in the remote hope that he could help her in some way.

   “The sheer value of them,” Rosetta continued, “made a public acknowledgement of their discovery out of the question at this stage.   Many small museums would have had little interest in having items with such a high-risk value on their premises – and the bigger museums might also be hesitant because of the risk of theft, so he had to be meticulous in his choice of museums to offer his findings to.   On the other hand, some collectors are renowned for their unscrupulous methods of obtaining such an item for their collection, so it would not have been prudent to bring the findings to their attention.   And finally there are the Punjani.”

   “The Punjani?”   Joseph asked quizzically.

   “My father told us a little about them in an e-mail just after the discovery.  They were a rarely heard of middle-eastern religious sect that formed hundreds of years ago, with roots said to be linked directly to the Devil himself.  It was thought that the sect had died out following an attack by government forces at the turn of the twentieth century, but now it appears that they may have moved to England – and are still here.  The items that my father found are said to be the exact same ones that were used during the creation of the cult all of those years ago, and later stolen by one of their own.  Legend has it that the thief, and his helpers, died less than a day after the theft, but the items were never recovered … and the Punjani has never stopped searching for them.”

   “So what were these items?”  Joseph’s imagination had now begun working in overtime, wondering what it was that he had he stumbled into.

   “The Punjani dagger, supposedly the weapon used for sacrificial purposes.  And the statue which is believed to be a life size statue of the god that the cult pays homage to … Rangor the Punjanti; The devil from the skies.”

   “But why is it so valuable?

   “In the e-mail my father told me the dagger, and its scabbard, are encrusted in jewels – and the statue is made of solid gold; adorned with hundreds of large diamonds and rubies.  It took six large men to carry it out of the cavern on a specially made stretcher where it was found.  It was shipped here to England, then put into an armoured van on arrival and taken to a special hiding place in the country until my father could figure out what to do with it.   Eventually he located a museum whose sponsor agreed to take out the necessary insurance to cover the items and guaranteed their capability to safeguard them – and he was in the process of arranging to move the items to their new resting place when …”   Rosetta paused for a second to catch her breath, to gently remove but one of her hands from his and wipe away a new tear that was beginning to form in the corner of her eye, before returning the hand to join with his once again.  When she resumed her voice began to quiver, “something happened to him.” 

   As the tears began to stream freely down her face, Joseph gently released his hands from hers and struggled to rummage through his coat pockets to obtain a handkerchief, hoping, with all of his heart, that it would appear to be clean and reasonably well pressed, and duly handed it to her.   Rosetta nodded her head in acceptance and proceeded to dab her eyes with it, while Joseph; so panicky within himself as to the cleanliness of the garment, diverted his eyes.   When he finally had the courage to return his gaze, he was pleasantly surprised to find her applying some make-up to her face, though the redness in her eyes gave him the impression that the tears were not going anywhere soon.

   “Grazia, Joseph.   I am sorry … I broke my promise.”   The tone of Rosetta’s voice was now much softer than it had been when she had been telling her story: more subdued, and Joseph could almost see: could almost feel, the pain that floated around her beautiful face.

   Joseph smiled gently as he spoke.   “You would never have been held to your promise, Rosetta.   We cannot be held responsible for the emotions that dwell inside us, and when they bottle up they need to be set free before they drown us.   If you wish to say no more that is fine, I will understand … as I will understand the need for you to put on your sunglasses to combat the glare.”

   Rosetta was slightly, though happily, taken back by Joseph’s sensitivity to her feelings and discomfort and looked hard at him; for the second time Rosetta took more notice of the man from whom she was seeking help.   And again they clasped hands, only this time it was Rosetta who initiated the personal attachment to her action in retaking Joseph’s hands in hers.   “Grazia, Joseph, for being the man that you are.”

   “You are welcome.”  Joseph replied, quietly, kindly and slightly worried that his face was becoming a bright shade of red. 

   Like Rosetta, Joseph, too, was finding his feelings hard to describe … and even harder to understand.   His life, and especially his midday meal were always decidedly dull, and now, suddenly, and completely by a case of mistaken identity, he was being bedazzled by the most beguiling woman that he ever seen … and the story that she was revealing to him had him riveted to the spot.   Reality told him to cut her short, before she told him too much, to explain he really was someone other than whoever she thought he was, but the excitement of the tale intrigued him as much as the strange exhilaration that rolled through his body as he sat spellbound in her company.   He was by now quite willing to let caution fly in the wind.  He had to know more.   But Joseph also knew deep down that this meeting was not going the way that it should have according to his plans, and he was fast running out of ideas that would bring it back on track. 

   “You are full of surprises, Joseph.  I had expected a hard-nosed professional.   I was not expecting someone who would show compassion.  It is nice.”

   “You are embarrassing me.”  Joseph complained, barely managing to contain just how close to the truth were his words.”

   Far more relaxed than she had been earlier, Rosetta continued with her tale. “I won’t embarrass you anymore, Joseph,” Rosetta said quietly, a broad smile covering her face, but her hands were not pulling back from Joseph’s soft but comforting reciprocal grip,  “I promise.  My father was found at the side of a road some distance from the farm where he had been staying.   He was unconscious when they found him by the roadside.   He regained consciousness long enough to say the name ‘Vittorio Borga’ then relapsed into unconsciousness, only this time it was into a coma and the doctors can offer no known cure for his condition.  It could be years before he becomes out of the coma – if he ever does.”

   “I am truly sorry to hear that, Rosetta.   But, tell me, who or what is a Vittorio Borga?” Joseph asked.

    “Borga is my uncle’s name.  He and my father are stepbrothers.  They had the same mother, but different fathers.  My father’s father, my grandfather, died the day that my father was born.   My grandmother remarried about three years later and Vittorio was born a year after that.  

   Once they were old enough to play together, my father and Vittorio became inseparable.  When my father developed a taste for archaeology, my uncle also took an avid interest in it.  It wasn’t a case of his having no mind of his own – it was more of a unique bonding of minds.  They were both on the same wavelength.  So much so, it seemed at times that my uncle was my father’s clone.   He was working with my father just before the relics disappeared.   However, we haven’t been able to contact him since the attack on my father.  We think that he is in hiding with the relics, and we fear for his safety.”

   “Who are we?”

   “My Mother, Martin, and myself, of course.”

   “And what makes you think that he is in hiding and has not simply run away with the statue?   I assume it is quite valuable.”  

   “He would never do that.   My uncle is a good man … and I told you, the statue is too large for one man to move – so it must be hidden somewhere.  We – Martin and I, that is, think that he may have witnessed the attack on my father so he knows who is after him and what they want, but has managed to escape them – at least for the moment … but he is not safe.   Like you, Martin has contacts, and his sources indicate that the Punjani were responsible for the attack on my father, but they failed to get what they were after, and they are still looking for the relics.”

   “Do you believe that they attacked your father?” 

   “Yes.  The Punjani now reside in London we have been told … it would be easy for them to spy on him and try to steal the relics … attack him if they needed to.  His condition was not as a result of a physical attack.  Blood tests showed traces of Ramanes.”

   “Ramanes,” Joseph interjected with a tinge of excitement, “the drug they discovered in the Easter Islands not so long ago, the one that can extend your life by ten or twenty years?”

   “No, that is Rapamycin according to the doctor who examined my father,” she grinned.   “I remember he mentioned it in passing,” then Rosetta’s face grew darker at the memory that had returned, “I am afraid he rambled on a bit with his excitement when he discovered what had caused my father’s condition.  I think he was a bit beside himself with it all, and he called it rapamycin, but quickly corrected himself.   Ramanes is an ancient drug that was used to make the receiver suffer hallucinations and forgetfulness for years after being infected.  It is believed to be the preferred choice of the Punjani when attempting to destroy an enemy’s ability to harm them, without killing him. There is a cure for it, but few people beside the Punjani know what it is. That is where you come in.  It is obvious that they did not kill my father because they could not find the relics.   Martin said that you might be able to help us track down my uncle, or perhaps the statue itself, then locate the Punjani and do a trade – the relics for the cure.

   So now you can see why it is so necessary that we find Vittorio, especially if he is hiding the statue.   He probably has no idea whatsoever about the exchange offer the Punjani have made to us.  And to make matters worse they may view him, or at least his actions, hostile if they approach him.   I know that I said that he emulated everything that my father did, well that part is true, but there was more to it than that.   My uncle has an illness, a mental illness that can instantly change his moods and intelligence from what appears to be normal – to being almost edging on insanity.   His large heart and compassionate nature would change dramatically to something very, very inhumane   The doctors have warned us for years that to miss his daily intake of medication would eventually turn his entire mind set to that of Neanderthal man.

   A bit like the character in Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde, but he has never transformed into that hideous character; he took his medication with regular monotony and we have never seen him in any state other than the jovial, beautiful person that he is.   My father has never seen him do anything but an unblemished day’s work, both in our home in Italy, or at the various digs that they have travelled around the world to for months at a time.   However without the medication the chances of a horrendous change to his mental state is unfortunately very, very real.   He has been on medication ever since he was diagnosed with the disease at the age of seven.   They think he inherited it from his father who committed suicide in extremely strange circumstances not long after his diagnosis with the disease.   With the medication suppressing his other self he has led a normal life, and though not quite as bright as my father, he is easily able to understand the mechanisms of archaeology from my father’s teachings and has become a most reliable assistant in my father’s eyes.   But without the medication and my father’s guidance we fear for both of them … my uncle for his sanity – and my father’s life as a result of my uncle’s insanity if he is not able to tell us the whereabouts of the statue.   It is imperative that we find him before the Punjani do, or at least find the statue, and complete the exchange as soon as possible.”  

   Now Joseph was in a dilemma.   He wondered if it had already become too late to convince her that he was not the one that she had expected to meet.   She had told him too much and he knew that there was no way that he was going to come up with a quick fix solution to this problem – this problem had become way beyond his daily routine, and way past his thought processing abilities.   And to make matters worse for himself, he found he was seriously wanting to become involved.   This was an adventure in the offering and it sounded exciting, if not a little dangerous.   And Rosetta was the perfect bait to drag him into the deep water … and danger.  

   ‘But how much danger would be involved in searching for the statue on a farm for a couple of days,‘ his adrenaline filled mind whispered to him,  ‘or asking the locals if they had seen Rosetta’s uncle in the past few days?’    And as one part of his mind questioned the sanity of another part of his own mind’s questions an idea began to surge through his mind.   ‘It’s a holiday weekend coming up, so I could spend a couple of days searching for the statue and asking around,’ he thought, then, if we hadn’t found anything by Monday  I could tell her that I had been called away to an important job for the government.   She thinks that I do this kind of work all of the time, so she would have to believe me … and this Martin chap could continue the search.   Good show, old boy, well done.’

   “How did the doctor decide that it was Romanus if it is so rare?”  Joseph asked as he desperately tried to get his adrenaline cooled down somewhat so he could think a bit clearer on what he was considering.

   “Ramanes,” Rosetta laughed, not Romanus.  The doctor happened to be originally trained in the Middle East and had done a thesis on ancient drugs during his university days.”

   “An amazing coincidence – I should have thought?  To have your father drugged with some rare drug and then just happen to have him examined by someone with experience in it!”

  “My, aren’t you the cynical one.”   Rosetta said, her eyes twinkling as she spoke,   “Do not worry, Joseph – there is nothing suspicious there – the doctor was just as surprised as anyone when he made that discovery.  It was only after he had my father’s blood analysed that he recognised the composition.”

   “And he had no antidote?”

   “No, unfortunately, his studies had only gone as deep as identifying the components and uses for the ancient medication, not for remedies.”

   “Pity,”   Joseph looked at the time and realised he would have to leave.   Then as he began to rise out of his seat he looked deep into Rosetta’s large, round, sad, brown eyes.   And as he did his mind snapped and he succumbed to a side of himself he never knew existed, and even then it is very doubtful that Joseph would ever really understand exactly why he made the rash statement that he did next.

   “Do you know the Camira Hotel on James?”   He asked.

   “Yes.”

   “Meet me there at six tonight: The Marble bar.”

   “Grazie, Joseph,”   Rosetta agreed happily, “six o’clock at the Camira.   I knew you were at the right table, my heart told me so.   Ciao, Joseph.   Till tonight”

    The smile on Rosetta’s face was as warm as the touch of her lips as she leaned over and gave Joseph a kiss on the cheek.

Go to Episode 14