Abroad (14 page)

“Aha. And how so? Magic? From the grave?”

“Well, if the literature had been destroyed by their enemies … I just think someone would have been able to find
something.
Some poet would have buried a manuscript, I don’t know. A manuscript under his bed. But you say there was nothing. I just feel that—”

“You
feel
?” Arthur said, raising his eyebrows.

Anna put her face in her hands.

“I
believe
the destruction of their history had to have been, you know, a concerted effort. Maybe there was, um, something they didn’t want to share. Something they didn’t want the Romans … to know.”

“The secret to eternal youth?” Arthur said, smiling.

I shrugged.

“Well, my dear, convoluted as that was, it was, in fact, my eventual point. So brava. Now let’s be clear—no theorist has ever proven this, no artifact has ever backed me up. But what Tabitha Deacon
supposes
—oh yes, dear, I
do
see your name—is basic human nature.
No one
can bear the thought of being unremembered once they vanish, and the Etruscans would have fought to keep their history alive; they would have buried it, written it on scrolls and tucked it into the ceilings of their worshipping places. Really. Think about it. If you knew you were going to die, wouldn’t you have done the same?”

We were silent for a moment.

“Yes,” Pascal finally allowed.

“Now think of it
this
way. What if your society had great secrets that others did not? Plumbing, crop rotation, God knows what else? These people—the Romans—were raping old women and killing children. The worst thing the Etruscans could
do
to their conquerors was … tell them nothing.”

“But how would they get their message across the entire kingdom?”

“Yes, that would have been an amazing feat. Impossible, for any kingdom to have people so loyal they would submit to such an effort. But we are forgetting something. The Etruscans, unlike the Greeks and the Romans, were great believers in the afterlife. They built tomb palaces, remember? Lined their graves with tools they would need later. There was great emphasis on the grace of death, you see. So maybe they didn’t worry about leaving their history for the next generation. Because they expected to die a good death, and then to pass comfortably with their beloved things into the next world.”

“And did they?” Anna finally asked.

I looked around. We were all leaning forward over the table.

“Die and find out,” our professor said, putting out his cigarette.

*   *   *

After a few days of class, Professor Korloff grew restless—even in our blessed azure garret.

“Learning doesn’t take place in rooms,” he grumbled, after delivering a mind-bending lecture that lasted until ten at night on the heroic search for Eurydice. “Well, it does in England. But how am I supposed to lecture when Romulus himself lies in wait under the ground? No, no, no. Tomorrow, we go.”

“Where?” I asked.

“Wear walking clothes and come with trust,” he said. “Be out in front of the building at five o’clock sharp. We’re going to visit the Etruscans.”

And with that, he waved us off. Anna and I descended the stairs slowly, followed by Pascal. He had recently taken to shadowing her after class. Perhaps inevitably, their sparring had developed into a full-fledged crush on Pascal’s side, and watching Anna’s studious, silent denial of the situation, I couldn’t help but take pity on him.

“Come for a drink?” I asked in English, as Pascal’s Italian was as bad as Anna’s and my French.

“Yes, thank you. Yes.” I cringed; there was something so terrifyingly eager about Pascal—he almost exactly matched the desperation I’d exhibited just weeks before.

No matter what the angle, Pascal was just not attractive. He only came up to my shoulder, and had a distinct penchant for ugly printed shirts. An odd threesome we were: the fragile daughter of a baron, the everyday schoolgirl from Lucan, the jittery scholar from France. Without discussion, we went to a popular garden bar behind the
enoteca
. It was already crowded. We squeezed into a table next to some Russian students, who sized us up briefly before turning back to one another again.

“Hard to make an impression without Jenny, isn’t it?” I said.

“That’s what she’s hoping.” Anna turned to Pascal. “So, you’re enjoying the class?”

Pascal jumped a little, then smiled. “Yes, I feel very lucky. It is wonderful to study with the professor. I’ve used his articles for my thesis, and when it was clear he was going to be here…” He rolled his eyes to the heavens and took a drink. “And I’m so happy, Anna, to have in the class someone who loves Homer.”

“I certainly
don’t
love Homer. Not all of it. You know what they say, Homer wrote the
Iliad
while he was asleep.”

“
Oui?
”

The two plowed into a conversation about the third book of hymns I couldn’t follow. I looked around the bar, studying the different groups of students who milled about, shouting and laughing. I thought about how wonderful it was to be there, and how just three weeks ago, this scene would have inspired in me a sort of dread.

“And you, Tabitha?” I suddenly heard Pascal asked me. “You all right in the class?”

“Oh, sure.”

“Only you are very quiet.”

“I’m okay. Hopefully I’ll be able to hack through the final paper.”

Just then Pascal knocked over his glass. He shot up to fetch napkins. When he returned, his attempts to clean made things even worse, as he pushed the ruby liquid into our laps.

“Oh!” Anna cried.

“Excuse…” Pascal mumbled. Jumping up, he threw a ball of euros onto the table. “Here. To pay for the cleaning. I’m very, very sorry.” And then he darted off too quickly for us to even attempt to stop him.

“Poor Pascal,” I sighed, watching his retreat. “He really likes you.”

“I like him, too. But not enough to sacrifice this silk. Damn.” She dabbed at the spot hopelessly. “Besides, he’s not my type at all.”

“Oh, you liked talking to someone smart. I could tell. You get bored with us sometimes. Admit it.”

“Never.” By her tone, I could tell this was truer than I’d have liked.

“Look, someone needs to unearth the fifth Homeric hymn with you.”

“Aphrodite
is
such a flighty tramp.” She waved for the waitress to refill her glass.

“Why don’t you start a reading group or something? An intellectual salon. With that guy Ethan in class, and Pascal, and maybe a couple of others. You could … go on trips and things. I’m sure there are plenty of classics students here. It
is
Italy.”

“It is,” Anna said, a bit grimly.

“Well?”

“I just … couldn’t do something like that. I’m too busy.”

“With what? You’re not so terribly involved in the thing, are you? Don’t you just keep it under your bed?”

Anna looked at me a bit fiercely. “Tabitha, do us both a favor and drop it. All right, love?”

I searched for something else to say.

“So Arthur lived with your family?”

“For a little while. My father was quite a bit older than my mother. When he died, Arthur took us under his wing.”

“Well, not to be cynical—”

“Oh,
you
couldn’t be cynical if you tried. You’re much too sweet. But go on.”

“Well. Just—it’s not like it can have been too big of a chore, coming to stay with his friend’s beautiful wife and daughter in their enormous country seat.”

“Oh, but Taz. My mother isn’t beautiful.”

“No?”

“She looks like … well, we’re in a row just at the moment, so it’s hard for me to judge. But she’s a haughty old skeleton, really. And the country seat? Mum sold it as soon as Dad died. A mountain of debt to pay. Now she lives in Kensington, clinging to the title.”

“Well, at least that’s still legit?”

“Sort of. I mean, he’s dead of course. Has been since I was six. But still, it gets her into terrific parties.”

I took a sip, thinking.

“So, why
are
you in a row?”

“She said I got in the way of a relationship she was having.”

“A boyfriend?”

“Sort of.”

“You didn’t like him?”

“It was complicated.” She cleared her throat. “There was a man who used to date my mother. For years, actually. And then I came home from Nottingham last summer and we realized it wasn’t my mother he was in love with.”

The silence that followed was impenetrable, even by me.

“Anna,” I tried. “Is that what Jenny has over you? Why she keeps you and Luka so tight?”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” Anna had a way of shutting things off so completely. There was no getting through the door once Anna had closed it.

“But speaking of Arthur…,” she said.

“Yes?”

“He’s asked if we might like to join him at his friend’s castle.”

“A castle?” I blinked. “Us? When?”

“The second weekend in October. The place belongs to some sort of patron of his. Someone who funds his research. Apparently he—the patron—would like to meet some local students to get a sense of … of … Arthur’s teaching.”

“A castle!”

“You really are a simple little thing,” Anna said.

“I’m not. So what’s he up to?”

“Pascal’s been invited, too. So it’s not scandalous or anything. Anyhow, I asked if Jenny and Luka could come. It’ll be the four of us—a proper country weekend. What do you think?”

“A castle!”

“Now, aren’t you glad I swindled that dress for you?” She pulled out her cigarettes. She made a point of keeping them in a silver case, a trait I found wonderful. “I have to admit I’m bloody nervous about bringing Jenny,” she said, almost to herself.

“Why? She certainly won’t say anything about your arrangement.”

She looked up, as if startled that I was there. “Well. Arthur, he can be very … judgmental. Just makes me nervous is all. Hey, now. Isn’t that your flatmate?”

I glanced over. Claire was sitting at a table across the garden. It had been so crowded I hadn’t noticed her. She was with a man I’d never seen, a tall Swedish-looking person with so many tattoos that his skin was unavailable to the eye. His hand ran up and down her thigh frantically, as if he were fluffing the hair of a dog.

“Claire!” I called out. She didn’t hear me over the music. The man said something, and she looked up with that brilliant smile, leaned over, and kissed his neck.

“
Who
is that thing she’s with?” Anna trilled.

“Never seen him.”

“I hate to say it, but I wouldn’t let that bloke in the house to fix my drain.”

We watched, mesmerized, as his hand moved between her legs over her jeans.

“Is this normal American behavior?”

“It’s like she doesn’t care about anything,” I whispered.

“Oh, everyone cares about something,” Anna said. “Me, it’s trying like hell to get into a graduate program. Luka, it’s—well, we’ve got to get past the drink first to find out. Though she falls in love with girls she can’t have a lot. Your roomie, I’m guessing it’s to get shagged by a foreign skank for kicks. As for you…”

She rested her chin on her hand and looked at me.

“For you, I believe it’s to be part of a group.”

My face grew hot, giving me away.

“I thought so! Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me. And, you know what? We
all
like being in a group. Anyhow. Jenny, she’s all power. In fact, she’s sort of the most honest of all of us.”

“I suppose so.”

“I
know
so,” Anna said. “Luka … me … you can’t trust us a mite. But Jenny says what she means. She’s very honest, with her business and everything. If there’s something you need to know, she tells you.”

“I’m sorry. I don’t—understand you. What do you mean about you and Luka?”

The Russians at the next table had started singing. One of them put his arm around Anna’s shoulder, indicating she should join them. My friend drew away sharply, as if stung.

“Oh, this place is tired,” she said, swiveling off the bench. “Shall we go?”

11

The next day was our Etruscan outing. It was insufferably hot, even at five in the afternoon. Not knowing exactly what “walking clothes” meant, I wore shorts and trainers; Anna looked flawless in a short, loose dress and gladiator sandals, and Pascal followed close behind her in an impractical outfit of chinos, a long-sleeved button-down, and a ridiculous straw hat. As for Professor Korloff, he looked almost athletic in army shorts, sandals, and a T-shirt.

“Okay, here we go,” Professor Korloff yelled. “If you get lost, ask the locals where that American ass is who’s looking for the old hole in the ground.”

We followed somewhat sluggishly; there were thirteen of us, and none of us wanted to look like a tourist group. But Professor Korloff marched ahead with determination, so after a block or two, we broke up into twos and threes. Following in his footsteps, we walked out of the gate of the old city, then we reached a highway.

“Don’t get killed,” Professor Korloff cried before darting in front of a bus. “Can’t have you expiring on my watch.” We crossed successfully after a few minutes, then continued down a hill to what must have quite recently been a country road, making a right on another dusty avenue until we reached a small valley. It was a strange neighborhood, a mix of old houses flanked by flat-roofed postwar apartment blocks, now as dilapidated as their three-hundred-year-old neighbors. A few people poked their heads out as we passed—mostly mischievous children, and behind them perhaps the shadowy face of a grandmother. Some of the shutters slammed shut, the sharp sound mocking us from the slope of the hill.

Finally, Professor Korloff led us down a narrow dirt path to a stone farmhouse hemmed in by a well-tended vegetable garden. Instantly, we were surrounded, all thirteen of us, by a lively population of chickens. I tried not to laugh as Anna kicked the animals away with her silver sandals; when Pascal attempted to shoo them away for her, they pecked angrily at his feet. After a few long minutes a farmer ambled out of his small stone cottage, looking at us through half-closed eyes, a handsome rifle held loosely in his left hand.