The Bell Tower

THE BELL TOWER

Chapter 1

Friday morning presented Cape Town with a visit from The Cape Doctor, a strong persistent, dry south-easterly wind that blows pollution, pestilence and my own cobwebs away, out over the Indian Ocean. Mom was working in the vestibule down below where she was getting things ready for Sunday communion and I had plans for cooking a good Malay curry with which to welcome my Father home for the weekend.

Close on midday though, I was in bed reading when the phone rang. After the fourth ring it wouldn't stop, so I dragged myself up the stairs to the landing where the 1949 Bakelite phone vibrated on the small wooden table.

"Hello?" I croaked.

"Max, is that you?" I recognized Aunt Karima's voice immediately and after a moment's silence, during which I tried to cast off the blanket around my shoulders and clear my throat, I replied:

"Aunt Karima? Yes, yes this is me". I kicked off my furry slippers, stupidly imagining that she could see me.

We exchanged the obligatory exchanges of polite enquiry after each other's health and well-being and then:

"I have some news for you. I hope that you find it as exciting as I do".

"Yes?" My heart was throbbing in my throat.

"My brother, Count Orsini, your uncle wants you to go to his villa where you will receive lessons on how to cook the Italian way. I think that it would be an excellent idea for you to go to the villa to widen your horizons, learn something about the world outside the bell tower.

"Ah...the villa?"

"Yes, in Italy. I did tell you he lived in Italy, had I not?"

I had no idea how to respond. Italy! Really? It took me a moment to digest but by the time she said,

"Max, are you there?" I was ready with my answer.

"Of course I will go!".

"Great! You had me a little worried there. I was not sure how you would feel about leaving home, despite your constant dreams. Traveling can be very traumatic if you have never been overseas, especially at your age. Do you have a passport? Are you sure you want to do this? Should I speak to your parents again?"

I had given up on ever hearing from Aunt Karima a week ago. I had clearly blown my dreams out of all proportion when she told us at her last visit, a month ago, that she may be going to Italy. I must have been completely obvious as I held breath in a wish that she would invite me with. As we had family living in Santa Margherita, she would be staying with them. One extra traveler could surely not be that burdensome? The real bonus would be if I was able to persuade my uncle to teach me how to cook the Italian way. He owns a restaurant there.

I had already put the whole affair out of my mind, thinking to pre-book a one-year secretarial diploma at the college in Buitengracht Street to start the moment I left school, in five years' time. As far as cooking school was concerned, I already had the best teacher anyone could ask for in my mother. 

"Max, are you there? Do you have a passport, or do we have to apply for one? Would your parents let you go?"

"Yes, yes. No, I have one. We often go to Namibia to visit you, aunt Karima. And yes, I am sure they will, especially as it would be with you. I think it is time I left home, set my sails, plot my course." I said with the kind of conviction I was not yet convinced of.

"Well, good!", she said breathily. "Go and speak to them. They know the family in Italy very well, I'm sure they would be as excited as you are. I am booking your flight as soon as they give me the go-ahead. The easiest way to do this would be to send you the tickets via email, so let me know as soon as you have received it, alright? And send me your bank details so that I can deposit enough money for expenses, and if there is anything you want to know, you have my number. And Max, good luck. I have a feeling that this is going to change your life, in a good way!"