Le storie di Ponto / The stories of Ponto: Red Scar

Chapter 4: breaking News

A sign, a simple finger pointing at something, was enough to unleash the journalists' hunger for news. The large crowd of reporters crowded at the entrance to the police station to try to photograph or interview the target for which they had waited five hours in front of the building: Claudio Boscolo, bank manager.

Before the scandal, Boscolo's reputation was impeccable. He had received honors, prestigious awards and even an honorary degree... all the recognition that could be given to a person of value, he had received. Precisely for this reason, the news of his fraud against taxpayers had taken everyone by surprise.

The scandal had been making headlines nationwide since the investigation was first made official. Millions of Libres[1] had been subtracted from taxpayers' accounts, emptying them.

There had been statements from anonymous witnesses who claimed false documents, traces of money sent abroad, and various illicit actions carried out over the years which, now that they were coming to light, demonstrated the clear guilt of the director. Boscolo and his collaborators had immediately affirmed their innocence, saying that there had been no appropriation, but the enraged savers did not want to hear explanations, they wanted their money back.

Boscolo, from the prison where he had been immediately thrown away, had declared to a journalist who had interviewed him in his cell: <>

Angela shook her head in disbelief, this was truly a shocking case.

Her husband Tonino, with bitter irony, commented on the matter by saying that they would probably soon have new neighbors in Borgomale. She punched him in the leg, telling him that he couldn't joke about other people's misfortune. In turn, however, she knew that many small savers, would never get their money back and would probably end up on the street or in the neighborhood if they had a pinch of "luck."

“Yes, very lucky indeed…”Angela thought bitterly.

This scandal was unnecessary, how much more bad luck was that damned city supposed to bring to its inhabitants?

She sank into the armchair, her gaze wandering around the living room. Her house was not luxurious and didn’t have any fine furniture, the paint on some walls was peeling and very often the hot water did not come on. Despite everything, the rent was high, as much as that of a house in excellent condition, and now she was afraid that it could increase. If new people were about to arrive in Borgomale, the local loan sharks were surely already rubbing their hands in satisfaction, knowing that they could soon exploit new desperate people. And then, where would they put them? Borgomale had reached an all-time high in overpopulation, there was no more room for more people.

“Everything will be fine. A way will be found.” She thought, trying to stay positive.

Angela Mazzini was forty-five years old and a classic busy woman.

She was a mother, a schoolteacher, and a member of the neighborhood council—a very busy person, in short; one who rarely sat around doing nothing.

When she worked, she always showed up in informal third-hand suits that she always managed to fix to give them a clean and almost new look, she was rarely seen disheveled, and she took great consideration especially of the state of her glasses. Angela's name referred to the benevolent divine figures of heaven, but her character, especially when she got angry, was more decidedly more comparable to that of a devil, which is why many thought twice before bothering her.

Other than that, Angela was a woman with a big heart of gold.

She was one of those very few people in Borgomale who brought hope in being able to improve the fortunes of the neighborhood. She truly believed in this desire, even if everything around her said otherwise. Other people could criticize them, but it was not correct to say that all those who lived there were lazy, criminals, and cold-hearted.

There were also many good people living there and they would have been very surprised if they had given them a chance to meet them.

Of course, it would have been much easier to show the good side of Borgomale if there had been more collaboration from these very people. Unfortunately, many did not want to run the risk of exposing themselves because of the unjust reprisals that they often suffered from by the authorities themselves. And then there was the problem that arose from the underworld, from those who, thanks to the misfortune of others, took advantage of it for their ends... and the neighborhood was full of those individuals.

<< Come in, ladies and gentlemen! Come and admire the revolutionary new ghost scarer! >> shouted a man.

That day, as it happens, there was a well-known swindler who was trying to earn his daily bread illicitly.

<< Just one drop of this miraculous water will keep away any evil spirit! Even your mother-in-law, if the gentlemens need it! >>

Angela grumbled out loud, scammers were worse than cockroaches: you didn't have time to get rid of them before they came right back.

The guy always stood in the little square below hr house, punctually every Wednesday afternoon.

She had seen him many times before, selling “revolutionary” products, even if they were useless junk, like the new product that looked like dirty water. Any individual with a little common sense would have immediately noticed the deception, but evidently this ability was starting to fail many of her fellow citizens since a small, dangerously interested crowd had already formed.

<< But is it all genuine stuff? >> asked a very elderly lady, as if she were asking a greengrocer about the condition of fruit and vegetables.

<< Of course, beautiful lady! All good stuff that keeps ghosts, goblins and even vampires from coming near you or your home! Don't you believe it? Look, I'll show it to you! Inside there's St. John's wort, mint, lavender, and even a pinch of thyme.>>

<< Yeah, good job. Mix them together and make a nice minestrone for yourself. >> thundered another voice behind him, that of Don Walter.

The salesman suddenly turned pale; evidently, the man's fame had reached his ears too.

Don Walter took the bottle of “magic” water from his hand and looked him up and down while pulling his ear as punishment.

<< Throw away this rubbish before I make you swallow it and get out of here. Profiting from these things…. Shame on you. >>

<< Yes, yes. You're right. My bad. >>

With one red ear and no money in the till, the con man packed up his things and ran away, disappearing into one of the nearby streets. Angela couldn't help but be amazed and laugh at the same time. Who had ever seen a priest behave like that?

<< This is the first time in years I've seen that guy leave without selling anything. >> she said, approaching Don Walter.

<> He replied, shaking his head.

Then he turned to the small group of civilians.

<< And you too, don't believe in this stuff. If this crap was effective, you certainly wouldn't have constant problems with ghosts. Don't you agree? >>

The crowd nodded awkwardly, like a group of children who had just been scolded for a prank. Except for the old lady, who persisted in wondering if the product worked.

Don Walter and Angela became good friends, one had made a good impression on the other and they had immediately become close. Since their first meeting, Angela had already invited him to her home a couple of times and introduced him to her family, she had spoken to him about her work and her goals with a newfound enthusiasm that she had not felt for a long time, given that he listened to her with great attention and interest.

<< Speaking of ghosts, have you been “hunting” today too? >> Angela asked him, pointing to his leather bag.

Don Walter let out a tired breath.

<>

<< Perhaps it is because the major squares were once holy fields. There were many more churches in the city, before the Holy See decided to unite them into a single place of worship, consequently, many cemeteries were closed and the tombs moved. Or at least, that's what we were taught. I wouldn't be surprised if some "forgotten" coffins were found while digging. >>

<< Yes, I read this piece of history of the city in a book. The reason could be that, even if… >>

<< What? >>

<> Don Walter did not stop explaining why he had this impression.

At that moment he didn't want to think about his work, tired as he was.

After the incident at the cemetery of San Andrea, the amount of work had increased: many residents had started coming to the church, reassured both by the fact that there was once again a place protected by the Lord, and that there was a person who knew how to deal with ghosts. This was good for the priest; it was a pretext to bring the community closer together. On the other hand, however, the infestations had not stopped at all, and the Holy See was continually calling him to manage the situation. Throughout Fontebianca various spectral entities had awakened: Poltergeist[2], Doppelganger[3]…he had even had to deal with a couple of possessions, very dangerous stuff even for an experienced exorcist. To make a long story short, the spectral energy, instead of decreasing, had increased and this was not good. A thought woke him from the torpor of tiredness, he looked at the clock and realized he was going to be late.

<< Walter, where are you going? Aren't you going to church to continue the repairs? >>

<< I'll do it on my way back. Now I must go somewhere. >>

<< But are you there for the neighborhood meeting tonight? The other members want to meet you. >>

<< Don't worry Angela, I won't miss it. And when I get back, I'll let you know how my appointment went. >>

<< Why should I know? >>

<< Because it is with the Cardinal della Rosa. >>

When Cardinal Remondo was agitated, he tended to sweat a lot, really a lot.

He soaked not only the clothes he wore but also the towels he used to clean himself. On his desk was a pile of soft towels in various pastel colors ready for use, in a wastebasket lay a used pile from which a faint stench of sweat was beginning to rise.

“Oh, if only life wasn't so full of worries”, the man thought whenever something was wrong.

He was the type of person who would fret over any problem that occurred in his life, no matter how serious it was. At least 80% of the time he would have to ask others for help in solving his problems, demonstrating an embarrassing inability to handle himself alone.

It was surprising, then, how such a person had managed to become the head of one of the most important religious bodies in the country.

At the Blessed Waters Foundation there was a great frenzy over the accumulation of work due to the ghost infestations, a problem that they had been promising to solve for years, but that in reality, they had always contained. It's not that they hadn't tried, they just couldn't solve it. They had tried every type of exorcism to restore peace to the unfortunate souls of the dead, but every year they came back to square one, and consequently, punctually, they found themselves having to manage the inconveniences of the infestations, the protests of the citizens and the barbs of the press accusing them of incompetence. The bureaucratic part was what he hated most about his job, why couldn't he limit himself to giving sermons and raising funds for the church? Was it asking too much to be able to limit himself to doing the bare minimum and enjoying the fruits of his efforts?

The phone rang and he jumped. It, like everything in his office, was expensive, with the case decorated with roses entwined around the dial of numbers and two small statues of swans perched on top. He picked up the receiver and his secretary informed him that Don Walter had arrived to speak to him.

<< Tell him I'm not here! >> he said, frightened.

He knew he had an appointment with him and had done everything he could to avoid it until the very end. Then, damn him, he had forgotten and now he had to find a way to get out.

<< Tell him I've already left... no, actually! That I went to a meeting with the mayor! >> he told her.

The woman tried to tell him something, but he spoke over her without hearing. When the office door opened, it was too late for him to escape.

<< Good morning, Cardinal. >> said Don Walter, throwing open the door.

Della Rosa let out a little cry, regaining his composure almost immediately.

<< W-what a pleasure to see you again! My s-secretary just let me know you were coming! >>

<< Are you going somewhere? >>

<< Me? No, I-I was just tidying up my d-documents. >>

<< Weren’t you trying to leave to avoid me? >>

<< No! How could I? We had a meeting today, right? I always respect my commitments, and I could never… >>

<< Then shut up and sit down. >>

The Cardinal reluctantly obeyed.

Even though he was a man with great power, it was of no use to him if he could not handle it with people who had a stronger will than his own, as in the case of Don Walter.

He was just a priest, he should have bowed his head before him… and instead, serious and threatening like a bear, he kept him at bay like a little dog.

<< You sure are a real sly dog. >> the man began to say, without taking his eyes off him.

For a moment it looked like he wanted to call him something else, but maybe it was just his imagination.

<< When I saw how bad Borgomale is, I didn't question his plea to lend a hand in getting it back on its feet, even though it seemed like a desperate undertaking. And I didn't question his words even when he told me about the honest people who live there and the degradation they are forced to live in. >>

<< And for this reason I will never thank you enough… >>

<< But that's not why you called me. Oh no, Borgomale was just the bait. You wanted me for my exorcist skills.

I should have known when he mentioned Santavila and Campovoli: these are towns where there have been serious ghost infestations that I have had to intervene in.

And then, when the infestation broke out seven days ago, your guys took away all my doubts. >>

Della Rosa remained silent the whole time, sweating guiltily.

Walter punched the desk hard; all the objects flew into the air for a moment.

<> Walter shouted. << Why didn't you tell me the real reason right away? >>

<< I-I wasn't sure you would accept! >> Della Rosa stammered. << Many of your colleagues refused, believing it impossible or dangerous to purify such a vast spiritual energy. You are considered the best of all; you were the last resort we could rely on! >>

<< Yes, I've had a taste of it these days, enough to make me indigest it. I still don't understand how the hell you got to have a problem of this proportion. Christ, I wouldn't be surprised if a portal to the afterlife opened up at any moment. >>

<>

Don Walter grunted loudly, not knowing whether to believe that statement.

<< You are good…. You can solve the problem, right? You will stay here, right? >> he asked him, worried that he might leave the city.

The priest glared at the Cardinal, reducing him to a trembling mouse again, for a moment intending to punch him. He approached him and pointed his finger at his face, in a low, threatening voice he said:

<< Unfortunately, I have to. But only because I want to keep my promise to help Borgomale. Because unlike you and everyone else in this town - and I understand that you don't give a crap - I care about those poor souls.

So, thank goodness that place exists, because otherwise, I would have washed my hands of its damn problems. >>

With that, Don Walter started to leave the office, taking the door to close it behind him.

Before it closed, he looked out one last time:

<< And anyway, if you want me to help you with the ghosts again, I expect a generous donation from you to cover the expenses. Monthly. >>

<< Monthly? I can't afford it! >>

<< Do not forget the words of Christ, our Lord: “It is more blessed to give than to receive.” >>

And the door closed with a resounding thud.

The Boscolo case was under the eyes of many eyes.

Curious eyes.

Gossipy eyes.

Both good and bad eyes.

Every glance, regardless of the intentions behind it, weighed like a millstone on the shoulders of those subjects to their attention. Even from prison, the former bank manager knew he was being watched by people who were not necessarily only those delegated to justice or by gossip, but also by those who had framed him for a crime he had not committed. Boscolo was not a fool, he knew he had enemies. When you handle money, it is inevitable to make a lot of them. The reason was not just to ruin his reputation or to take his place at the bank, that would have been too simple. Those who had framed him wanted to prevent him from speaking and to expose the corruption of Fontebianca. There were many things he wanted to tell the nation, even if now he only hoped to get out soon.

He heard some inmates arguing and the door of a cell slamming loudly.

Those sounds frightened him, so often violent and threatening. Even in his small cell he never felt safe, forced, among other things, to share it with a colony of cockroaches that appeared especially at night, when he went to sleep, and often woke him up hearing them crawling on him.

He listened for a minute, before continuing to write for his wife who, unlike many of his relatives and friends, had not abandoned him. He promised her that everything would work out for the best, encouraged her to be strong and take care of their children… to have hope, in short. He put down the pen as soon as he finished writing that he loved her, and as he reread it, he realized that the letter seemed more like a kind of last goodbye than a message of reassurance. He quickly added that he would return to her soon, so as not to make it seem like they would never see each other again.

He jumped, suddenly feeling cold.

He rubbed his arms, trying to warm himself. For a solid structure, the prison had a lot of cold drafts. He wondered if the guards would have given him an extra blanket if he had asked.

<>

<< Angela! You don't talk about the cardinal like that! >>

<< Who cares! But did you understand that he only brought Walter here to scare away ghosts? Huh? Did you understand that the church doesn't give a damn about us? >>

Tonino tried to calm his wife down without much success. Don Walter tried to help him, but the woman was furious like a bull.

Good for him that he had decided to tell only her about the meeting with the Cardinal, who knows what kind of reaction the other people in the place would have had if they had heard. With Angela, however; he had decided to be more honest, since she was trying so hard to help him.

For a moment she had had the crazy idea of telling everyone about the Cardinal's falsehood, but Don Walter had recommended her to keep quiet, if she didn't want to be seen as both crazy and a criminal. Della Rosa was an idiot, but he was still the Cardinal.

<< You know what? To hell with those assholes! We can do it on our own! >> the woman exclaimed. << We'll show them that we don't need their "charity" to get our neighborhood back on its feet! >>

<< We actually need their funds. I can get by on some things myself, but those “small changes” will come in handy for a lot of other jobs. Unfortunately, hard cash is the main tool I need. >> Walter replied.

<< Give me some time and I'll be able to convince some people to help you out. You can't do it all by yourself forever. >>

<< Thank you, Angela. But try not to force them, if they don't want to. They have to decide to trust me on their own. >>

Not everyone trusted Don Walter yet, not even Angela's closest friends, as honest and sensible as she was. He couldn't blame them, so many empty promises had been made in Borgomale, that no one believed in them anymore.

At the neighborhood meeting, when he explained to the few attendees his intentions on how to fix the area and asked for their opinion, he only got ambiguous answers like "well, who knows" or "Maybe" or "I don't know, let's see". Not a very encouraging attitude.

“What the hell did these poor peoples have to go through to be so discouraged?” he wondered.

There was something more behind the discomfort of Borgomale… something that would have been better to start investigating if he wanted to better understand the history of that place and those people.

<< Let's put aside the sorrows, as long as there is life there is hope. >> said Angela.

<< With a full stomach, one thinks better. >>

Walter agreed very much with that point.

There was nothing better after a long day than a good dinner, a chat with friends, and music on the radio. It was in moments like those that the sorrows seemed to disappear, and everything became more serene. Don Walter allowed himself that moment to relax, to forget for a moment the thousand commitments and even the role he covered, allowing himself to simply be Walter Mezzanotte. Suddenly the music was interrupted by the tune that introduced the radio news, followed almost immediately by the voice of the reporter who apologized for the interruption of the program to announce a piece of news for the special edition that evening.

<< The news has just reached our editorial office that former director Claudio Boscolo is dead. He was found hanged in his cell a few hours ago. >>

[1]Libra or libres: local currency

[2]The word poltergeist comes from the German Polter (noise, noise) and Geist, "spirit". The main characteristic of a "poltergeist" type manifestation is purely auditory.

[3]In folklore, this term is used to indicate the paranormal copy/double of a person who is still alive. Usually this type of apparitions are interpreted as evil or bad luck omens.

Le storie di Ponto / The stories of Ponto

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Red Scar - Chapter 4

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