The Church of Lost Souls 15

When we got back to the tent Sofia started talking about the bones and skulls that the Church of Purgative Souls had dug up and blessed, one by one. It was a fascinating story, she said.

While we were at the library she´d also found a much newer reference book, which confirmed what she´d said about the church being condemned in 1969.

The story of the pezzentelle began in the 1600’s, during which there had been several periods of severe famine, three earthquakes and multiple epidemics of the Black Plague. Also, Vesuvius had erupted five times. The worst outbreak of the plague happened in 1656, taking the lives of over half of Naples’ population.

With so many dead there were too many bodies to bury in cemeteries so their bodies were taken to the ancient tufo mines near the Materdei hill.

Over time this area became a cemetery for the poor and abandoned and was named the Cimitero delle Fontanelle, where it's estimated that some eight million souls now lay buried.

The Neapolitan cult of the pezzentelle only got going at the end of the nineteen century, though, when the church of Maria Santissima del Carmine was built. It was Father Gaetano Barbati and a group of pezzentelle devotees that collected the bones from the Fontanelle.

They organised the bones and skulls of about 40,000 corpses with the hope of finding the remains of long lost relatives but as there was no way to identify them they began to adopt those they retrieved, making them the principal object of their prayers.

Making long tunnels under the church itself they placed the skulls in marble and wood niches, lining them up against the walls. They gave the skulls names, lit candles in their honour and brought them flowers. The adopted souls were then asked favours and graces from illness or to relieve a broken heart. The skulls became anonymous symbols to celebrate those ancient souls and to embrace their continuity.

‘Because of Cardinal Ursi,’ said Sofia, ‘the Cult of The Purgative Souls isn’t practised in Naples any more.’

With all that whirring around my head I said goodnight and went to bed, set on an early start in the morning.

One thing I learnt from that was never to tell someone something distressing when they´re just about to go to bed, because I had nightmares.

I woke up at about eight and went straight to the taverna. Shrouded by trees and aided by only a low sun the light inside was dull but as I looked around at the walls I was pleased by how the characters had turned out.

The painter hadn´t arrived so I took a peek inside the oven to see if the bones were still there. They weren´t so I went over to Sofia and Paolo to see if they were up. They weren´t so I went looking for coffee and pastry on the street. I had one of each at a café and then returned with some pastries for the gang, who still weren´t up.

Plonking the pastries outside Sofia´s tent I went back to the taverna but there was still no sign of the painter so I got to work on Jesus.

Because of the shape of the oven´s outer surface, a bulbous semi-circular mound protruding from the wall, I had to work off some step ladders with one foot perched at the mouth of the oven. Although the surface had hardened the cracked mortar was still a pain to draw on and it took a while.

Once that was done I applied a heavy coat of flesh tint to Jesus, which sucked into the mortar and cracks and dried almost instantly.

After a few hours, I´d finished the disciples and all that needed doing was Jesus. This was a quandary. The coat of flesh tint hadn´t settled well at all. It had cracked in places, edges curled proudly and resting precariously on the mortar´s surface. Jesus was looking tired.

I tried sanding him down but that wasn´t going to cut it so I wondered whether I should slap an even thicker, more voluminous coat of flesh tint over him. This, I knew, would either work or it wouldn´t so I went in search of the owner to see what he thought.

We went back to the taverna and he suggested I wait till the painter turned up. The party wasn´t starting till eight so there was plenty of time. He remarked that the artwork was to his approval so I brought his attention to the terrible state of Jesus.

´Jesus is OK,´ he said with a wave of the hand.

Between English and what I thought was Italian from my appalling French, I advised him that the mortar wouldn´t have cracked if it had been allowed to dry. He didn´t seem too fazed by it. After all it was he who had asked the man to do the test with the meat.

´The oven works OK,´ he said, ´and Jesus, you do after repair. After party, no?´

I explained that I was maybe going to Switzerland the next morning but may well stay in Rome.

´If you stay Rome you do for me?´

´Si,´ I said.

Although he seemed like a nice chap I still couldn´t work out why he´d wanted to stick a carcass into a pizza oven to bless it.

Sofia and Paolo had woken up when I got back to the tent. Paolo asked how the painting was going and then Sofia asked if I´d like her to read my chart so I went and got it from my room and came back.

The chart spelt all sorts of mischief and adventure, she said, leaning into me to show her readings.

Being thoughtful after the painter´s whereabouts I wasn´t in the mood to listen much so she passed the chart back to me and waddled off for a shower.

Paolo was in good spirits, looking forward to the party and Switzerland.

We´d spoken briefly about my own situation but as neither of us knew what might transpire with Maria no firm promise to join him could be made.

It wasn´t the best scenario but I had to admit I was excited to be seeing Maria and hear about her plans for me. I imagined different scenarios.

As it happened, my favourite band at the time, Killing Joke, were playing at a club called The Roxy in Rome that same night. I´d seen posters dotted around in town over the past few days. Also advertised was the price of a ticket, about 40,000 lira, enough to eat up the remainder of my money. Their new album, Fire Dances, had just come out. They were touring Europe and I´d have loved to have gone but the taverna was opening and the woman of my dreams was coming.

Paolo and Sofia had planned to go into Rome to collect his travelers´cheques from the insurance company.

´I don´t have much to do so I could come along too, if you like,´ I said.

´You need to wait for the painter, James,´ said Sofia. ´Anyway, don´t you want to take it easy this afternoon? Make yourself look nice for Maria?´

´Very funny,´ I said.

I´d found a decent novel at reception the day before and the thought of reading and resting that afternoon was too good to resist. ´OK, I´ll take it easy here.´

They seemed fine with that and a short while later they headed off for the bus.

´It´s only two o´clock, you know,´ I said. ´The insurance company won´t be open till four.´

´There´s a few things I need to get beforehand,´ said Sofia. It sounded suspiciously like Sofia and Paolo had hatched a plan of some sort.

´You´re not planning on any further investigations, are you, Sofia?´ I asked, looking towards Paolo, who was giving nothing away.

´We´ve got a few things to do, haven´t we, Paolo,´ she said, slinging her bag over her shoulder. ´Don´t worry, it´s nothing.´

´Like hell´, I thought, and off they went.

I returned to the taverna but the painter hadn´t arrived so I got on with a few more touches and inspected Jesus. The room was awash with colour and the characters had been rendered well, but then there was Jesus, a smudge of beige with pencil scratches over the gaping mouth of the oven.

By three o´clock I´d cleaned all brushes and tidied up the place, leaving a note for the painter that I´d either be in my room or on the grass verge behind the taverna.

After a shower I made a start on the book and waited.

At about six, on my return to the tavern, I found the painter carrying all his kit back to his van. He´d almost cleared out the place so it was lucky I went when I did.

I asked him if he´d got the spray paints and he said he´d forgotten them but not to worry, then I asked him about Jesus and he said he wasn´t happy about that.

I told him about the man with the meat but he remained unimpressed. He wouldn´t listen. I explained that I´d been waiting for him to view the problem with the cracking paint and mortar, which was why Jesus only had one coat on. If he´d turned up when he said he would I could have done something about it.

The fact was, he said, I´d been left to do the work and it hadn´t been finished. Also, he went on, it wouldn´t be possible to pay me in cash for the work as previously discussed. I´d have to wait until the end of the month like all his other workers, at which time I´d be presented with a cheque. There were strict rules to follow. He was sorry.

I said sorry wasn´t good enough. We´d shaken on cash and he knew of my predicament. Besides I didn´t have an Italian bank account so I couldn´t cash the cheque anyway.

Not his problem, he reckoned.

I told him if he wasn´t going to pay I´d deface my work.

He regarded this as a criminal act and I said the criminal act was not paying for the work. It worked out at four pounds a disciple and two pound for Jesus, I said. If he didn´t pay me I´d spray the lot of them.

The miserly bastard finally relented but not without a fight, trying to hold back 30,000 lira for income tax, which all his workers paid.

I told him I could always wipe out three of the disciples and he eventually handed over five dirty 20,000 lira notes. Knowing I was black market he´d tried to rip me off but it hadn´t worked.

I said thanks and left.

Paolo and Sofia were back at the tent on the rug. As I approached their voices hushed and Sofia passed a bottle of beer to me.

´Thanks,´ I said. ´Did you get the travelers´ cheques OK?´

They had, but they also had some amazing news, said Sofia.

´Don´t get angry but we went back to the joke shop,´ she said.

I looked over at Paolo, who was smiling conspiratorially. ´And?´ I asked. ´What happened?´