The Alchemist’s Code by Martin Rua

September and once again in October. Then Doctor Von Alten was killed and you came back again in November. Since then, from what I’ve heard, you’ve been in town, but you’ve not been well.”
    It was evident that Giuseppe knew something of my life and so I decided to ask the question that mattered most to me. I took a deep breath.
    â€œGiuseppe, do you know what’s happened to my wife? I haven’t seen her for a long time.”
    The man stared at me for several seconds, then, obviously resigned to my state of confusion, sighed. “Mr Aragona, all I know is that the lady was not well and is in hospital. But to be honest, I don’t go around gossiping about my clients’ lives.”
    Hospital. I felt faint, and slid down the lowered shutter of the Églantine.
    â€œMister Aragona!”
    Sitting there on the ground, I looked up at Giuseppe and his face seemed strange, as though I were seeing it for the first time. Perhaps the residue of the drugs that were still in my body was trying to cancel my memory again.
    â€œWhat the—?!”
    Giuseppe approached, perhaps fearing that I was about to pass out, but I shrank away from him. “Mister Aragona, it’s me, Giuseppe, – everything’s alright.”
    The catatonic state seemed to withdraw and I came back to myself. I shook my head to reassure him and I got to my feet.
    â€œI’m ok now thanks, Giuseppe. I have to go to, I really have to go. Wait a minute, though!”
    Why hadn’t I thought of it before? I had to call Àrt, but I realised that I had no phone with me, nor money to use a pay phone.
    â€œGiuseppe, have you got a phone? Can I use it for a minute?”
    â€œOf course.”
    But just then the men that I had seen a few minutes before reappeared.
    â€œShit!”
    Giuseppe was about to turn around, but I stopped him. “No, don’t go – follow me!”
    We walked along Via Chiatamone, briskly, but without running. When we got to the stairs which lead to Via Partenope, I dragged Giuseppe with me down to the promenade.
    â€œBut Mister Aragona—”
    We turned right, entered the first building and hid behind a pillar. I motioned to him to keep quiet. A few seconds later, they passed by and continued along the street. I peeked out from behind the pillar, and when I was sure that they had gone, I climbed the stairs back to Via Chiatamone, with Giuseppe still behind me.
    â€œMister Aragona, what the hell’s going on!?”
    I put a finger to his lips to make him understand that he had to keep quiet. I’d just remembered, too late perhaps, of Anna’s warning about the bugs I might have on me. But I had to speak to my wife immediately. To hell with the bugs, I though, and dialled her number. But it was switched off. My worry only grew, as Giuseppe’s words bounced around in my head. Hospital. Disease.
    What was I supposed to do? I remembered Anna and feverishly, without further hesitation, pulled the note from my pocket and called her number. It rang for a few seconds, then her low, warm voice answered.
    â€œYes?”
    â€œIt’s me,” I said, breathing a sigh of relief.
    There was a moment of silence, then she said, “See you at the same place as yesterday in fifteen minutes,” and hung up.
    I was dumbfounded. It obviously hadn’t occurred to her that the day before my mind was still blurred and that my recollection of our meeting place was very confused. I tried to call her back, but her phone was off. Not knowing what to do, I handed Giuseppe back his phone and pointed to the garage. I had to retrieve my car.
    I returned to the Églantine and tried to retrace the route that I usually took when I went home – to my
real
home. When I arrived at Piazza dei Martiri and saw a coffee shop there, the light bulb I had been waiting for lit up in my brain.
    â€œOf course – the café Riviera!”
    I returned to the Riviera di