The Omega Scroll by Adrian D'Hagé Page B

received a message that the Mother Superior wanted to see her in her office at nine tomorrow morning, which made her wonder what sin she had committed that might have brought her to the attention of Mother Alberta.
    By the time she set out for the town, Allegra was less troubled and she made her way down the clay and limestone path, on steps cut into the rock. Some of the early snows had melted and the cool clear mountain stream gurgled under the bridge as Allegra picked her way across the gaps where the weathered wood had rotted away. The climb through the gullies to the village was steep but at the top it merged into the cobblestones of an alley where a cacophony of sound echoed off the dirty walls of the houses. A dozen radios were tuned, or more likely untuned, to the only station that reached these parts and the crackling blare from the old speakers mixed with the cackling of chickens being shooed by Nonnas in black. Discordance was given an entirely new meaning as donkeys and the family pigs were herded to the back of the house towards a small bale of hay and a bowl of scraps. An argument had broken out in a house a little further up and the screams of abuse from a wife of thirty years and allegations of her husband’s lust for the much younger wife next door rose above the cries of the children, animals and the rattling of pots and pans. Southern Italy at dusk. Allegra paid the chaos no attention. The sounds were no different from the ones she had grown up with in the house that had been home to generations of Bassettis and she headed for the concrete steps that formed a ‘V’ over the opening to the stables and walked up to the entrance of the house.
    She poked her head around the open door.
    ‘ Buonasera! ’ she called.
    Giuseppe was the first to spot her. Fat legs propelled him forward and he launched himself at his sister, grabbing hold of her habit.
    ‘Mamma! Papà! È Allegra!!’
    ‘Bambino!’ Allegra swung Giueseppe into the air. His dark brown eyes shone with delight. Then she gave her Mamma, Nonna and her brothers a hug. Papà was still shaving, but when he finished preening himself in preparation for his evening in the top piazza, he welcomed her with a hug.
    The big rough wooden table was already set for la cena with one huge bowl, forchette and a thick wooden pane di tavola – the family breadboard. La cena was a simple affair.
    ‘You’re just in time, Allegra,’ her mother said, forking great strands of steaming linguine out of a big old pot that dwarfed the tiny two-ring burner that passed for a stove. She carried the large, chipped pottery bowl that had been around for as long as Allegra could remember and placed it in the middle of the table. Papà sliced the big loaf that Nonna had baked earlier in the day and Giuseppe reached towards it.
    ‘Giuseppe! Not until Allegra has said grace and Papà has been served,’ his mother scolded. Giuseppe withdrew his little paw and gave his sister a sheepish grin, his brown eyes sparkling mischievously.
    ‘Bless us, O Lord, and these Your gifts which we are about to receive from Your bounty. Through Christ our Lord. Amen.’
    ‘Amen,’ the family murmured and they all waited for Papà to pour some hot olive oil and garlic over the pasta and for Mamma to grate the cheese. Papà twirled a generous serving of linguine around his fork and then the rest of the family was able to attack the big bowl all at once.
    ‘So how are things at the convent?’
    ‘Fine, Papà,’ Allegra replied, quietly asking for forgiveness in the event that they were not. ‘And here?’
    Her father shrugged. He was a tall, thin man but the years had brought a hunch to his shoulders. ‘ Non troppo bene . We need rain for the potatoes,’ was his simple reply.
    ‘I shall ask Mother Superior to include rain on our list of supplications,’ Allegra offered, ever the optimist.
    ‘It’s the same everywhere,’ said her mother. Caterina Bassetti was as short and plump as her