Shawn held them up and jangled them before pocketing them along with the ID card and the access permit.
“Looks like we are in business.”
A few minutes later, Shawn and Sana headed down to the concierge’s desk and asked where they could get a quick bite.
“Caffè Greco,” one of the two concierges said without hesitation, the other concierge nodding in full agreement. “It’s just down the steps and straight on Via Condotti. It’s on the right.”
“Can you also tell me where I can find a hardware store?” Shawn asked.
The concierges eyed each other quizzically. This was a first.
After some charades and a quick dictionary consult, Shawn and Sana were directed to a nearby ferramenta called Gino’s on the Via del Babuino.
With map in hand and two hotel umbrellas, the couple first went to Caffè Greco, where they made short work of lunch. Next they used the hotel’s map to seek out Gino’s ferramenta shop, which was, as the concierges promised, a short walk up Via del Babuino. As they approached the shop, the dusty window display of tools and housewares appeared as if it hadn’t been changed in years. When the door closed behind them, they were instantly enveloped in a palpable silence. The interior was as dusty as the window display. At the register were a half-dozen customers patiently and noiselessly waiting for service. A lone employee scanned a thick catalog.
Shawn and Sana were taken aback by the silence. It was heavy, like a church. What minimal sound there was seemed to be dampened by the plethora of merchandise, much of which was stacked in variously sized cardboard boxes. A black-and-white cat slept curled up on a humidifier carton. The atmosphere was a far cry from the hardware stores Shawn remembered from his youth growing up in the American Midwest. There, hardware stores were usually busy and loud, as much a hangout as a place to buy hardware.
Shawn motioned for Sana to follow him into the depths of the store. “Let’s do our shopping ourselves,” he whispered.
“Why are you whispering?”
“I don’t know,” he whispered back, but then in a normal voice said, “It’s ridiculous to be whispering. I suppose I was just following the old adage: When in Rome, do as the Romans do.”
Shawn first went to the area where the cleaning products and utensils were located, Sana following. He handed two stackable buckets to her, then moved on to flashlights and batteries. He selected two large torches with several sets of replacement batteries for each. As he was putting them into the nestled buckets, his eye caught something he’d not thought of: yellow plastic construction helmets with battery-powered headlamps. “I hadn’t thought of headlamps,” he admitted. “But they could come in quite handy.” He tried one on, Sana doing the same.
They laughed at each other conspiratorially.
“Let’s get them,” Shawn said. Sana nodded, and both of them left them on as they moved on to the tool section. There Shawn got a masonry hammer and several masonry chisels. Then he saw three other things he’d not thought of but which would be undeniably helpfuclass="underline" plastic eye-protection goggles, work gloves, and knee protectors. The last item he selected was a Black & Decker drill with a battery pack and a number of interchangeable cutting and drill bits. With that, they paid for their selections and headed back to the hotel, where they stashed them. Shawn also plugged in the battery pack to charge.
“Look at the time,” Sana said. “We’ve only got an hour.”
“It will be close,” Shawn said, checking his watch.
“Maybe we should plan to stay in Rome an extra day. The Scavi might be closed before we get there.”
Shawn glanced at his wife with surprise. Just the day before, she’d been eager to go home immediately. Now she was the one suggesting they stay yet another day. “What about the experiment you were so worried about?”
“You’ve convinced me how important this could turn out to be.”
“I’m pleased,” he said. “But let’s give it a try to get to the Scavi today. To tell you the truth, I’m so excited I can’t put it off. I might even insist we try to get the ossuary tonight whether or not we’re able to reconnoiter this afternoon.”
“Okay, fine,” Sana said. “Let’s give it a go.”
Despite it being rush hour, the Hassler doorman hailed them a taxi in minutes. As they were driven across the city Shawn and Sana were too tense to make conversation.
The cabbie, perhaps noting his passengers constantly checking their watches, drove like he was a Formula One racer. Weaving in and out of the traffic, he was able to deposit them just shy of twenty minutes at the Arch of the Bells, or Arco delle Campane, in the shadow of Saint Peter’s. The rain was now coming down in sheets. Shawn and Sana huddled together under a single umbrella and made a run for the relative protection of the arch. The moment they stepped out of the rain, their further progress was blocked by two Swiss Guards dressed in their colorful black-and-orange vertical-striped uniforms accented by white ruffs and floppy black berets. One of the guards accepted Shawn’s Vatican ID, checked the photo against Shawn’s rain-soaked face, handed it back, saluted, and waved them in. There had been no words.
Emerging into the open, back into the wind-whipped rain, they ran across the cobblestoned piazza abutting the south side of Saint Peter’s basilica. Now they were fighting not only the rain but also the torrents of water issuing forth from the church’s gargoyles as well as splashes of water from fast-moving traffic heading out of Vatican City.
Gesturing with his head, Shawn said, “Can you see that flat black stone with a white border set into the ground we are passing?”
“Yes,” Sana said without much enthusiasm. She was intent on getting out of the weather.
“Remind me to tell you about it when we get indoors.”
Luckily, they didn’t have far to go, and a few moments later they ducked in under a portico. They whisked the water off themselves as best they could and stomped their feet.
“That black stone out there in the piazza is supposed to mark the center of Nero’s circus, where many early Christians, including Saint Peter, were martyred. For many years the Egyptian obelisk that’s now in the center of Piazza San Pietro stood there.”
“Let’s get inside,” Sana said. She wasn’t interested in touristic details. She was wet and chilled, and night had fallen.
A few steps away, they entered the office of the Necropoli Vaticana. Despite it looking ramshackle to Sana to the point of resembling an inner-city principal’s office, she was glad to be out of the weather. A large old-fashioned steam radiator hissed and thumped in the corner. Facing them was a counter fronting a battered government-issue desk. A man’s head bobbed up. His expression suggested he was not happy about being disturbed.
“The Scavi is closed for the day,” he said with a heavy accent. “The last tour left half an hour ago.”
Without speaking, Shawn handed over his Vatican ID and the access permit. The man examined the permit closely. When he read Shawn’s name his eyes lit up. He raised his head and smiled. “Professor Daughtry! Buona sera.” As it turned out, the man recognized Shawn’s name from his work at the site five years previously. He introduced himself as Luigi Romani.
Shawn vaguely recognized the name.
“Are you going down into the Scavi?” Luigi asked.
“Yes, just for a short visit. We just came into Rome this afternoon, and we’re leaving tomorrow. I wanted to show my wife some of the more interesting details. We won’t be long.”
“Will you be exiting back this way or through the basilica? I’ll be leaving shortly.”