"Not, what i mean is a cup that i can carry with me."
The morning air was warm, though colder than the previous days, as September begins to show itself in the Roman atmosphere, still pleasant enough not to disturb.
The waiter, a young, stiff-backed, but well shaved a, was showing a wry nervous smile, trying to hide his confusion as well as he could.
"Your Excellency..." he said, unsure if he heard that right, pulling the chair again to offer a seat to the prince, following the protocol, especially for such a prestigious guest.
The prince did not sit, actually he didn't move at all, gazing with an annoyed eye to the chair. He sighed while giving a gaze around, trying probably to find someone who could better understand his demands, he clearly didn't had time for this.
He remained standing by the counter, his eyes sweeping over the room a second time before settling again on the young man.
"Si, un caffè. Ma... in carta," he said, not sure if his Italian was right, although he had instantly learnt it when he transmigrated, he wasn't sure if he didn't by inadvertance slipped and added some foreign words in it.
He already did quite a few times, bringing the intrigued gaze of some of his pairs, that he justified by talking about an intense learning of foreign langage of him.
"In carta, Vostra Altezza?" The waiter blinked, with his eyes wide open, moving his head, looking like an owl, although way less classy and smart looking. "A coffee in... paper?"
"Yes, paper..." Amedeo parroted sarcastically "Something I can carry."
He said with a little bit of annoyance when his eyes are flicking on the clock mounted on the wall, he was close to be late.
Although he will probably not mind, it's not like Soren... Benito... whatever, has another thing to do.
And anyway, when they are talking, he takes half his time hidden behind his desk, scribbling who-knows-what, giving his signatures and reading some unknown stuff. Rarely offering his full attention, only gazing on him on few occasions when he seemed particularly amused for whatever his boomer mind can find funny, or when the discussion begins to really shift to a serious matter.
So, he figured, that the Duce will have more time to play with his paper while waiting for him. And it's not like he'd be going anywhere anytime soon. It sometimes seems like the man's butt is glued to the chair of his office.
He should really go outside more often though, it's not good to stay forever in his house, far from the light of the sun
Anyway...
The waiter stammered, flustered by the collision of lackluster effort at formality and the absurdity of this request. They had everything, everything an Italian upper-class coffee could give, china cups, porcelain demitasses, glasses for macchiato, but paper ?
That was for sweets, street vendor's food and anarchists culinary taste. Not for the great House of Savoy.
"With respect, we do not serve—"
"Do you know where I am going ?" Amedeo interrupted him abruptly, while beginning to feel quite irritated that this coffee seems to be in distress at such a simple task.
Is he asking for the moon ?
No, his nose is of normal size.
"I have an appointment at Palazzo Venezia." He said, making sure to put a great emphasis on the name.
"With the Duce... Yes, you heard that correctly.... In half an hour, and I don't have quite the time to afford the ten minutes waiting for a cup of the size of my thumb, then followed by the fifteen minutes it takes for a man to sit, sip, sip, sip again, and contemplate his soul over some shadows that he sees in the reflection of his espresso."
" So yeah, paper will do just fine. I need to walk."
The waiter begins to baffle at this news, making him sweat at this revelation, as he tries to explain the problem without seeming disrespectful.
"But your Excellency... we don..."
"Then improvise !"
Amedeo's tone was now raised, cutting with casual authority.
"Find something. A box of ice cream. A donut carrier. A fucking napkin. A cone. Your hat, if it comes to that, I don't care. Just make sure it's portable and doesn't ruin my uniform because this improvised cup is leaking like a sieve. Did you get it, or should I draw you a nice picture on a paper towel to be sure ?"
The barista, overhearing, approached and bowed before whispering something to the waiter, who then scurried behind the counter. There was a rustling, a tearing of waxed paper, the repurposing of a panettone wrapper from a Christmas past. And then, at last, the liquid itself, the dark, hot, thick as an oath substance, poured into the makeshift vessel.
Amedeo accepted it without a nod. Looking once more at the clock behind the bar.
He can still do it if he hurries
"Grazie," he said, not even sure if his voice sound sarcastic or not. "The nation thanks you for your service."
And in an instant, just the time to thrown two liras on the bar, before leaving, his boots striking the stones of the place as he stepped out, coffee steaming like a torch in his hand as he disappeared into the matinal fog, and the little crowd of people going to work.
"That was something."
Luigi, the waiter said with a slight smile, surprised to see a man of such importance enter at the establishment of him and his brother, with such an unusual demand, before leaving as rapidly as he arrived.
"Mmmm..."
His brother said thoughtfully, his hand on his chin, his fingers absently rubbing over his mustache.
"What it is Mario ?" Luigi asked, his brother seemingly lost in thought
"Paper cup... takeaway coffees..."
Mario answered pensively, while gazing at the other paper still present behind the bar.
"Mmmmmmm..."
"Luigi, I have an idea..."
__________________________________________________________________________________________
"You are late..."
The calm voice structs him from the moment the heavy doors groaned, the valet opening before him.
"I was admiring the ceiling," Amedeo says coolly, as he is stepping over the threshold of this room, a new one, not that he ever took time to visit any other room of the Palazzo Venezia than the desk room of his friend...
And the bathroom, of course.
His eyes are lifting to the intricately carved coffered woodwork above his head, some burnished red and gold squares harbouring surfaces worn by time yet still glittering under the light of the afternoon sun. The recently restored wood is beaming of painted deep red and gold, each square bearing its own coats of arms or its allegorical figures.
"Of course you were... not that i can really mind."
The Duce says, with a low and slow voice, his back still turned on Amedeo, as he is admiring some frescoes, a medieval coat of arms, bearing a range of colours and symbols, most notably a lion with wings. The representation is on the wall perpendicular to that of the magnificent chimney, the enormous fireplace being probably enough to warm all of this floor.
Close to this fireplace, a black leather chair with sharp angles is positioned behind a heavy oak writing desk, Amedeo don't know if the modern pieces aren't standing at little bit at odds with the gilded Renaissance age that carries itself in the entirety of the room. But maybe it bears something more than the estheticism valour. The antique and the new. Rome and the modernity
His boots are sounding sharp against the mosaic floor, echoing in the great empty room, his gaze go to the winddown before continuing, admiring the columns, which are painted on the walls, not real, climbing the colour structure in perfect illusion, screaming renaissance. Going higher and higher, reaching the frescoed medallions of the four persons in church attire, watching the room from above, like if they were doing it from the skies, their painted eyes seemingly gazing him with grimness judgment.
For he is only a sinner. And a humble one.
Above him, frescoes and illusionistic architectural painting cover most of the walls. The painted columns rising between scenes of Classical roman iconography and Christian virtue.
His gaze then goes lower to where his feet landed, a marble ground of different colours, mostly black and whites. Picturing a perfect rectangle.
At the very center lies a mosaic representing a woman been dragged, seemingly abducted by a bull, the animal running through stylized waves in a marine environment, the drapery of the woman is perfectly draped, reflecting its curves and shapes through the fabric frozen in the moment, but pulled, as if carried away by the wind and the speed of the ox, as it is continuing its course in direction of a land on the horizon. The picture exposed at the heart of the office.
Surrounding this unknown representation, the mosaic expands into a world of aquatic animals and seemingly sea deities. Tritons, Nereids, and other sea deities, and hippocampes ? All of these creatures encircling the scene of abduction in a choreography of flowing lines and deep colors.
Surrounding this mosaic, another one, but less filled, and these imageries, he can recognise them... zodiac signs and some other celestial motifs punctuate the blank stones.
"The Rape of Europa"
Benito says, now fully turned to him, his step resonating in the great hall as he joins his friend.
"Europa was a Phoenician princess, the daughter of a King named Agenor. She was renowned through the lands and beyond for her incredible beauty. One day, she was on the beach near her palace, gathering flowers near the sea with her friends and maids, at this moment, Zeus, the king of Olympians, saw her from the skies and fell in love, captivated by her beauty.
But to approach her without alarming her or having to reveal his true form, Zeus transformed himself into a magnificent white bull. And appeared to her, coming straight from the ocean, emerging from the waves and approaching her.
The bull was gentle... so gentle and striking that Europa was drawn to it, amazed by its beauty, its size and its character. She eventually put her hand on its neck, wanting to pet it. At that moment, feeling her fingers on him, Zeus decided to act, grabbing her and putting her on his back, before running toward the sea.
She tried to resist but was clearly outmatched by the strength of the animal, which was still a god. And could only scream and wave her hands as the animal swam away with her on his back, walking through waves and waves, crossing the waters of the salty Mediteranea like if it was ntothing for him, passing the ocean until they reached the island of Crete.
Once they arrived in the deserted island, Zeus revealed to her his true form, showing his god face to his new bride. Then he and Europa became lovers, in some versions, a willing union of people brought together by their mutual feelings.
In others, let's say it could be described as an union yes, although quite a less consensual one.
She bore him three sons : Minos, who would be a legendary king of Crete, and yes, the one related to the Minotaur. And after that, one of the three judges of the dead in te underworld.
Rhadamanthus, who also became a king of Crete, renowned for his sense of justice and his creation of multiple law, so much that he became also judge of the dead like his great brother. Although, there is quite a little difference with his brother Minos, his wife didn't cheat on him with a bull.
And Sarpedon, who became king of Lycia and a formidable warrior. before participating in the Trojan War on the side of the Trojans. And being killed by Patroclus. The cousin/best friend/lover of Achile.
But as he often does in the stories including him, Zeus isn't particularly attached to a singular relationship, so he left. Giving Europa gifts, including Talos, a bronze automaton to guard her, and also a javelin that never miss, and a hound that always caught its prey.
The girl eventually married King Asterius of Crete, who then adopted her children. And, of course, her name was later given to our continent, Europe.
"A nice little story you got here."
Amedeo replied, squinting, feeling that he is probably about to have a discussion quite different from the ones He and Benito have had before, not really used to so much chatter from his friend.
"Yes, that's true," the leader replies with a sly smile, while placing his arm around Amedeo's back, his hand resting on his shoulder. Guiding him through the room, towards the oak desk.
"Don't pay attention to that," the head of government said, pointing with a vague gesture to a part of the room, the walls and ceiling of the half opposite the door. These parts were in much worse condition than the others, with a stepladder and some tools lying around on that side.
"Signore Duodo is still in the process of renovating the place, after all, it dates back to the 16th century, it has taken years..."
it is true that now that Amedeo pays attention to it, some parts are clearly showing sign of the years. But some walls and places don't seem to bear as much damage as other parts in this room, and still seem in renovation, curious.
"He repairs the damage of time, removes the additions made over the years by the succession of different owners, at least those he deems unnecessary... while making some... improvements here and there."
"I see"
The member of the House of Savoy said in an intrigued and contemplative tone, admiring the walls before his gaze settled on a space located at one end of the rectangle, the one that people entering through the front door first encounter.
Set with intention into the geometric border of the floor, it emerge as stark emblems of power. A bundle of rods bound tightly together, an axe protruding from one side, surrounded by a crown of laurel.
The fasces
A fasces, held between the two legs of an eagle spreading its wings wide, as if carried by it as it flies, leading it beyond the skies. Above the eagle's head, a royal crown.
The text below is crystal clear, leaving no room for doubt about the meaning of this symbol. On the right side is inscribed Anno V—the fifth year—commemorating five years since the rise to power of the government. The inscription on the left side is equally clear. Lictoriae Aetatis, the literal Latin translation of "Fascist Era."
A stark reminder for everyone who enter this room. "Here, is sieging the State, and he is absolute."
"I asked him for some modifications regarding the original plan. At the start, it was only supposed to be a fasces. But, I find that the design from the later social republic, may it never be born in our universe, has much more aesthetic value, as well as the adding of the crown."
"I see" Amedeo acquiesce while reluctantly following the man, the firm grip of the hand on his shoulder only adding to his nervousness, strong like if he was chained by steel. It is clear that whatever the news is, his friend seems quite happy, even overly happy, if that term can be applied to this man.
Although strangely, he feels a slight anger emanating from him, is it his voice ? No. His way of moving himself today? No. Yet, despite all that, he cannot help but feel like a child talking to his parents on school report evening, in that precise moment when you are at the table, just before eating, and that you still hope they won't bring up the subject.
"How did things went ?" he asks, knowing very well that if he doesn't speak, he risks getting stuck with three or four hours of lessons about the iconography and iconology of each symbol in this room, which he would like to avoid. He sure knows how literature and history teachers can be... passionate. Even though they seem cold and apathetic for everything else.
"Perfettamente bene" Mussolini said in a happy tone, pulling out his friend's chair before inviting him to sit down. He then walked around the desk to settle into his own chair, the wood creaking beneath him.
"Volpi waved his tail as usual, nothing surprising. Giordani muttered under his breath and scribbled a few notes in his notebook before accepting the incredible opportunity that had been offered to a simple chemist and professor at the university. And de Stefani.. De Stefani, because it was him the potential problem, an involuntary nut in the machine, finally agreed to take his place at the very top. For Italy, and the position, of course..."
"I would have preferred Einaudi all the same." Amedeo retorts while crossing his arms, knowing full well that it would be quite unlikely, at best. But annoyed enough by the situation to express his disagreement, not that he normally does.
Yes, Einaudi, the genius in economy, the man who brought back Italy 's economy after WWII in the other life, he would have been the perfect choice. If moral, ideology, politic, diplomacy and opinion didn't mattered much.
"Ah yes, Einaudi," Benito repeats in a tone that is half amused, half weary. "The ultra-liberal, the man who detests any corporatist or social policy, openly critical of our government, and, we both know it, my dear friend, a pure antifascist, for whom the mere idea of not putting a slip of paper in a ballot box every two months seems atrocious and inhumane."
The prince lets it slide, fully aware of the impossibility of inviting such a man to the post of Minister of National Production. Both for political and geopolitical reasons. They have already imposed too many major reforms for now. Including a merger of four ministries, the creation of a department that manages accounts, the establishment of an office aimed at tracking down the corrupt, and the open war that is taking place in the south of the boot, with Mori having a free hand and all the means at his disposal to showcase his... talents
Yes, they must ease off and avoid pushing too hard for political and stability reasons. The grand council of fascism, the establishment, the elites, economical and nobiliaire, the bureaucracy, they cannot alienate all of these people.
Somebody liberal but not too much like de Stefani is perfect for that. He is talented, respected, has a lot of experience, is well seen politically speaking, has contacts and know when he must rais his head and tell volpi too fuck off.
Volpi is a genius, a very talented man, even if he is pompous and quite... exuberant, meeting him in aristocracy parties are always an experience. So yeah, a very good economy minister, but sometimes he pushes too far and has his head who inflates too hard, pretty much like the economy in three years.
And Giordani is also perfect. A talented man, not political, and a good bridge between the two.
"So, we are prepared"
"As much as a country with an shell of an industrial capacity for a "great power" can prepare itself for the shithole that will happen"
Benito answer honestly
"It will still probably be quite tough, but it is not like we can totally prevent this crash or its horrible impacts on the world's economy. But we will have it way better than anyone else, unprepared as they are, and when the thirties approach, we will stand has a economical power, we will have secured a lot of wealth, preventing a lot of money to disappear and to business to crumble, and we will have had the opportunity to use this crisis, use this to claim or bought what could be a huge prize or an impossible thing for us to ask three years before."
"Good."
The two men then talked during some hours, discussing new possible reforms to introduce, idea to bring in this country, technologies to "invent", goal to make, people to find, etc.
"Why did you bring me there ?"
Amedeo then ask, after they finished the last subject of the day. Surprised they talked that much, normally the man in front of him is not used to be a huge chatterbox.
"Your things haven't even all been moved here yet, most of your documents are in your other office, I know you were eager to show me your new workspace, but that could have waited two days."
Mussolini gave him a wry smile, then lightly knocked on the wooden desk with his closed fist, letting the sound resonate and echo through the vast chamber before speaking.
"I wanted to show you the room before you go...After all, you won't be coming back for a long time."
__________________________________________________________________________
Hello
it tried to write at my best today but it is difficult
Because now, i am experiencing some pain in the hand.
It might be tendonitis in the thumb area, or something kin to that.
Or maybe i just need let my hand rest one or two days.
so maybe i will be late for next chapter.
Sorry.