The Power of Five Oblivion

their bowlines were barely above the water, and they were able to moor at the edge of the port. Pedro saw hordes of people fighting against each other as they tried to make their way along the streets, many of them bowing under the weight of oversized bundles and suitcases. The sky was grey and overcast and still smelled of burning.
    Emmanuel came over to Pedro. “You must say goodbye to Giovanni here,” he said. “He will stay on the Medusa . “Before Pedro could protest, he went on. “You need an ID card to travel into Rome and he is giving you his. The two of you do not look very similar but you are the same age and hopefully, because you are young, nobody will look too closely. I will accompany you to the home of Carla Rivera and ensure that you arrive safely. Then I must also return.”
    “Where will you all go?” Pedro asked.
    “We have friends further in the north, in the mountains near Spoleto. We are safer if we stick together and they will look after us. We are doing exactly what Franceso Amati told us to. Say goodbye quickly. The train leaves soon and we do not want to miss it.”
    Pedro barely knew Giovanni. Not being able to speak his language had made it impossible for the two of them to become friends. But he embraced the other boy warmly and felt genuinely sorry that the two of them were being separated. Giovanni nodded and tried to smile but he was clearly as cold, wet and exhausted as Pedro.
    “Buona fortuna!” he said.
    “Good luck.” Pedro smiled back. And then Pedro and Emmanuel were gone, the two of them, slipping onto the quay and making their way hurriedly inland.
    Almost immediately they came upon a crush of people, filling the Riviera Zanardelli, a wide thoroughfare that crossed the entire town, running parallel with the shoreline. Anzio was a neat, elegant place with open squares, fountains and palm trees – but it hadn’t been prepared for this invasion. If it had once had cafés and restaurants, they were all closed. The shutters were down, the terraces empty, the canopies rolled back. Pedro was aware of many different languages being spoken around him. These weren’t just Italians pouring out of the boats. They must have come from all over Europe, maybe even from Africa. Once again, the streets were lined with policemen, barking orders, occasionally pulling people out of the line, slapping them for no good reason and sending them spinning into the gutter.
    Somehow Pedro and Emmanuel fought their way through. The station at Anzio was just as crowded, with every inch of the platform taken up by people, parcels and even animals … chickens in cages and sheep. It reminded Pedro of a war film. Sometimes he’d managed to sneak into the cinemas in Lima and would watch the latest American releases until he was discovered and thrown out. Saving Private Ryan, Pearl Harbor, Schindler’s List … apart from the modern clothes, everything he was seeing could have been a throwback to the Second World War. Even the light made everything look black and white. There was a train waiting, with uniformed guards at every door.
    “Give me your ID card,” Emmanuel said. Pedro handed it over. “I need it to buy tickets. Wait for me here. I won’t be long.”
    Pedro did as he was told. Emmanuel pushed his way to the front of the crowd that surrounded the station office and returned with the tickets a few minutes later. Pedro was surprised that he had been so quick, but then nobody actually seemed to be going anywhere. Perhaps they couldn’t afford the fare.
    They chose the busiest carriage, where a tired and flustered guard was already being overwhelmed by the number of passengers. As Emmanuel had guessed, he barely looked at their ID but allowed them to climb on board.
    And then, almost at once, the train pulled away and they were heading down the line, slowly picking up speed, on their way to Rome. The thought made Pedro dizzy. He had never visited Rome. He had never even seen a picture of it but he remembered that it was the capital of Italy. And it was in Rome that he would find the church of St Peter’s that Matteo had mentioned to him in his dream. Pedro was certain that somewhere inside, he would find the door that would reunite him with his friends. But first he would have to find this woman … Carla Rivera. How could he be sure that he could trust her when all he knew about her was her name? And what about Emmanuel, for that matter? He could hand Pedro back to the police, to the