The Power of Five Oblivion

“We should move,” he said.
    Pedro nodded. It would be easy enough to find his way back here. The two of them set off together.
    They walked back to the edge of the square, through the lines of columns and out the other side. Like Naples and Anzio, Rome was full of people carrying bundles and suitcases that might contain everything they owned, and the atmosphere of fear and desperation had followed them north. It had stopped raining but the sky was overcast and the air had the same faint smell of burning. Pedro’s clothes were still damp and he was feeling filthy and exhausted. He was also starving. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d had a decent meal.
    They came to a long, narrow street with tall, very grand buildings on both sides. It was impossible to see inside any of them. All the windows at ground level were shuttered and barred, and many of the doors were twice as big as they needed to be with carvings of knights and angels who seemed to stare defiantly at passers-by, daring them to come in. There were fewer people here, and although there were cars and motorbikes parked in neat rows, none of them was moving.
    Emmanuel took a sheet of paper out of his pocket and studied it. He pointed at a building that stood on its own, surrounded by an ornate metal fence with a solid-looking gate. To Pedro, it could have been a miniature palace. He had seen similar places in Lima and had learnt that the very richest people – with their own bodyguards – had lived there, and heaven help you if you were found rummaging in their dustbins or begging for food. They would beat you and leave you bleeding and broken in the street. This palazzo , if that was what it was, looked abandoned. The shutters were down and there were several tiles missing from the roof. And yet it had its own walled garden, with palm trees and shrubs still growing around yet another ornamental fountain. The house was pink and white and four storeys high. Some of the windows were square, others were arched. A long terrace ran down one side and Pedro glimpsed a conservatory filled with more plants at the end.
    “This is it,” Emmanuel said.
    He pressed a bell button beside the gate. It made no sound and nobody came. At least a minute passed – maybe two – and Pedro was beginning to wonder if they’d actually come to the right place. Perhaps there was no one at home. Then, suddenly, he heard a woman’s voice coming from a little speaker above the button.
    “Si. Chi è?”
    She spoke in Italian and Emmanuel answered in the same language. The conversation went on for quite a while and Pedro understood none of it, although he heard his name mentioned a couple of times. The woman sounded nervous. She spoke so quickly that it was impossible to tell where one word ended and the next began. For his part, Emmanuel was soft, reasonable. He was talking with his face pressed against the gate and Pedro realized that he was watching the street at the same time. They weren’t safe here. They needed to be inside.
    The woman stopped speaking. Emmanuel turned to Pedro. “I am leaving you now,” he said. “This is the home of Signora Rivera and she has agreed to accept you.”
    “What about you?”
    “She does not wish to meet me. Good luck, Pedro. I do not know who you are or why you are here, but I am glad that I met you and was able to help you a little. I think it is important. I hope it all works out for you.” And then, before Pedro could say anything, Emmanuel moved away, following the path that had brought them here.
    He had only been gone a moment when there was a click and the gate opened automatically. Pedro went through, closing it behind him. The garden was very neat, with little pebbles forming geometrical shapes between the paths. A statue of a winged child with a finger touching his lips knelt on a pedestal. It seemed to warn Pedro of something secret. Was it telling him to stay away?
    The front door of the house opened and a woman appeared, dressed entirely in black, waving him towards her. This had to be Carla Rivera! She must have been in her late sixties … it was hard to be sure because her face was so lined with worry. She had grey hair, swept back, and although everything about her suggested an old, defeated woman, her eyes were still alert and full of fight. She had a simple gold cross around her neck. It was her only jewellery.
    “Come in! Come in!” she rasped and Pedro relaxed a little, hearing his own