Julian

“Michael, I have tremendous news! I don’t want to call Julian yet because I wanted to discuss this with you first before I tell him.”

“Tell him what, Nicola?”

“Listen, you won’t believe this. I have just returned from Spain. I spent 10 days there and I think I have made an important discovery.” She paused for a second; “Do you remember Julian told us about an engraving which he and Roberta had found in one of the Spanish museums?”

“Yes, I do. It was something about an execution,” I replied warily.

“Correct. Can you believe that I found not just this engraving, but also the place, which is depicted in this picture? I have been there. It has the same square and the same church as shown on the engraving and as Julian described it.”

“But there must be lots of village squares with similar looking churches in them!” I protested.

Pamela was watching me, her eyebrows raised in question. Nicola continued almost as if I’d not spoken;

“Everything looks the same, just as it did then. The place is called Cadiz, it’s not a village, but a city. Cadiz is one of the oldest cities in the Western world and has a port that goes back to the time of Phoenician merchants. The ‘church’ on the engraving is actually a Cathedral. You cannot mistake its shape, although it has been subject to many restorations since the time of the engraving, but the unusual domed roof, not as we would imagine a church in England still exists.”

Nicola referred to her notebook as she spoke, I could hear the rustle of paper as she leafed through the pages.

“I introduced myself as a journalist and managed to talk to the Cardinal. He was very accommodating and introduced me to the local Bishop who allowed me access to the Cathedral library. More importantly, I was given access to some of the officials who look after the religious manuscripts and old texts relating to the Cathedral and the city. I was there for about 3 hours and spoke with some of the local amateur historians there. One in particular was nearly 80 years old but he has a remarkable memory for detail!” Pam was hovering anxiously nearby, concerned that the call may be about Julian. I mouthed “It’s OK” as Nicola’s voice continued in my ear;

“He knew the history of Cadiz very well. I asked him specifically about the engraving and he estimated it had to be in the latter part of the 16th century. Now get this…” Nicola added, “There are many documented accounts of burnings within the Church records which he translated for me. Many of them concerned Jews who were persecuted at this time, but we found one, which was unique, as it told of a foreign seafarer’s family. He was burned as a heretic and his wife was also killed by the crowd attending the execution, on suspicion of being a witch.” Nicola paused, and I could almost hear her excitement; “Wait for it Michael; their young son is also mentioned – he was mutilated with a burning log!”

I could sense the excitement in Nicola.

“The records were unusually detailed, as they were not part of the Jewish persecutions but of local people. Oh, and Michael, I even found out the boy’s name. I thought it sounded so nice: ‘Alessandro’…”

“It sounds so adventurous, to be a seafarer…”

CHAPTER FIVE

Alessandro: Cadiz, Spain

3rd July 1587

The smooth sea’s surface reflected a calm glaze as the boy poked at a crab with a broken twig, squinting with concentration into the harsh sun.

The cool breeze off the sea ruffled his hair gently as he flipped the crab onto its back in the soft warm sand and he giggled as it struggled to right itself. A serious look came over his handsome face as he observed the determination with which the unfortunate creature attempted to rectify himself. No matter how many times the boy flipped him over; he saw that the crab would just keep trying until he succeeded in getting back on its legs, only to be cruelly flipped over by yet another poke of his stick.

Tiring of this game, he glanced back towards the sounds of preparation as men loaded the tall sailing ship. On this ship, the boy’s father would soon be departing on a long ocean adventure to distant waters. It was the boy’s dream to accompany his father on such a trip and he longed to be old enough to do so.

“It sounds so adventurous, to be a seafarer,” he said aloud to himself. In his imagination he was already the Captain of his own ship. It was large and beautiful as this one. A whistle from one of the men on the rigging brought him out of the deepest oceans and back to the beach.

“When I grow up I will definitely be a seaman!” he thought. “Like father, I will travel over the seas, discover new lands and visit far off countries and places.” The boy rolled over onto his back so that he was blinded by the sun overhead. Closing his eyes tightly he could hear the distant voices of the crew as they clambered about the rigging adjusting the sails, the gulls swooped overhead, their cries ringing in his ears. He drifted off into another daydream.

“I will come back home with a lot of wonderful things like pearl shells, large sea stars and beautiful woven shawls for Mother.” he dreamed.

His father was always bringing wonderfully designed veils from the East, which were made in an almost transparent magical cloth that nobody here knew how to make. Mother’s friend Maria sold them at the market for them and how people marvelled at how fine the cloth was. Maria’s husband Philip was a seafarer too and was on the same ship as Father. Philip had told him that he had seen creatures bigger than lions that had orange and black stripes on their fur, but he did not believe him!

Through his thoughts, he heard a familiar voice. He sat up and shook the sand from his hair. The crab had gone, taking advantage of the distracted boy to make good its escape.

The voice called again; “Alessandro, come here, my darling”. It was Mother. Alessandro turned towards the sound and saw his mother standing on top of the sand embankment, her hands on her hips in mock annoyance. Mother never lost her temper with him. She waved, making sure he had seen her.

Alessandro jumped to his feet and raced towards his mother; weaving his way in the manner of a young boy of ten years, making sure he stepped on all the white shells which littered the beach after the gulls had smashed them open on the rocks above. The rules of the game were simple: step only on the white shells. Any other would be unlucky but his skill ensured that he stepped on them all. Bounding over them at such a speed, he had difficulty in stopping in time and his mother caught him laughingly. He sank to his knees in a heap at her feet.

Mother bent to straighten his shiny black hair and flicked the grains of sand encrusted on his cheek. Still laughing, she asked him,

“How are you, my son? Where did you adventure today? Was it on a big ship like Father’s?”

Before Alessandro could get his breath back to answer, she continued, “Come, let’s go home. You need to change your clothes because we are going to church soon. Your Father is leaving today, and we must spend time in prayer for his safekeeping.”

“I want to be a seafarer, Mother. Am I allowed to be a seafarer like father when I grow up?” Alessandro asked with hope in his voice.

“My dear Alessandro! When you are a man, you will have no need for my permission then, only my blessing. But to be honest with you, I would much prefer to see you as an artist!”

She smiled at his exaggerated grimace. “How are your drawing lessons with Don Pedro coming on?” she asked.

“It’s alright…” Alessandro tried not to sound too interested. Although in truth he enjoyed painting, it was not as much fun as going on the ships. However, his interest betrayed him as he added a little too breathlessly,

“Don Pedro promised to show me how to make my own paints next week. Already I can change the colours by mixing them!”

To Alessandro, theirs was a happy existence. But it had not always been so. Before he had been born, his mother and father, Loura and Mauro Corrado had lived in Venice on the Adriatic Sea. Unfortunately, the civil war which had ravaged their country had come upon them, leaving them no option but to flee after their house was set alight by the militia. Mauro convinced Loura that they should join the ships leaving for Spain to seek a better life where it would be safe to raise a family. They sold their meagre possessions and had landed in Cadiz some 12 years ago with not much more than they could carry.

Loura had found work doing menial jobs at a local tavern where she cleaned, did the laundry and sewing. The tavern was owned by a surly couple called Francisco and Ana Botella. Ana was lazy and took pleasure in ensuring that Loura worked hard for the little money she was paid. Mauro, having been a fisherman in Venice, applied his knowledge of ships and the sea and found a job as a seaman on the trading ship, ‘St. Sebastian’.

Mauro was an honest hard working man and with sober habits. He worked aboard the ‘St. Sebastian’, an old but durable tub, for some two years before he was able to afford a home of his own with which to house Loura who had lodged at Botella’s tavern whilst he was at sea. When Mauro finally bought their house, Loura, who was already pregnant, moved from the tavern to become a housewife and await the arrival of the baby.

Ana announced her displeasure at Loura leaving her tavern. She had been useful there and Ana had enjoyed taking advantage of Loura’s hard working nature to have more free time for herself. With Loura gone her husband Francisco was reluctant to pay decent money for a replacement and told Ana she would have to do any additional work herself. Ana found herself with many of the unpleasant tasks she had managed to avoid for so long, and her resentment of Loura was matched only by her dislike of the chores.

When Alessandro was born, Loura happily devoted herself to her son and the house. At about that time, Mauro befriended Philip, a seafarer on the ‘Española’, a beautiful modern merchant sailing ship. Philip was the leading seaman and was charged with finding an experienced replacement, which they needed desperately before their next voyage. It was a great opportunity for Mauro and a good change of fortune in their lives, especially now that they had a child. The downside would be that as the ‘Española’ was a merchant ship that travelled to distant lands as far as India, it would mean that Mauro would be away from home for long periods of time.

Spain had developed a trade route to India at the bequest of Charles V since the discovery of the Indian continent at the end of the previous century. Competition was high, and many nations strove to secure the routes that meant lucrative contracts for the ship owners as ships returned laden with spices. It was a prestigious job for Mauro; the ‘Española’ being the largest ship in port in Cadiz and his wages had almost tripled.

In this environment, Alessandro grew up, learning to read and write and appreciate art. He was a clever boy and talented in whatever he chose to do. He loved to spend many hours listening to his father’s tales about the mysterious places in India. It was every boy’s dream to go to sea and being a port, most families were involved in maritime commerce one way or another, many being fisherman. Not many children though, had a father who went abroad and returned with strange gifts and interesting tales to tell of life in strange lands. Loura, however, saw other opportunities for Alessandro and when he was 10, arranged drawing lessons for him with Don Pedro who taught at the church school. Her dream was that her son would use his gentler talents and become an artist rather than take the risks involved in going to sea like his father.

Loura had talents of her own. She had learned a lot about the medicinal properties of herbs from her mother and her grandmother in the old country. She busied herself with growing and drying remedial herbs and made a small business of her own helping the local people with their health problems. At first the local pharmacist made fun of the poultices and herbal mixtures she peddled. As her popularity increased however, he had a grudging respect for her knowledge, although he would never admit to it in public.

CHAPTER SIX

Julian: Sussex, England

15th October 2003

We sat in the doctor’s reception area, a rather elaborate room in art décor style reserved for clients of a wealthy nature. Julian underwent his session with the doctor. Pamela looked calm, just happy that Julian had agreed to attend. She only wanted what was best for her son and she was a very patient woman. I, on the other hand, found myself to be surprisingly tense and nervous as if I was attending the doctor myself. I pretended to look calm, but to be honest, I was rather worried.

Nicola had been allowed to be present in the initial consultation between the psychoanalyst and Julian only on the understanding that she did no more than observe. I hoped that it would be made clear today what really was happening with Julian. Was he experiencing a mental episode and if so, how serious was it?

Before we involved a doctor, Nicola took on board my concerns and especially those of Pamela. She told us that she felt it was best she approaches Julian and explain that his health was important.

“Personally,” she advised us, “I cannot see any abnormal signs myself, and I have been working closely with Julian, but maybe I am too close. It requires an objective view of someone not too bound up in Julian’s problems to make that judgement!”

Nicola talked to Julian several times and explained to him the importance of his health. She did not hide the fact from Julian that such symptoms like recurring dreams, premonitions, fears (it does not matter whether they are well founded or not) although very interesting for her to study, may constitute a real hazard to his health. The only way to be sure would be to see a psychoanalyst, and she recommended that he check himself out anyway.

Julian only agreed to see a doctor when Nicola offered to arrange an appointment with an ex-tutor of hers. He was one of the best private psychoanalysts in Harley Street, London. Doctor Edward Humphries had an excellent reputation and Nicola knew him from her days at University. He was usually quite busy but did not refuse Nicola when she explained Julian’s problem. He was a mild mannered man, with a slim frame and sagging shoulders. Thick rimmed spectacles perched on the end of his nose, which he peered over rather than through. You immediately got the impression on meeting him that you were in safe, if not eccentric hands. He explained;

“The first consultation must be a minimum of one and a half hours for us to get to know each other and discover the background to the problem. I do not expect much from the first session, but it will give me an indication on how to structure the following sessions.”

He looked at each one of us in turn.

“After that I will decide what the best course to take is.”

Having completed his preliminary session, Dr Humphries had his nurse collect us from the lounge and ushered us into his office. Julian and Nicola were already present, and Pamela and I sat on the leather sofa under a large bay window. Dr Humphries sat behind an old-fashioned heavy mahogany desk, his arms resting on an ink blotter. He made a steeple out his fingers whilst he patiently waited for us to be seated.

Clearing his throat, Dr Humphries nodded towards Julian.

“I regret that the young man is suffering from overt mental strain. We will need to get down to the underlying cause of this. Until we have a precise idea what is causing it, he will continue to have symptoms, but that is something we need to work on.”

He inclined his head to gaze at Julian over his spectacles.

“What immediately makes it more difficult is that Julian himself has no idea what is causing his stress, although this is not unusual. In those instances where something tangible is the cause, such as work worries or debt etc. it would be so much easier. Until the source of the problem is identified, we cannot even begin to remedy it.

He looked in Pamela’s direction to placate her.

“This is of course contributing to his insomnia, which in turn leads to lack of sleep and even higher stress levels which have exacerbated the symptoms he is now exhibiting.” He glanced at his notes; “Unpredictable reactions to common occurrences, a lucid imagination, paranoia and a proneness to place complicated explanations to simple events. These are all quite classic symptoms.”

He paused to allow us time to absorb the information;

“Take the example of Julian’s reaction to his birthmark for instance. This is just a banal combination of events. It happens quite often and especially when people find something unusual after a bad dream, but I really do not think we have much to worry about.”

I felt jubilant! It was good to know Julian did not have a serious problem. I also felt a little smug at being vindicated in my belief that he was merely over stressed.

Dr Humphries continued, breaking into my thoughts;

“To be honest with you all, there is just one detail I did find interesting. That is Julian’s reaction to hearing the name ‘Alessandro’. Nicola informs me that she found reference to the description of the life of an unfortunate boy with the same name in similar circumstances as Julian described.”

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