The dragon game

By Luciano Rizzo

Luca is a doctor who loves travelling.

During a holiday in Tenerife, he meets a
fascinating woman who eventually guides to a course
on self-awareness.

The other participates turn out to be competitors in a search for
an antique Manuscript that disappeared, along with
a Freemason’s Lodge, two hundred years before.

The Manuscript conceals a secret, a universal message
that will be revealed in the end.

A message that every reader can
take inspiration from in his everyday life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luciano Rizzo
• Release date: Jan 30, 2012
• ISBN: 9788863696431

Book preview

life

Contents

AFTERNOON

I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED TRAVELLING

ONE DAY BACK IN TRIESTE

IN PUERTO DE LA CRUZ

NEXT MORNING, WHEN I AWAKE

THE SPANISH ARE NIGHT OWLS

HOW COULD I IMAGINE

MARIA’S EYES ARE CLOSED

SOONER OR LATER SHE WILL HAVE TO GET DOWN

WHEN I ARRIVE, SHE IS ALREADY THERE

I GO BACK TO SABINA

DISTRACTED BY HIPOLITO

TERESA SMILES TOO, JUST LIKE A FILM STAR

AFTER THE MEETING EVERYONE LINGERS ON

WHY DO WE GO OUT WITH A PERSON FOR MONTHS

I DON’T GET ALONG WITH TIME VERY MUCH

NEXT MORNING, WHEN I AWAKE

SABINA IS PREPARING SOME BOCCADILLOS

IT’S WITH A HINT OF MELANCHOLY THAT I LEAVE

MY RETURN HOME EACH TIME

ALTHOUGH MARIA’S LAST LETTER

HOW LITTLE IT TAKES

NEXT DAY IN MY MAILBOX

BOARDING A PLANE

AT THE EXIT GATE I’M SWEPT AWAY

HOW STRANGE A LIFE WE LEAD

THE TEACHER WAITS

THE ROOM WE ENTER

FOR THE REST OF THE MORNING

HERE’S THE FIRST OF THE FOUR CARDS

IT’S LATE AFTERNOON

A MAGICAL ATMOSPHERE GREETS ME

IT’S NINE O’CLOCK ON THE DOT

HENCE THE FIRST CARD

IT’S PEAK HOUR IN ROME

LEAVING THE ROOM, I TURN MY ATTENTION

THE SPANIARDS ARE ALWAYS READY TO CELEBRATE SOMETHING

WHAT A GREAT PLACE MY CITY IS

IT’S ELEVEN WHEN ROSA

IT’S FIVE MINUTES TO NINE

WHEN I WALK INTO THE PYRAMID

AT THE END OF THE LESSON

MARIA FOLLOWS TERESA

THE TEACHER WATCHES MARIA

BACK AT THE COTTAGE I FIND MARIA

WHAT A STRANGE GUY DENIS IS

DURING THE AFTERNOON OF THE FOURTH DAY

SITTING ON A BENCH

WHAT EFFECT DOES LOVE HAVE

I RE-EMERGE FROM SLEEP ELECTRIFIED

CHAOS BREAKS OUT

LYNDA WALKS BY

THE STORY I WANT TO TELL YOU ABOUT

IT’S ONE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING

TONIGHT THE DOBERMAN

ROSA OPENS THE BACK GATE

PAUL STOPS ABRUPTLY AT THE MAIN ENTRANCE

WE ALL GO BACK TO THE HACIENDA

RELAX, RELAX

IT’S A QUARTER PAST NINE WHEN

BASKING IN THE SUN

BACK FROM THE BREAK

DENIS OBSERVES THE CONCENTRATION ON EVERYONE’S FACE

I GET UP, I HOLD OUT MY HAND

WE GO OUTSIDE TO LOOK FOR THE MIDDAY LIGHT

Author’s Notes

The Diagram

The Author

Acknowledgements

AFTERNOON

Afternoon. The sun’s soft rays spray golden highlights over the eternal Summer of Tenerife. A man strolls all alone in the garden of a hacienda on the island. He is Italian and his name is Luca Zorzi. Tall, slim, dark eyes and hair, thick eyebrows, prominent nose and square jaw. He frowns with a steady gaze, he sees nothing of what surrounds him. And yet nature is playing all of its best repertoire to attract his attention. Orange trimmed clouds drift lazily towards the sea, clad in ethereal beauty. The setting sun sinking to the horizon, tinges the sky with unrepeatable colours that vanish delicately into the infrared. The lush green foliage reaches out regretfully for the sunset while it draws away its last beams of light. Whiffs of brackish air and the sweet smell of tropical plants fill the atmosphere with a fragrance that one can enjoy only on the Canary Islands. Bird calls break the silence whilst the intense heat of the sun slips away, little by little, into the warmth of the night.

Luca pays no heed to all this beauty taken, as he is, by his thoughts. He is like a castaway who seeks the island of rescue: he knows it is very close, but he sees it not, he cannot find it. He reaches a pebbly track. Seagulls lift off in a flurry to the sound of his footsteps, making it clear with their screeches that his intrusion was not appreciated. The sun’s red disc disappears into the sea and, suddenly, nature’s music fades away. The chirping of the crickets is broken off, the wind dies down. Luca is distracted by the sudden silence that draws him away from the whirl of his emotions. He looks around, he observes the world that surrounds him, its energy. And he understands that this silence somehow has a message for him. So his awareness is roused, he listens to hear the imperceptible voice of the island, its hidden message.

The solution is there, but you don’t see it, the leaves murmur, stirred about by a soft breeze. Calm down and put order into your memories. Observing them from a new perspective will enable you to find your way out of this dead-end street.

It’s the absolute truth.

The man notices a stone bench, it seems to have been put there on purpose. He sits down, closes his eyes and turns his attention to his breath. Patiently, he rids his mind of a thousand useless worries, then he tries to focus on where the story started. The beginning isn’t far off, all he needs to do is to go back a few months: he was strolling along on this very island, when he came across a shiny object on the ground and had decided to pick it up. No, no, whispers a waft of air. You have to go further back in time to understand. The roots of it all are in the distant past. Precisely when your fondness for travelling started.

I HAVE ALWAYS LOVED TRAVELLING

I have always loved travelling around the world. Travels are like food to me, they nourish. I have wandered over half the world in search of this nourishment.

Visiting places that are so diverse has had a very curious side-effect on me. I have learnt to feel a place, to grasp the fine uncanny energy that it conveys.

The first time I observed this, I was going by car from Trieste, the city where I live, to Ferrara. As soon as I crossed the Po River I was overcome by a strong feeling of well-being, of serenity. I hadn’t bothered much about it until I noticed that same effect every time I went back to those places.

It seemed like the impulse that urges birds each year to fly back to the places where they were born: only there do they feel the right energy to reproduce. My father came from the South, he was one of the many young men who enlisted in the arm of the Carabineers to free himself from the toilsome work of farming. He had been sent to Ferrara, where he had met my mother, a beautiful young girl from the country, then only twenty. It was love at first sight and a few months later they were married. So when my father was posted to Trieste, my mother, pregnant at the time, had followed him. That was the reason for my good humour: I feel great when I am in Ferrara because that is where I was conceived.

A plausible explanation, until I realize that other places give me the same positive feeling, too.

I discover this during a holiday in Milazzo, a stone-throw away from the Aeolian Islands.

Time flowed sweetly through days spent by the sea and into the evenings at the dances that one just could not miss. One day I am sunbathing on the beach with Ileana, a sprightly Neapolitan girl with gorgeous dark eyes. Clear blue skies and sea and in the distance, Lipari and Vulcano complete the setting.

She is restless, nervous. She does not seem to appreciate the beauty of the scenery that surrounds her.

- Ileana, what’s wrong?

She looks at me intensely, asking herself if she could trust me. She decides she can.

- The energy in this place is far too much for me, I can’t stand it.

- What do you mean?

- I mean that the volcanoes around here are causing me to have terrible nightmares.

- The volcanoes?

- It might seem strange to you, but it’s true. I come from Naples but I had to move to Bologna because at night the Vesuvius made me restless: I used to dream that it kept on irrupting. Frightful scenes of people being wiped out by earthquakes, survivors swept away by an incandescent sea of lava …. They cause me awake each night drenched in sweat, and so I decided to leave. Now, the same thing is happening to me here. Vulcano has a awfully powerful energy, and I can feel it all.

- Take it easy, we are many kilometres away.

- Don’t be fooled. Should Vulcano explode, its devastating strength would reach us. The ciutuli, stones and pebbles we are lying on are of volcanic origin.

- It’s only your imagination …

I try to minimize, but deep down inside I know Ileana is right. Someone, sooner or later, will have to come to terms with the volcano’s rage.

Ileana smirks.

- Are you still pondering over the volcanoes?

- Quite frankly I have a slight stomach ache. Can you help me?

I lower my eyes.

- I’m sorry. Nothing is more useless than a doctor with no medicine at hand.

Her disappointment was evident, what I needed was some inspiration. So I came up with an idea: after all, shamans use energy and intention. I delicately place my left hand on her tummy and start using my right hand like a radar. She observes, curious.

- What are you doing?

- Volcanic rocks have great healing powers and because they come from the centre of the earth, they are condensed, crystallized and purified energy. I need a stone that will neutralize the negative energy in your stomach.

- A small stone that conceals a curandero, a healer. What a fascinating idea!

I choose a stone that I feel will work, I place it on the spot where it hurts.

- This stone is somehow brother to the pain you feel in your stomach, thus it will absorb it. OK, now concentrate. Give your pain a shape. Done?

Ileana keeps her eyes closed for a few seconds, then she nods.

- Very well, now imagine that this negative energy ends up inside the stone.

- Done.

- Perfect. Now we must conclude the ritual.

I pick up the stone, in a loud voice I thank it for its help, I ask the water to welcome it and to cleanse it. I throw it into the sea.

Ileana pulls a strange face, then bursts into tears. I avoid speaking. It seems that by crying, she is freeing herself of something, tension that had been hidden inside for a long time. After a while she smiles, she says she feels better, the stone had really taken effect.

- So why did you start crying?

- You know, nobody has ever done anything like that for me before. Thank you.

She cheers up once again. My idea worked.

- As you can see the volcano’s energy is not always destructive.

She embraces me, persuaded. Then she rests her head on her towel, closes her eyes, falls asleep.

I must say, this volcanic energy is certainly powerful. Or rather, I must have the power to make girls fall asleep.

A few days later I end up going to a Cuban music concert on the Etna. It happened by chance. Browsing through the Internet for a place where they play salsa music, I find the phone number of a place in Catania. I try ringing.

- I’m sorry – a male voice replies – but that place closed down two years ago. There aren’t any places where you can dance tonight.

It seemed like that was it but, half an hour later the man calls me back.

- My name is Piero Nicastro, the one you called before. There is a salsa concert on tonight. A popular group, Croma Latina are playing in a small village on the slopes of the Etna. Do you want to come along?

- That would be great. Can you tell me how to get there?

- It’s not very easy. Let’s meet at 10.00 at the petrol station in Gravina di Catania.

- Great, see you there.

When I reach the meeting place Piero is not there. After half an hour or so my phone rings: it’s Piero who apologizes for the delay and asks me to wait for him.

Fifteen minutes later he shows up. Tall, lanky, slouching gait, bright dark eyes, dark hair brushed back into place with gel. He is a DJ in all the salsa music dance halls in Sicily. He struggles through life in chronic delay but is pardoned by everyone because of his charm and availability. Just a few minutes and we reach Tremestieri Etneo.

The piazza is teeming with people, all the seats are taken. Yet a pleasant surprise, they had reserved a few for Piero. We sit down just in time, the concert is about to begin.

I shiver but it’s not because of the temperature. It’s a vibration that rises from the ground, hardly perceivable and yet solid, powerful. It’s the energy released by the Etna. The people of Catania do not notice it, it’s something that has always belonged to them; but a stranger like me feels this energy in every fibre, it’s so overwhelming that it makes my head spin.

I put my considerations aside for it is impossible to sit still with such enticing music. Caribbean music electrifies the air: its sonority, like arcane magic, it unchains, cleanses, dissolves, heals everyone present. The space between the rows of seats and the musicians turns into an enormous dance-floor, crowded with dancers who spread their joie de vivre.

I feel like dancing too, but I’m a little shy, I don’t know any girls. Luckily good old Piero introduces me to a friend of his, Elena. I invite her to dance, she accepts. So I take her hand and guide her to the dance-floor.

We take possession of a little corner that’s free and we get into the rhythm. All around us couples whirl untiringly. Free spaces open up for an instant through the shifting bodies, opportunities to grasp at once. I give her a cue, she gets the message, she enhances it, transforms it into something graceful, feminine. Something erotic.

Thoughts vanish. There is neither past nor future only the flow of life. Pure excitement.

The orchestra finishes its piece, the magic fades away. Elena once again becomes a normal everyday girl, a little chubby. I say good-bye to her and go back to my seat to enjoy the show.

A Cuban with white hair has stepped onto the stage and everyone has stopped to observe him. His movements are smooth, relaxed. He has no need to perform any complicated steps, all he needs is to let his body express with music the experience he has gained through a whole lifetime dancing.

Sicilians cannot stand still for long. A group of dancers form a circle, then they start moving together all at once, synchronized. The couples change continuously in a whirling of arms, of legs, of smiles. It’s like watching an antique tribal dance.

The circle, the unending exchange of partners, figures become a mass where male and female energy is transformed into lymph that can revive both dancers and onlookers.

It’s well into the night when the feast ends. The orchestra plays its last encore, then leaves in the midst of thundering applause. I approach Piero to say good-bye.

- You’re not thinking of leaving are you? Now we’re off to a place where the food is divine.

How can I refuse? One must accept such a friendly offer.

It takes us twenty minutes before we reach a restaurant in Catania, in Piazza Castello Ursino. Giuseppe is seated in front of me. He is a sturdy man of forty, calm, nice manner. He asks the waiter to bring him a salad.

- I can’t handle meat at this late hour – he comments – The idea of it makes my stomach turn.

- It doesn’t agree with me much either. It has too many toxins, it just won’t go down.

The conversation starts flowing. Words pour out without great effort in this sweet night in Catania, and I find it natural to steer the conversation towards how I felt at the concert.

- There was so much energy in the air, I almost felt the Etna’s vibrations, I cautiously dare to say.

Giuseppe agrees, understandingly.

- You’re right, there’s a lot of energy here because of the volcano. Volcanoes are enormous reservoirs of electromagnetic energy that spreads for hundreds of kilometres thanks to the underlying metals. Their power influences all living beings.

I remain speechless, I didn’t expect this rebound. Giuseppe takes my silence for scepticism.

- Just think for a moment, what would remain of us if the energy field that allows for order and structure were to be taken away? A heap of dust and a little water. It’s the field that is important. Ours is a small one, therefore it’s obvious that the volcano’s field will affect it.

- Are you trying to tell me that the volcano interacts with anyone moving around it? Interesting theory. How did you come up with it?

- I have gone over to the slopes of the Etna many times, to meditate. One day, while I was in a trance, I lost contact with my body. Then I felt as though I was sinking into the ground, into the volcano’s entrails. In an instant, I found myself completely wrapped in incandescent magma. I, too, had become lava. My body had been turned into pure energy: I had so much of it I could have shot up into the sky, and then fallen back on earth under the form of black ashes. When I re-emerged from those sensational perceptions, the sun had already set. From that moment on, the volcano has become akin to me. If I turn to him, it speaks, he welcomes me and gives me his power. It’s not that I’m the privileged one, it’s a source of energy available to everyone. The energy is there in specific places and awaits for you to call. If you do so, it will replenish your whole body, recharging, cleansing.

Giuseppe’s face is transformed. He truly feels what he is saying.

- You have called it forth and made it come to life. It’s like actually feeling Etna’s energy, right here, among us.

- It’s true. I no longer need to reach the volcano. When I want to recharge, all I need to do is to think of one of those special places, those doors that release their healing power. And that power will reach me from afar.

I am pleased. Never have I found such a straightforward demonstration to my intuitions.

- If I understand rightly, our joy, our well-being and our creativity all stem from our energetic body. And volcanoes can give us a hand in enhancing this process.

Giuseppe nods convinced.

- Every so often, I organize weekend get-togethers to help people connect up to this particular energy – he concludes. Whenever you like, you are welcome to come along.

- I get up, it’s very late and my hotel is quiet far off. I say good-bye to Giuseppe and Piero with a hug. They hug me back, warmly and continue on enduringly with their dinner.

I get back to the hotel with the absolute certainty that, sooner or later I will be coming back to Sicily to feel the Etna’s energy once again.

ONE DAY BACK IN TRIESTE

One day, back in Trieste, I recall the places I have enjoyed the most and realize that the most energetic locations are all somehow connected to a volcano or other similar underground activity: Ischia, Naples, the spas in Tuscany. Even Rome, the most beautiful of all capitals, has an inert volcano in the area of Appia Antica.

Rather peculiar my attraction to volcanoes, I’ve actually always been attracted to water. Soon after reading a scientific magazine I discover that ten percent of the water in the oceans is drawn to the centre of the Earth and then re-emerges from volcanoes under the form of water vapour. So, therefore, it is the combination of opposing elements, water and fire, that creates the perfect blend, the ideal energy for man, the energy that attracts me so.

I decide to spend my next holidays in the shade of a volcano. My holiday time depends a lot on my patients. I can talk with them for hours without being influenced, though sometimes the wrong person shows up. Energy vampires I call them when I talk to my assistant. Anyone can come across these people at some time or another: they might be someone you go out with, but not true friends. They accept your invitations but then in turn do not invite you. They are never there when you would need a friendly word. But, when things are going your way and life is grand they somehow feel you have got more energy. So they phone you. They ask how you are, they apologize for their lengthy silence, then their long list of problems start streaming out. While they speak, your energy inexplicably abandons you, it runs along the telephone line and they draw it all in. They inexorably suck it all until they are satiated. At the end you feel like a squeezed out sponge, incredible the effect a harmless telephone call can have on you.

That’s what some patients are like. They chatter on endlessly, they ask questions continuously and meanwhile they deprive you of all your energy. If I see too many of these vampires my energy tank indicator goes below reserve, my vision is blurred, I become grumpy. When the situation worsens I tend to isolate myself, and seek refuge in the hypothetical exploration of the Web.

Fortunately a series of automatic alarm signals go off: my assistant starts complaining because I’m not paying attention to her, my patients give me dreadful looks when I arrive late. At this point I realize I’m ready for a holiday.

A sunny beach, in this case, is the ideal thing. Sea, sun and lush vegetation have the power to neutralize even the vampires of Transylvania.

This time I reach my guard level in March. I immediately set out to seek some relief with my friend Alessandra, an expert when it comes to organizing a tailor-made holiday: boating in the Carribean for stressed out tourists of all ages, the antique Mayan ruins for the cultured ones, the Maldive Islands for lovers, the Red Sea for the skin-diving enthusiasts. Most of the city’s people see their voyages materialize in her agency. As soon as I walk through the door to her office, Alessandra showers me with her passionate availability. Kisses, embraces and then we immediately settle down to plan out my holidays.

- If you only have one week for your vacation, you must choose a flight that takes no longer than a few hours. In this case and at this time of year you will find favourable weather in Egypt or in the Canary Islands. In one direction, tropical fish in the other volcanoes. I immediately recall the Etna …. How can I resist?

- Island! I exclaim.

Alessandra smiles approvingly.

- Be ready, Carnival is on over there.

- You’re wrong, it will be over by the time I arrive.

- You don’t know the locals. They adore their fiestas so much that Carnival lasts an extra week in the Canary Islands. You’ll have fun for sure.

IN PUERTO DE LA CRUZ

In Puerto de la Cruz I stay in a hotel with an ocean view, near the city centre. Nature is wonderful over here, the sun is shining and the Spanish are genuinely pleasant. What is missing, however, is the energy of the Italian volcanoes. Maybe it’s because the giant that dominates the island, El Teide, has been asleep for so long, I suppose. I put myself at ease and stop to observe my room: it’s quiet and comfortable, an ideal place for someone who is devoted