A Dead Man in Naples by Michael Pearce Read Free Book Online Page A

of the Hospital were open because it was the feast of the Annunciation, one of the days on which the public was allowed to enter. As Seymour and Chantale approached the gates they saw a notice saying ‘Closed’; however this did not refer to the gates or the institution but to a small hole originally about eight inches square but now barred up. Through this hole foundlings were once passed, usually at night, by their mothers to a nun on duty inside. This constituted entry to the institution and guaranteed anonymity. The practice had to be abandoned, however, because attempts were continually being made to thrust large children through. Nowadays, they learned, the child was carried through the door and laid more tenderly in the nun’s arms.
    The admission was recorded in a large book of forms, each page being devoted to a separate child, and it was at this point that the child was given a number. Alongside it would be a note of the date and the circumstances – for example, ‘267: 3rd day of June, 1903’ – together with a short description, focusing on any distinguishing marks, and listing any items included with the child. Often the children came with a holy, protective amulet. Such property was always kept, together with the garments, if any, that the child had come in. It was a way, said the nun on duty, of establishing the identity later, if that should be required. The child was given new garments and taken at once into the chapel to be baptised.
    It was usually given the name of the saint of the day and for surname the name of the Governor of the Hospital for the current year. The last practice had been discarded, however, owing to unfortunate interpretations, and a new practice introduced, that of calling any child admitted ‘Esposito’, abandoned. That, too, had now been discarded, because it was felt to point a shameful finger at a person’s origins.
    Not too shameful a finger, thought Seymour, since so many people in Naples appeared to have Esposito as a surname and seemed prepared to use it happily. About every other shop bore the name proudly on its front. A more practical reason probably was the difficulty of distinguishing between so many. With so many Espositos, which was the one you wanted? This was particularly important to the army, most of whose recruits were named Esposito.
    The number on Scampion’s lottery ticket referred to a girl foundling who had been admitted to the Hospital on 27th March 1880. She had been given the name Margareta, after the saint of the day, together with the universal Esposito. Margareta Esposito was, then, the person whose identity mattered so much to the purchaser of the ticket that he or she had used it as their special number for betting.
    And what had happened to her? asked Seymour. Was she still at the Hospital?’
    ‘Oh, no,’ said the nun, consulting her records: she had left when she was thirteen.
    What to do? asked Seymour.
    ‘Probably marry,’ thought the nun. Their girls were much sought after as wives. They were educated, well trained, and disciplined. And religious, of course. All qualities thought desirable in a wife.
    Some, however, would go on to a trade, for which, again, they were much sought after, on the grounds that they had been brought up to work hard and not answer back.
    And this one, this Margareta Esposito, had she left to marry or to take up a trade?
    The nun consulted her records, and then frowned. On this one, she said, she would have to consult Sister Geneviève. Who would at the moment, she guessed, be in the chapel.
    A choir was practising in the chapel when they went in. They were singing rather beautifully.
    Three nuns were conducting the practice. One was actually a member of the choir and was leading it. Another was conducting. A third, much older than the other two, so old that she was bent down double, and had to sit down to one side, was offering a kind of general supervision. This was Sister Geneviève. She had, said the nun