In the end I had a great night out in Naples (though the second woman in a week collapsed very close to me. I tried my technique of ignoring it and when I looked back about five minutes later she had gone. Thus my cure had almost certainly worked. I may be about to win the Nobel Prize for Medicine. I donÂ’t know why women seem to be suddenly fainting near me. Maybe I have an overpowering sexual aura, or possibly I donÂ’t wash enough) and I wished that I was staying a bit longer. Though I feel it might take a few months to really get into the flow of the place. It would take a while to feel comfortable behaving in such a reckless manner as those crazy Neapolitans. Only they could have been mad enough to think of putting chocolate, vanilla and strawberry ice cream side by side in the same block. ThatÂ’s how insane they are. For that discovery if nothing, they deserve our undying respect.
And despite my evil prejudices I had come away unrobbed and unconned, apart from the extortionate amount I had been charged for a fairly ordinary hotel room (though it was decorated with paintings based on the characters in DisneyÂ’s Tarzan which is possibly what I was paying for. I am going to insist that all the hotels I stay in from now on have this feature. Even if I have to wait for them to be painted on. It made me feel at peace).
So I had a slightly heavy heart as I walked to the station to get my train to Rome, but not so much that I wasnÂ’t keeping more than half an eye on the throng of thieves I was walking through to make sure they didnÂ’t steal any of my stuff (IÂ’ve got a plastic bag full of dirty pants, that someone would be very happy to be selling surreptitiously on the streets this afternoon).
A few days a go I found Italian train stations a bit confusing, but now I totally understand them and I got to my platform with ease. I took out my ticket to stamp it in the machine. I am unclear whether this is really necessary. I saw a sign that insisted it had to be done, but no-one else seems to bother and one time I didnÂ’t and no-one seemed to notice.
Suddenly a tiny, thin and slightly shaky Italian man is his fifties was by my side, asking to see my ticket. He was wearing what might nominally be defined as a uniform, a tatty blue suit and a cap that matched. The jacket had a rip where some kind of badge might once have been. He was a bit of a suspicious character, I thought and I hadn’t got this far only to be ripped off as I left. “Ah yes, carriage four, seat 66, follow me,” he said and scuttled off down the platform.
“It’s OK,” I said, “I know where it is.” Given that a train is all in one line and the carriages and seats are all numbered I wasn’t very likely to get lost. But he didn’t seem to listen. He beckoned me on. I knew he was after something from me and I didn’t want to play along. His assistance was unbidden. I hadn’t even been looking vaguely lost. Being English and crap I made some complaining noises, but followed him. Maybe he was just being genuinely helpful. “Roma is the first stop,” he informed me.
“Yes, I know” I replied pointedly, “I’m really OK here.”
“Let me help you,” he said, grabbing on to the handle of my suitcase and attempting to pull it along for me. I wouldn’t let go. “It’s all right,” I said. He was very insistent. But this time so was I. Either he was going to steal my bag, or as I realised now, much more likely, was going to ask for money for pulling it along the platform. Which I didn’t need him to do and didn’t want him to do. I wanted him to go away, but he had decided he was looking after me. Well that was up to him. I hadn’t asked him to and I didn’t intend to give him any money.
It was a long train and carriage four was near the front (about the fourth carriage down, I would estimate) so it was a considerable walk for this perky old man. We eventually arrived at the carriage. “Here it is,” he chirped merrily.
“Yes, I know,” I said, more pointedly. He still seemed to ignore my point.
I was early so the carriage was still being cleaned. He tried to board to see what the problem was, but it was clear from the tape across the door that said “Cleaning in Progress” that cleaning was in progress.
“We have to wait just a moment,” he informed me as he got off the train, once again not telling me anything that I didn’t know, not providing me with any service that deserved remuneration.
I again tried to get him to go away and told him I could manage, but he had his eyes on the prize. Like a man at traffic lights or attempts to clean your windscreen however much you tell him you donÂ’t want him to and then once heÂ’s wiped a dirty cloth over your clean car he expects to be paid.
The cleaners were finished and before I could stop him, my little Italian friend had whipped my suitcase up on to his shoulder (no mean feat, itÂ’s a pretty heavy suitcase) and carried it to my seat and jerked it effortlessly into the overhead space. He had worn me down. I realised that I would have to give him something for his unwanted help. He knew it too. He had forced me, through pure insistence and self enforced deafness to enter into an unwritten, unspoken contract with him to pay him for something that I would much rather have done myself.
However, he probably should have got some kind of official contract before he undertook the work, as looking in my pockets I realised I only had a very few, very low denomination coins. Something like 27 cents, which is really not much at all. I gave them all to him and apologised that I didnÂ’t have anything more to give him, but that was all I had.
Suddenly his friendly demeanour disappeared. He looked at the coins with disgust and then at me. “This is not good enough,” he said in a voice that made it clear that I had insulted him gravely.
“Well, I’m sorry,” I blustered, “But I really don’t have any more change.”
He stood his ground, shaking his head, as if this basic fact was going to change. I got a bit cross with him and started to address him in a mixture of English and Italian (that was fairly heavy on the English, but included the Italian phrase “non voglio” that I had learned from my bewigged friend on my CD). “Look, I didn’t ask you to help me and I didn’t want you to help me. I think I made it clear that your help was unwelcome. And that’s the only change I’ve got, so there’s nothing I can do about it anyway.”
I was aware of my voice raising in volume and pitch and other passengers looking disdainfully at me. I felt like a rude and stupid Englishman who had come to their country, used one of their porters, men who are clearly slightly disadvantaged and live off tips, and had given him an insultingly small amount of money.
“I’m sorry,” I said, genuinely, despite the fact that I had really done nothing wrong.
Even though he had entirely forced this situation I felt incredibly guilty. I searched my coat pockets in the hope that I could find another coin, but there was nothing. He skulked off, sulking and cursing me.
Of course he knew very well what he was up to and was using my foreignness and unawareness of local custom against me. Clearly I should have been very insistent at the start and told him I didnÂ’t need his help and refused to follow him, like IÂ’d refused to let him take my suitcase.
Now I felt bad, even though the whole thing had essentially been a very minor lie (or con) on his behalf. His scheme had backfired however, because he failed to check that I had any money in the first place.
As he carried on another manÂ’s case and got given the couple of Euros he so craved, I looked at him. Take off eighteen years, put on some thick glasses, a wig and some funny Dick Emery teeth andÂ… could it be?
Well, of course it could. With that kind of disguise he could have been anyone.
But a con artist so bad might well end up carrying suitcases on to trains for loose change. At least in spirit this was the man from all those years ago. To give to him would be to give to my fake Rolex fencing friend.
I had failed him.
When I tried to sell you a fake Rolex and then 18 years later carried your suitcase on to a train against your will in the hope that youÂ’d give me a couple of Euros, were you there, were you there?
No, I wasnÂ’t there.
I am sorry.
