Magnificent. Yet within this surging sea of marrow, Matteo knew he would find an interloper, an enemy of life—the answer to Luca Taviano’s lingering fever and cold that wasn’t going away, the extensive bruising. Somehow, it had eluded him on the normal blood smear a few days ago, but it would be there now on the marrow smear.
Sure enough, the abnormally large purple cell appeared before his eyes. With a pale-blue rim and a dense, dividing nucleus, it, too, was magnificent. But the lymphoblast was deadly. Created by a mutation in the genes that halted the maturation process and caused it to keep replicating, the malignant clone would grow and grow until it crowded out the normal cells in the marrow and they were no longer able to carry out their duties. The body would be deprived of oxygen, unable to protect itself from bacteria and other pathogens, and powerless to stop itself from bleeding. The body would become incompatible with life.
The Taviano boy had leukemia, just as Matteo had suspected.
Yet the revelation didn’t depress him. Despite the devastation childhood leukemia had caused in the past, there was good treatment for it now. What had been a death sentence when he started medical school in the 1960s was now mostly curable. Indeed, it was the most impressive advancement in cancer treatment in the twentieth century, perhaps in all of medicine. Luca Taviano may be harboring a deadly disease, but Matteo Crespi was armed with weapons that would wipe it out.
Matteo sprang from the desk and exited the lab like a sprinter who had just won a big race. The entire hospital was rooting for Luca. It wouldn’t be fair for the Tavianos to suffer another tragedy. They were good people. The grandfather was a bit odd perhaps, but who wouldn’t be under these circumstances? And his wife couldn’t be nicer, bringing cakes and fruit for him and the nurses every day, sometimes twice a day. He’d grown fond of Luca, too, with his red hair and freckles, the future cowboy of Favola. Not that Matteo wasn’t aware of Luca’s little tricks, patting down the sides of his hair and tapping the side of his nose with his finger. The little mischief-maker was imitating him, laughing behind his back, and giving his best performances when Nina was around. It was hard not to smile.
Matteo would fight for this boy and for his family. He had all the weapons he needed in his armory. He’d eradicate every last one of those malignant lymphoblasts, be the hero of Santa Cristina, and endear himself to Nina in the process.
It was obvious she was bending over backward for the boy. No doubt she felt guilty after the blood-drawing incident. But there was something more going on. The other day, he watched them from the nursing station for almost half an hour, Luca sitting forward on his bed, Nina on a chair inches away, utterly captivated by each other’s presence. Luca turned his head this way and that, studying Nina’s birthmark. “You want to touch it?” she asked. “It won’t bite.” Tentatively, he reached out his hand, then carefully ran his fingers over the purple-colored patch of skin. “It feels warm,” he observed, his eyes wide with delight. “Is there something moving around under there?” Nina laughed and explained that a port-wine stain is composed of blood vessels. They talked about horses, Luca’s best friends Mario and Franco, Nina’s apartment in Rondello, the arancini at Signore Boninno’s salumeria. Soon, Luca was rubbing his hands together and launching into a story about how Orlando saved Mario’s life when he fell into a ditch, Nina listening intently all the while. Matteo couldn’t help feeling jealous at the intimacy developing between the two.
Shaking the memory from his mind, Matteo nodded to the nurses in the nursing station and retrieved Luca’s chart from the rack. He entered the findings of the marrow smear and wrote a detailed plan of action, the sequential combination of chemotherapy drugs that would attack the cancer.
Glancing up, he saw Nina open the curtain around Luca’s bed. If only he could go over and take her in his arms, apologize for sending that rash letter, convince her of how much he loved her. But it wasn’t possible now. They had to be discreet until things settled down. It was the only way they could both continue working at Santa Cristina and have a chance at a future together.
“Nurse Vocelli,” he said, trying to remain cool, “let’s start treatment for the Taviano boy as soon as possible.”
“Yes, Doctor,” she said, avoiding his gaze.
9
Letizia brought Luca’s friends to the hospital on Saturday for a visit. It had been almost four weeks, and her grandson was restive. He was also due for his second chemotherapy infusion. The first one had not gone well; he needed some cheering up.
“I want to prepare you boys,” she told Mario and Franco when they climbed into the car. “Luca looks different than when you last saw him. He’s lost a good deal of weight. His hair too. Try not to make a big deal about it.”
As she said this, she couldn’t help noticing in the rearview mirror that the two boys in the back seat had an abundance of what Luca now lacked. Chubby Mario probably didn’t weigh much less than she did, and Franco had thick, curly black hair that reached down to his shoulders.
They both nodded hesitantly.
“I didn’t mean to scare you. He’s still the same Luca you knew at school, and he’ll be so excited to see you.”
When they arrived on the ward, Letizia poked her head through the curtain around Luca’s bed and announced that she had a surprise for him. Luca had been staring down at a muddy bowl of minestrone soup that had just been placed on his tray. His eyes lit up when he spotted Mario and Franco.
“I’m going down for a coffee and will leave you boys alone for a while. Promise me there’ll be no trouble while I’m gone,” she said, shaking her index finger.
“Sure,” said Luca, ditching the soup and motioning for his friends to come closer. “I hope you guys brought me something good to eat. I’m starving.”
Mario slowly removed the paper bag he had concealed under his shirt, tipping it in Luca’s direction so he could see the candy inside. But he didn’t budge from his spot by the curtains. Nor did Franco.
“What’s with you guys? Bring it over here.”
Mario stared at his friend’s head in horror. “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”
“You mean my hair?” asked Luca, tapping the few strands of hair remaining on his head.
“You were right about what you told us on the phone—she’s evil,” said Franco. “More evil than we imagined.”
“Who?”
“The witch. I hope we have enough of this brew,” said Franco, withdrawing a small container from his pocket. “We found the recipe in the library. It’s a mixture of lizard legs and different spices. You need to get her to eat some. Then she’ll lose her powers.”
“Nurse Vocelli?” asked Luca. “No, no, I was wrong about her. We’re friends now.”
“The witch that beat you? The one with the purple mark that smokes and sizzles? It’s a sure sign, believe me. All she has to do is look at you and your hair falls out. We need to get rid of her.”
“Relax, guys. Like I told you, I was wrong. She’ll be here soon, and you’ll see for yourselves.”
Both boys took a step backward, prepared to run for their lives if necessary.