The Girl of his Dreams - Brunetti 17 (14 page)

13

‘P
eople don't lose children
’
Paola said that night, before dinner, when he had described the events of the day. 'They misplace their keys or their
telefonini,
or they lose their wallets, or have them stolen, but they don't lose their children, especially not when they're only ten
’
She paused, an onion on the cutting board in front of her, and added,
‘I
can't make any sense of it, really. Unless it's like that scene in Luke, where Jesus goes to Jerusalem with His parents, and then they lose Him on the way back.'

Good Lord, the woman was capable of reading anything.

'When they finally did locate Him
’
she said, flicking the skin aside with the blade of the knife and starting to chop, 'He was back in the Temple, preaching to the Elders.'

'And you think that's what might have happened with this little girl?' Brunetti asked.

'No
’
she said and set the knife down. She turned to face him. 1 suppose I don't want to think about the alternatives.'

'That she was killed?'

Paola bent down and took a large frying pan from the cabinet. 'If you don't mind, Guido, I can't talk about this. At least not now
’

'Want me to do anything?' he asked, hoping she would say no.

'Give me a glass of wine and then go and read
’
she said, which is exactly what he did.

Some months ago, Brunetti, goaded by his wife's violent denunciation of contemporary theatre and film as unmitigated garbage, had decided to reread the Greek dramatists. They, after all, had been the fathers of theatre, which perhaps made them the grandfathers of film, though this was an accusation Brunetti was reluctant to bring against them.

He had begun with
Lysistrata
- Paola had heartily approved - then the
Oresteia,
which had left him troubled that, even two thousand years ago, no one had seemed able to figure out the meaning of justice. Then
The Clouds
and its delicious sending up of Socrates, and now
The Trojan Women,
in which he knew there would be no sending up of anyone or anything.

They knew a thing or two, these Greeks. They knew about mercy, but more about vengeance. And they knew that Fortune was an idiot's dance, springing away, and then back, and then again away. And they knew that no one is ever always fortunate.

The book fell to his chest and he stared out the window at the growing darkness. He could not bring himself, not that night, to read of the death of Astyanax. He closed his eyes, and the greater darkness brought him the memory of the dead child, the feel of the silk threads of her hair around his wrist.

The front door opened with more noise than a door should make when opening, and Chiara banged her way into the apartment. Brunetti could never understand how a girl so delicate in appearance could be the creator of such perpetual noise. She bumped into things, dropped books, flipped pages with more noise than a motor scooter, and managed, always, to hit the surface of her plate with her knife and fork.

He heard her stop at the door and called,
'C
iao, angelo mio.'

Her hand slapped on the wall a few times, and then the light in the corner went on.
'Ciao
,
Papa',
she said, 'You hiding from
Mamma?'
He saw her at the door, a small version of her mother, but suddenly not by much. When had she grown those last few centimetres and why had he not noticed it before?

'No, just in here reading
’
he answered.

'In the dark?' she asked. 'Neat trick.'

'Well,' Brunetti explained,
‘I
was reading, but then I thought I'd sit here and think about what I had read.'

'Like they tell us to do in school?' she asked innocently, drawing closer. She flopped down on the sofa beside him.

'I assume that's a fake question
’
he said, leaning aside to kiss her cheek.

She guffawed. 'Of course it's fake. Why else would you read, if you weren't supposed to think about it?' She settled against the back of the sofa and put her feet up on the table next to his, waving them from side to side. 'But that's what the teachers are always telling us: ''think about what you read. These books are meant to serve you as examples for your lives, to enrich and improve them
’
" Her voice deepened as she said this, and all trace of the Veneto cadence had dropped out as she slipped into Tuscan so pure Dante would have approved. 'Well?' he asked.

'You tell me how my mathematics book can enrich and improve my life, and I'll promise to take my feet off the table and never put them there again.' She turned her left foot out and tapped at his right one a few times, reminding him of Paola's prohibition of feet on tables.

‘I
think your teachers might be speaking in a more general sense
’
Brunetti began.

'That's what you always say when you try to defend them
’
Chiara answered.

'Especially when they say something stupid?' he asked.

'Yes. Usually.'

'Do they say a lot of stupid things?' he asked.

It took her some time to answer this. 'No, I don't think so. The worst is Professoressa Manfredi, I suppose.' This was Chiara's history teacher, a woman whose remarks had been much discussed at their dinner table. 'But everyone knows she's Lega, so all she wants us to do is grow up and vote to separate from the rest of Italy and throw all the foreigners out.'

'Does anyone pay attention to what she says?'

'No, not even the kids whose parents vote for the Lega.' Chiara reflected on this and then added, 'Piero Raffardi saw her with her husband one day: they were in a store, trying to buy him a suit. And he's just this little ratty-looking man with a moustache, and every time he tried something on, he'd complain about how expensive it was. Piero was in the dressing room next to him, and when he saw who it was, well, who he was with, he decided to stay there and listen to them
’
Brunetti could imagine the pleasure it would give a student to be able to eavesdrop on a teacher, especially if it were Manfredi, the black nemesis of most of Chiara's class.

She turned her head towards him and asked, 'You're not going to tell me it's impolite to eavesdrop?'

'You know it's impolite
’
he said calmly, 'but, in these circumstances, I would assume it was also irresistible.'

There was a long silence, the only sounds those that came from the kitchen. 'How come you and
Mamma
’
Chiara suddenly asked, 'never tell us what's right and wrong?'

From her tone, Brunetti had no idea how serious a question this was. Finally, he answered,
‘I
think we do, Chiara.'

'Well, I don't
’
she countered. 'The one time I asked Mamma about it, all she did was quote that stupid
Bleak House
’
With a voice that had more than a passing resemblance to Paola's, Chiara quoted, '"knows a broom's a broom, and knows it's wicked to tell a lie.'" Switching back from English, she asked, 'What's that supposed to mean?'

Had a man ever been married to a woman whose moral code was based on the British novel? he asked himself. He decided to spare his daughter this question and, instead, said,
‘I
think it means that you're supposed to do your job, whatever it is, and not lie.'

'Yes, but what about all that stuff about not killing your neighbour or coveting your neighbour's wife?'

He allowed himself to sink deeper into the sofa as he considered her question. After some time, he answered, 'Well, one way of looking at it is to see all those things, those ten things, as specific examples of the general rule
’

'You mean Dickens' Golden Rule?' Chiara asked with a laugh.

'You could call it that, yes, I suppose
’
Brunetti admitted. 'If you do your job, you're unlikely to want to kill your neighbour, and in your case, I doubt you're going to spend much time in your life coveting your neighbour's wife.'

'Can't you ever be serious,
Papa?'
she pleaded.

'Not when I'm hungry
’
Brunetti said and got to his feet.

14

The following day, Brunetti spent his first half-hour in the office reading the newspaper accounts of the discovery of the little girl's body.
II Gazzettino
had not learned of it early enough to put it on the front page, but there had been enough time for it to reach the second section, the front page of which screamed, in red, that it was 'A Mystery'. The account gave the incorrect time of the discovery of her body, misspelled Brunetti's name, and carried a photo of steps different from the ones where she had been found. Her age was given as five, while the national papers listed it as twelve and nine. The autopsy, it was stated, would take place that day. Further, the police asked that anyone who might have information about the possible identity of a child with dark hair and eyes call them.

His phone rang and he answered with his name.

'Ah, Guido,' he heard his mother-in-law say. 'I've been meaning to call you s
ince we got back from the Occu
pied Territories, but there was simply too much to do here, and then Chiara and Raffi came to lunch and I had so much fun with them that I'm afraid I forgot about calling you, though having them here should have reminded me of you, shouldn't it?'

‘I
thought you'd been to Palermo,' a literal-minded Brunetti said, relieved to know that the Contessa had not yet seen that day's papers. It confused him that Paola's parents could have managed another trip in the short time since they got back from Sicily.

Her laugh was musical, always brighter than her voice and very attractive. 'Oh, I'm sorry to confuse you, Guido. I should have told you. Orazio has taken to using that term to refer to Sicily and Calabria. Since both places belong to the Mafia and the government has no effective control over them, he thinks it's linguistically correct to refer to them as the Occupied Territories.' She paused for a moment, and then went on, 'And if you think about it, it's not far off the truth, is it?'

'Is this term only for domestic consumption, or does he use it in public?' Brunetti enquired, forbearing to pass judgement on the accuracy of the Count's choice of phrase and never willing to comment on his father-in-law's politics.

'Oh, I'm so seldom with him in public, I have no way of knowing about that. But you know how discreet Orazio is, so perhaps he uses it only with me. But now you know, too,' she said in a lowered tone, adding, 'Perhaps it would be wise to let Orazio decide how widespread the use of the term should be?'

Brunetti had never heard a more polite enjoinder to discretion. 'Of course,' he agreed. 'But what was it you called about?'

'That religious person
’
she said. 'Leonardo Mutti?'

Yes
’
she answered, then surprised him by adding, 'And the other one, Antonin Scallon.'

Brunetti thought back to his original conversation with the Contessa: he was sure he had not used Antonin's name, had referred to him only as an old friend of his brother. If he had used any name, it was Brother Leonardo's.

'Yes?' Brunetti enquired. 'And what have you heard?' He decided to leave for later the question of how the Contessa might have come to learn about his interest in Padre Antonin.

'It seems that a friend of mine has also become attracted to Brother Leonardo's teachings,' she began, then added, 'or, as one might say, fallen under his spell.' Again, Brunetti chose not to comment.

'And it also seems,' the Countess continued, 'that this Padre Antonin learned about her
...
shall we say, about her enthusiasm for Brother Leonardo.' Before Brunetti could ask, the Countess explained, 'He's a friend of her family, this Antonin; while he was in Africa he sent them those dreadful circular letters every Christmas, and I suppose they sent him money, though I don't know that for sure. At any rate, when I asked her about Brother Leonardo, she told me how surprised she had been when Padre Antonin spoke to her about him.'

'Saying what?'

'Nothing, really,' the Countess answered. 'But from what she told me, it sounded as if he were trying to suggest she be cautious about becoming too involved with him, but being very careful not to seem as if he was doing that.'

'Will she listen to him?' Brunetti asked.

'Of course not, Guido. You should know by now that, once people reach my age, it makes no sense to try to persuade them to abandon their - well - their enthusiasms.'

He had to smile at this, thinking how charitable it was of her to limit this wilfulness to people of her age. 'Do you know if he said anything specific about Brother Leonardo?' Brunetti asked.