The Innocent (21 page)

—Why don’t you go abroad, get out of your rut?

—Why should we go abroad? We’ve got the finest art and the finest buildings in the world right here. And we’ve got the sea and the countryside and the mountains, not to mention good food and wine and great museums. Where could we go that’d be better than here?

‘There ought to be a museum to put him in, and all the Florentines like him.’

‘You’re a Florentine, too.’

He laughed, a very loud laugh. It could be bravado but it really didn’t seem to be. His eyes glittered but not with fear. It was as if he had been rehearsing this for years, waiting for the right audience.

‘What about your mother? Was she unhappy with the life she had?’

‘You’re kidding. She was just as bad as he. Worked in a shoe shop all her life and never went anywhere. And living above the shop. Like the Middle Ages—I can tell you, when I was in my last years at school I never brought my friends home. I mean, can you imagine? I had one friend who lived in a massive house in its own grounds up on the via San Leonardo and another who lived in a villa with a swimming pool in Fiesole. And my mother’s saying:—Bring your friends home, they’ll always be welcome.—I ask you!’

‘Didn’t they wonder why you never invited them?’

‘I told them my mother was an invalid. I wasn’t far out. She wasn’t that old when she died.’

‘Not that old, no.’ Luckily for her she hadn’t lived to see this day. Once, years ago, Totò had screamed at him,

—Why can’t we live in a proper house like everybody else? I can’t bring my friends home to a stupid barracks! Why can’t you get a real job like other people’s dads?

Now, he felt sick and his heart beat too loudly as though he were afraid.

‘This room must be air-conditioned, I think …’ He was cold all of a sudden.

‘I’ve just had it installed. It’s super efficient—state of the art. If it’s too cold for you, I can—’

‘No, no …’ Shouldn’t the man sitting in front of him be afraid? If he had no feelings at all for his parents, shouldn’t he have some for himself ? He must know it was all over. He did know.

‘Anyway, now my father’s heart’s buggered. He’s going to die without ever having lived.’

‘He’s lived as he wanted to, I think.’

‘And what about me?’ In a flash of rage, he jerked upright and leaned forward, thrusting a big hand towards the marshal’s face. ‘What about all those years living over the shop? Years of feeling ashamed—and that wasn’t the worst of it. Once I’d qualified and he handed over his accounts, I found out he’d been earning a fortune. Can you imagine how I felt? We could have lived in style!’

He kept on saying ‘Can you imagine’, expecting the marshal’s understanding, his sympathy. Yet he had neither sympathy nor imagination to spare for his father.

‘I made him buy a decent flat right away, told him it would be an advantage as regards his taxes and since he never bothered to look at the figures …’

‘Was that when it started? When you got the idea?’

‘No, but it was when I stopped being ashamed of him and started feeling furious instead.’

‘You inherited his famous temper, then.’

‘I had good reason to be furious, didn’t I? Anyway, that’s not when it started. My mother was still alive then. She got ill not long after they moved to the new flat.’

‘She didn’t settle there?’

‘She liked the flat. It was a good investment and besides, you can imagine, after that poky old place in the city centre … She was always showing it off to people, how clean and bright, how little work:

—I hardly know what to do with myself. Of course, there are some very nice shops at the other end of the avenue, very nice. And a bus stop nearby, too. I don’t drive. Gherardo’s thought of everything.’

His mimicry was cruel.

‘And then she gets cancer.’

‘So it started after she died?’ That was something …

‘With that business of the car. He had that pathetic Fiat. Always refused to buy anything foreign. All his life it was always the latest boring, overpriced offering from Agnelli, saying:

—An Italian car’s good enough for me. People buy these foreign cars and then they’re paying a fortune for spare parts and trailing around looking for somebody who’ll repair them.

‘
I’d been telling him for years those days were gone, that if he wanted some boring little car he might as well get a Japanese one for half the price that’s better made, instead of contributing to Agnelli’s vices. In the end, I took advantage of that pyromaniac episode. Set the damn thing on fire myself, claimed on the insurance for him and got him something halfway decent. That was the first Mercedes. Of course, he never drove it.’

‘But you did.’

‘He never went anywhere. Told me to keep it and started using the bus.’

With a snort of disgust he reached for a marble ashtray and parked his cigar. He had those same long, bony features and thatch of hair, though it was black and his father’s grey.

‘So what happens next? You get out handcuffs?’

‘I haven’t got any handcuffs.’

‘Well, then?’

‘I’ll make a phone call. All in good time.’

‘Will there be journalists, photographers?’

‘Is that what you want?’

He shrugged. Even so, his hand went to his hair and he shot an almost imperceptible glance down at his fine clothes.

The marshal pictured him in court, saying to the judge every few minutes, ‘Can you imagine?’ He couldn’t resist adding, ‘It’s more than likely the newspapers will make a big thing of it. Your father’s a very well-known personality—’

‘My father … ? Oh, I suppose you mean in his own Quarter, in this dump of a town where he thinks the world begins and ends, right?’

‘In Florence, yes. Also in a number of other European cities and in Japan. He’s a very talented man and he has clients all over the world. He’s a rich man, too, isn’t he? I mean, look around you. His talent paid for all this.’

‘And kept me in misery!’

‘In misery? You had a long education, no doubt with all the extras, school trips, skiing week every winter and so on.’

An angry snort: ‘The school skiing week in Abetone, two hours from home—my friends went skiing in the high season in the Dolomites or the Alps!’

‘He sent you to university, didn’t he?’

‘Because he wanted it! So he could show off to his friends.’

‘That’s true. He did show off about it to his friends. Even to me. Would you rather he’d taught you to make shoes?’

‘Are you kidding? Even so, I might have had ideas of my own about what I wanted to do. I like cars, for instance …’

‘You mean you like buying them.’

‘What would you know? Have you ever driven a decent car?’

‘No. And you’re right. What would I know? It’s not easy knowing what’s the best thing for our children. There’s nobody to advise us, no way of practising. When we find out—or think we do—where we went wrong, it’s too late.’

‘I can hear the violins playing.’

‘You have no children yourself ?’

‘Not me. Never married. I’m more interested in having a good time.’

‘You’re going to prison.’

Again he shrugged. ‘It was bound to happen some time. What matters is the world’s divided into those who get shat on and those who do the shitting. Unlike my fool of a father, I’m in the second category. And that’s where I stay. You’ll see when this gets to court. I have a very good lawyer.’

‘I’m sure you have. With a taste for expensive things like yourself, no doubt. The truth is, you want it to be over, don’t you?’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘You want the handcuffs, you want the journalists. You want the judge. If you’d been a bit careful it need never have come to this. Your father will die soon. No one would ever have known. And after all, you’ve only been spending what was to be your rightful inheritance. But you wanted this, didn’t you? You wanted me here, listening to your self-justifying whinings. It wasn’t enough to just to do it, you wanted people to know and say you were quite right. That’s it, isn’t it?’

‘Not people! Him! Him! It’s him I hate for the miserable upbringing I had. Years and years of being embarrassed and ashamed. All the money in the world now won’t buy me what I needed then.’

‘Not what you needed, what you wanted.’

‘What everybody else had!’

‘There’s never any point in comparing ourselves with others, though, is there? There’ll always be people who are better off and even more who are worse off.’

‘I’m not interested in the others, I’m interested in me.’

‘And I’m interested in Akiko.’

‘In what … ?’

‘Akiko Kametsu. Once apprenticed to your father, destined to take over the management of his business, now dead.’

‘Oh, her …’

‘Yes, her. You knew about the bank manager’s decision to persuade her to bring your father to the bank. At the very least it would have meant the end of your power of attorney. And had you signed the contract for the purchase of this place? Did you follow her and my young NCO—her little boyfriend, as you call him, also now dead—when they came out of the bank that morning?’

‘She must have been worse than my father.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I mean that he’s a leftover from the age of the dinosaurs but she must have gone into it with her eyes open. Leaving Tokyo to come to this dump, sitting in that hole every day fiddling with shoes—not to mention the boyfriend—no offence meant but really, I mean, how much does somebody like you earn?’

‘Not very much. I think, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll make that phone call now.’

‘I’ve never liked him.’

‘Hmph.’

‘I don’t think he’s all that good-looking and besides, he looks the same in every film. That’s not acting.’

‘Hmph.’

‘There’s a James Bond film on the other side but it started half an hour ago and you know you can never follow the story, even if you see them from the start …’

‘Hmph.’

‘You haven’t told me yet whether you like the new lights.’

‘Hmph.’

‘Oh, dear. I suppose you heard that the earth was invaded by Martians this morning?’

‘No, it wasn’t. I have to make a phone call—no, carry on watching.’ There was only one film he was concentrating on and that was on a CCTV tape. He switched on the light in the entrance hall and, with the voices of the television film in the background, called Lapo’s trattoria. Nobody answered. He looked at his watch. At nine-thirty in the evening, Lapo should be open. He let it ring and ring, tried the number again in case he’d dialled incorrectly. Nobody answered. He hung up and then called the patrol that was out.

‘Where are you?’

‘Ponte Vecchio.’

‘Listen, I want you to check something for me, a trattoria that has to be open at this hour but isn’t answering …’ He told them where it was.

‘We can be there in half a minute. What do you want us to do?’

‘Nothing. Call me back when you’ve taken a look.’

He stood there by the phone, waiting, watching the flickering light of the television beyond the open drawing- room door. He lifted the receiver before it could complete one ring.

‘Marshal? It’s closed. Tables stacked outside, shutters down. There’s a bit of paper stuck on that says “Closed because of illness”. There’s another place opposite that’s open. Should we make enquiries there?’

‘No. I’ll look into it tomorrow. Everything quiet?’

‘Fine. Mobile station in Piazza Santo Spirito’s had a bit of trouble but it’s all quiet now. Traffic’s bad, though. The sooner they put the summer ban on driving through the centre at night, the better. It’s so hot, it feels like July already. We’re stuck in a jam now, can you hear?’

Teresa had changed channel. He sat down to stare at James Bond.

‘Is everything all right?’

‘What … ? Oh, yes. I wanted to book a table at Lapo’s for Giovanni’s birthday supper but he’s closed.’

‘Closed. Why?’

‘For illness, apparently. Probably his mother-in-law. She’s had one stroke already.’

‘Well, there’s no rush. What’s the matter with you? What are you looking so worried about? I thought things were going well. Obviously that man you arrested killed that poor girl, so Esposito’s name will be cleared. That’s the main thing. Such a lovely boy. When I think of his poor mother …’

‘Yes—is Totò all right?’

‘Of course he’s all right. You saw he ate his ham and melon, didn’t you?’

‘And that means he’s all right. You’re sure.’

‘Of course I’m sure. I think you should go to bed. You’re still not recovered from that trip to Rome.’

—My son works in Arezzo and he falls asleep in the train but the motorway’s so dangerous …

But the motorways
are
dangerous …

—I don’t drive. Gherardo thought of everything.

—I like cars.

Surely, the Peruzzis were good parents. They did their best and yet—

—A stupid barracks! Why can’t you get a proper job like everybody else’s dad?

What happened to Esposito’s father? Would they let his mother see his face, his two faces? Surely to God not …

So much danger everywhere.

‘Salva!’

‘All right … Are you coming?’

‘I won’t be a minute. I’ll make us some camomile tea. Get into bed and I’ll bring it through.’

Later, when the light was out, he said, ‘Do you remember Totò screaming at me that time, telling me I should get a real job like other people’s dads?’

‘No.’

‘No?
No
?’

‘When was this? Not recently?’ She yawned.

‘No, no. Years ago. That time when he got in trouble, pinching stuff from a department store with his friends when they were supposed to be at gymnastics.’

‘Oh, that. He was probably frightened you were going to arrest him. That was a bad patch he went through. How can you remember a detail like that?’

‘How can you forget it? I was very upset.’

‘So was he. But, as I remember it, he was upset because you wouldn’t let him have a cat.’

‘Cat? What cat?’

‘That stray. You know, it ended up in Boboli with all the others but you and Totò went looking for it together. I don’t think you ever found it.’

‘I don’t remember anything about a cat. I just remember him flying at me, attacking me.’