The Innocent (8 page)
The smile vanished.
‘You recognise it? Was it made here? Is it Peruzzi’s? A copy?’ He was breaking every rule. Suggesting, talking instead of listening and watching. It was because of the language problem. But words are not everything. The young man was worried. He took a step backwards away from the proffered shoe, glanced behind him and then stood still. The marshal sat down on a polished wooden bench and remained silent. If you leave enough silent space, people rush to fill it out of fear or embarrassment. He placed his hat and sunglasses squarely on his knees and waited. He didn’t stare at the apprentice but let his eyes rove around the workshop. There was a show window, mostly hidden from view by a linen curtain on a brass rail. He could see into one corner of it and out at the little square. Some people, particularly regular customers for whom Peruzzi had made shoes for years, came here rather than go to the smart shop on Borgo San Jacopo. There, casual customers and tourists were dealt with by a patient woman, well away from any danger of encountering Peruzzi whose gimlet eye and raucous Florentine voice would have scattered the customers like a fox scattering chickens. The young man still didn’t utter a word. And yet there was no real tension in the air, just silence. Like the silence of an empty church. Why should that be? The strong smell was of new leather so it wasn’t that. The light perhaps … a narrow beam of sunlight beside the linen curtain and, elsewhere, the gloom pierced only by a lamp on the workbench. The one over the last was switched off. Not the light, then … this bench. The long, broad bench he was sitting on might well have come from a church. Its smoothness owed as much to hundreds of years of use as to polish. The armrests were carved.
Not a word from the apprentice. It had never happened before and the marshal didn’t know what to do. Should he repeat himself to fill the space? Can you tell me anything about this shoe? Wouldn’t that be ridiculous? He decided to look at the young man, try to judge his attitude.
His attitude was one of polite submission. He stood quite still, his thinness accentuated by a long canvas apron that reached his ankles, his hands folded in front of him, his head very slightly bowed and his gaze lowered. Baffled, the marshal looked away and saw, through the window, Lapo passing by behind his bit of hedge with two plates held high.
He stood up. ‘I’ll come back tomorrow and talk to Peruzzi about this.’ He slid the shoe back into the evidence bag.
The young man smiled and bowed his head just a little more. ‘Thank you very much. Goodbye.’
The marshal replaced his hat and glasses and went out. His driver wound the window down.
‘No, no … take the car back. I want a word with a few of the people here and then I’ll walk. It’s only a couple of minutes. Do me a favour and let my wife know I’ll be late.’
The car moved off slowly through the narrow space filled with pedestrians.
‘Lapo!’
‘Oh, Marshal! Come and sit down. Come on! You can’t say no today. Sandra’s made a pollo alla cacciatore that’s out of this world. Sit here where I can talk to you.’
‘You’re busy …’
‘Don’t worry—Sonia! Come and say hello to the marshal!’
Lapo’s daughter, Sonia, was very plump and looked older than her sixteen years but she was pretty, her skin clear and rosy. She shook his hand.
‘Take over here, Sonia. Let me have a chat with the marshal—and bring Santini some more bread with his chicken.’
When she’d gone in, he said, ‘There’s no “table number two” and “table number four” here. I know my customers and they all have their regular places and their regular times.’ This with a black look in the direction of his rival over the hedge. ‘What do you think of my daughter, eh?
Is she a treasure or isn’t she? There aren’t many like her these days. We’re lucky.’
‘That’s true.’
‘They all want to go to university, whether they’ve the brains for it or not. And none of them want to work hard or dirty their hands. And where’s it going to end? Have a glass of red with me.’
‘No, no … on an empty stomach …’
‘You’re right. I eat before we open.’ Lapo blocked Sonia as she passed carrying a plate of chicken in a glistening tomato sauce and a basket of bread. ‘Leave this bread for the marshal so he can have a drop of wine with me while he’s thinking what to eat and get some more for Santini.’ He waved the basket at the young restorer at the far table.
‘Sorry! She’ll bring yours right away.’
Santini raised his glass in salute and grinned. The marshal nodded. ‘That’s a talented lad.’
‘You’re right there,’ Lapo agreed. ‘But he’ll never make any money. He spends weeks restoring those old kitchen cupboards with the painted flowers on them that he buys up north and then sells them for half what they’re worth. He always says he just enjoys doing his work and if he keeps things hanging around with a high price on them he’ll have no room for new stuff to buy and work on. Good health, Marshal.’
Sunlight splashed through their glasses to make two wine-coloured spots dance on the white paper covering the table. The bread was crusty and fresh, and that chicken smelled so good …
‘What were you doing at Peruzzi’s place? He’s at the hospital today for an ECG.’
‘So I heard. I went in to ask him about a shoe we found.
It belongs to somebody we’re trying to identify—I’ll tell you about that in a minute, if you haven’t already seen it in the paper.’
‘Not me. Politics only. And I can tell you that these elections—’
‘Yes. I know how involved you are but I need to know about Peruzzi.’ And the last thing he needed was for Lapo to start sounding off about politics. ‘There’s an apprentice there …’
‘Issino? He’s a good lad. A treasure. Bit funny till you get used to his ways—you know how the Japanese are.’
‘Careful.’
‘Eh?’
‘I’ve never yet had a Japanese tourist in my office whose lost his camera or had his pocket picked. There was a stabbing once that involved a Japanese journalist and a band of gypsy children. Stabbed him in the leg near the station but we only found out by accident because he got his train to the airport and left for Japan, bandaged up with his own first aid kit. He fainted at the airport and one of our men got the story out of him so it got around, but there was no stopping him getting on that plane.’
‘I can’t say I blame him.’
‘No. But what I mean is I never come across them because they seem to be so sensible and careful. This lad—what did you say his name was?’
‘Issino—well, that’s what we call him because his real name’s Issaye, or something like that, and it’s a bit difficult for us Italians. I’m not saying it right now, I don’t think.’
‘Issino … he seemed—I don’t know. He wasn’t keen to talk.’
‘Issino? No! Santini! The marshal’s asking about our Issino, says he’s not keen to talk.’
Santini put down the bread he was dipping into his sauce and laughed. ‘Get him to tell you the one about St Peter and the prostitute, but you’ll have to finish it yourself.’
‘Sonia! Chicken for the marshal and a green salad. Green salad all right? Green salad and another quarter of red! Issino’s learning Italian and he wants to be able to tell jokes. He reckons that’s the test. You should see him. He struggles and struggles through the whole thing with everybody prompting him with the verbs and then, when he gets to the punchline—the only line he knows by heart—he cracks up laughing and can’t get it out.’
‘He eats here, then?’ The marshal glanced over the low hedge at the workshop but nothing was visible beyond the displayed shoes and the partially drawn linen curtain behind.
‘Once a week. But the other days he comes over for a coffee and a chat, and what he calls his Italian lesson. He hasn’t a bean. I think he eats something at his bench the other days.’
‘Peruzzi doen’t pay him much, then?’
‘Pay him? He doesn’t pay him. He’s teaching him. That’s how it works these days, Marshal. Foreigners come here to learn from our artisans and pay them for the privilege. Take on an Italian kid of fifteen who has to be taught everything and produces nothing for years and you’re into paying a wage plus huge contributions. Nobody can afford it. It’s a policy that’s all wrong and if the Left can’t get itself together and realise the damage—’
‘This apprentice,’ interrupted the marshal firmly,
accepting his chicken from Sonia and reaching for the bread. ‘He must have money or how could he afford to be here at all? He must have rent to pay and if he doesn’t eat much, he still eats.’
‘That’s not the way it is. Listen. He used to work in a shoe factory, somewhere near Tokyo, don’t ask me to pronounce the name. He told us they have a raffle every year for the workers and the prize is a trip to Europe. You must have seen Japanese people, poor-looking, coming out of Gucci loaded with bags? They’re factory workers shopping for their friends who didn’t win the trip. Stuff here costs a tenth of what it costs in Tokyo. Anyway, that’s how Issino first came here and he decided that he wanted to come back so he saved every penny and here he is. He’ll stick it out, too, not like Akiko. We were all surprised that Akiko left but Peruzzi was beside himself. Best apprentice he’s ever had, walked out, just like that. You probably heard about it—no? Well, anyway, whichever way you look at it, it’s all skill that’s going out of the country. Our grandchildren will have to go to Japan to find a pair of Florentine shoes and to China for a bottle of Chianti—no, no, you can’t sit with us. The marshal and I are having a talk.’
The printer and the packer had arrived together.
‘What’s for dinner?’
‘Pollo alla cacciatore.’
They settled down at Santini’s table and shouted for Sonia.
‘Excuse me a minute.’ Lapo got up reluctantly. The four outside tables were occupied now and people were piling inside as all the workshops closed. ‘I’ll have to let Sonia go back inside. Let these other two places go, but keep mine. I’ll be back so we can talk a bit more. I always like talking to you. Eat up, now.’
The marshal thought that Lapo liked talking to anybody and wondered at the patience of his hardworking wife and daughter. But the day was hot and sunny, the company lively and the chicken very tasty indeed. So he ate, thinking of the quiet Japanese boy in his long apron, trying to square what he’d seen of him with Lapo’s description. He replayed their encounter in his head as he chewed. The failure to be provoked by silence had thrown him but, apart from that which, after all, could have been the respectful good manners of a different culture, what was there? A worried look at the odd shoe, a glance behind him. He had no money. He ate over there at his workbench almost every day. Peruzzi wasn’t paying him.
He flagged down Lapo who was carrying away dirty plates.
‘This apprentice … strictly between ourselves—and what you tell me I won’t hear—he’s living there behind the workshop, isn’t he?’
Lapo shrugged and raised his eyebrows without a word.
‘All right. Come back for a minute when you can. I need to ask you something else.’
While he waited, he mopped up every last trace of sauce with his bread. He really should bring Teresa and the boys. Giovanni’s birthday was coming up …
‘Right you are, Marshal. What can I tell you? Oh—you’ll not cause any trouble for Issino?’
‘For living there? No, no … It would be Peruzzi who got in trouble, if anything.’
‘And you know he can’t afford to get upset, what with—’
‘I know. Don’t worry about that side of it. What I want to know is about the other apprentice, the one who’s gone. Does Issino have a girlfriend, that you know of ?’
‘Issino? No. He used to hang out with Akiko—they were good friends—but I never saw him with a girlfriend.’
‘And this Akiko. Did he have a girlfriend?’
‘Akiko? Don’t you know Akiko? Did you never get to see her? Prettiest Japanese girl I’ve ever seen, like a doll. Bright as a button, though, and tough. I’m surprised you were never introduced. Must have been jealous, wanted to keep her to himself, eh?’ He winked. ‘I’d have done the same myself. Peruzzi always said—’
The marshal stopped him. ‘I’m going to wait until you’ve finished here and then we need to talk seriously. Don’t say anything to anyone else.’
‘What’s the matter? I haven’t offended you, have I? Just my little joke, about him being jealous. I meant nothing by it. There’s something wrong, isn’t there? I hope you’re not going to tell me something’s happened to Akiko.’
‘I don’t know, yet.’
‘I’ll be back.’ Lapo took the marshal’s plate and went about his business. The marshal took out his phone and called Forli. He was pretty sure he would be eating on the terrace of the big restaurant on the hill behind the hospital city with his colleagues and had no qualms whatever about interrupting him.
‘What? Ah! you’ve found out something, then. Yes, certainly Mongoloid would include Japanese. I’ll get something from London in a day or two—and given the state of the body, you’ll have a problem if somebody has to try and identify her so we’ll need those results whether you’ve got a name or not. Keep me informed!’
He waited for Lapo. The clattering of plates and the rowdy talk faded comfortably into the background as he examined the fragments of a picture in his head. Two young people from the other side of the world, so determined to learn a skill. A thin young man in a long canvas apron, a young woman as pretty as a doll. And tough. He didn’t understand but he would find out. She might be a Japanese girl from the other side of the world but she had died here on his territory, in his quarter. He would find out.
W
alking back, he made detours through a number of shadowy back alleys, so narrow that the sun had never warmed them nor the street cleaner wet them. Illegal posters hung in tatters from the walls, parked mopeds blocked his way, soft-drink cans rolled away from him into hollows in the paving. He’d eaten early, with the workmen. It was still quiet. Metal grills were down over corner shops and from behind half-closed shutters above him came the signature tune of the one-thirty TV news, the cheerful clacking of cutlery, snatches of conversation. He needed the walk to burn off the vin santo and biscuits Lapo had insisted on, and to think things over a bit, if you could call it thinking. Just picturing things, really. A pretty Japanese girl …