Cosi Fan Tutti - 5 (11 page)

Gesualdo angled his car into a vacant slot in the middle of one of the rows of vehicles parked there, for a fee, by office workers and other commuters. Unlike them, however, he did not walk back the way he had driven in, towards the steps leading up to street level, but the other way, into the deepest recesses of the subterranean car park. The ground underfoot was dusty with particles of stone scuffed up from the soft volcanic tufa forming the walls, floor and ceiling of this gigantic excavation, one of a series of such cavities underlying the entire city.

It was the Greeks who first realized that the stratum of solidified lava beneath their new city, Neapolis, was at once easy to extract and work, and strong enough to resist collapse. Both they and the Romans exploited this fact to install a complex system of subterranean aqueducts, reservoirs, road tunnels and storage spaces for grain, oil and other goods. The temperature at these depths was consistently cool, the humidity constant.

But the boom period for the underground city dated from the Spanish conquest. In one of the earliest attempts to enforce zoning regulations within the city walls, the invaders prohibitively taxed the importation of building materials. The response of the inhabitants was to reopen the ancient tunnels and caverns, this time as secret quarries, and to use the tufa to extend or amplify their homes.

The fact that they were thus undermining the very houses they were constructing apparently struck no one as ironical.

The branch of the cavern which Gesualdo was following narrowed progressively to form a giant ravine no more than ten feet across, but even higher than the main body of the cave. The lower walls had been widened, presumably to accommodate the vehicles whose tire tracks were imprinted in the fine dust covering the ground. The passage ended at a pair of rusty iron doors, from behind which a variety of industrial noises were audible: drilling, sanding, hammering. Occasional brief flashes of incredible brilliance enlivened the prevailing darkness.

Gesualdo pressed a button mounted beside the doors.

After a long pause, a muffled voice inside said something incomprehensible. Gesualdo leant forward, pressing his face to the metal.

‘Roberto sent me/ he shouted.

Another long pause ensued. Then there was the sound of a bolt being drawn back, and a man’s face appeared between the two doors. He was wearing welding goggles, through which he inspected the intruder cautiously.

‘It’s about a car/ said Gesualdo.

Troppo vero

When the phone rang the first time, Zen assumed it must be work. On his return from the trip to consult Gilberto Nieddu in Rome, he had called by the port and dropped

off the grey cassette with the duty officer, a young man named Pastorelli who had merely saluted Zen and returned to a volume of Mickey Mouse comics printed on what looked like crudely recycled toilet paper. After returning the video game to the plastic bag containing the suspect’s other belongings, Zen had departed as inconspicuously as he arrived.

By dint of staying out of the house most of the next day, he had managed to avoid hearing anything further about the progress - or, more likely, the lack of it - of the case to which he was supposedly devoting his every waking hour. He realized that this ostrich approach to problem solving was widely regarded as immature and escapist,

but where, he demanded of the hypothetical sneerers, had all his clear thinking and tireless energy got him in the past? To Naples, was the answer, and when in Naples…

Sooner or later, nevertheless, he had to go home to meet the new tenants of the lower flat and see them properly installed. It was while he was overseeing this operation that the phone started ringing upstairs. Obedient to his ‘what I don’t know can’t hurt me’ philosophy, he decided to let the machine take it. It was not until some time later, on one of his trips up to his own flat in search of decorative materials to fake the influence of a woman’s hand below - and also to remove various personal effects which might reveal more about him than he wished strangers to know - that he finally bothered to listen to the message.

‘So you were in town yesterday and didn’t even bother to come and see your poor mother who you’ve abandoned here like some old coat you’ve no more use for now you’ve gone native in the sunny south with some slut you’ve picked up like that time in Venice with Rosalba’s baby who may I remind you happens to be my Goddaughter apart from anything else which makes you her great-Godfather but of course that didn’t stop you from going right ahead and ditching Tarda who I’d just begun to think of as part of the family and someone who might one day take the place of your poor wife Luisella who just happens to be in Rome for a week and actually took the trouble to come round here and visit me unlike some I could mention even though you walked out on her fifteen years ago the same way you do on all the women in your life including your mother who I’d have thought might feel entitled to a little consideration seeing as how you wouldn’t even be here today if it hadn’t been for me carrying you in my belly all those long months and in wartime too with the shortages and the fear and my husband disappearing the way he did which is I suppose where you get it from not that that’s any excuse and I certainly don’t see why I should be punished for something I suffered enough from at the time God knows instead of

which you hide there behind the answering machine like the coward you are while I sit here all alone and unloved at my age in a strange city with no one to care for me - sola, perduta, abbandonataV

This was the recorded version. When he called her back, Zen was treated to a live encore, preceded by a lengthy recitative explaining how she heard about his visit from Rosa Nieddu, who ‘accidentally let it slip’ when she came by to drop off the girls that morning so that she could drive Gilberto to the airport and how at first she couldn’t believe what she’d heard and then Rosa tried to pretend she hadn’t said it and then broke down and confessed everything and they had both burst into tears and hugged each other.

‘Ah, the female mafia on the job again!’ murmured Zen, feeling drenched in oestrogen as though in cheap scent.

Fortunately his mother was not listening.

‘Then later on Luisella called to say she needed to get in touch with you about the divorce settlement

‘What? I haven’t seen her for ten years! We haven’t lived together for..
p>

‘But you’re still married to her, Aurelio, and now she’s met someone else and wants to have children before it’s too late. I hope you don’t mind, but I did just say that as you’ve made all that money from that American family I’m sure you’ll have no trouble agreeing to any suggestions which her lawyers may make.’

‘Are you out of your mind, mamma?’

‘Then that evening Tarda dropped round so naturally I told her about you coming all the way up here to chat about video games with your pal Gilberto and not even bothering to come and see your poor mother who you’ve abandoned here like some old coat you’ve no more use for now you’ve moved to the sunny south and gone

native…’

And so on, for some time. And when Zen finally succeeded in getting the conversation back on track, it promptly ran right over him.

‘So then Tarda told me her news. You’ll never guess what’s happened!’

“I suppose she wants to get married so that she can divorce me and get her hands on the American money you no doubt told her about too.’

‘She does want to marry you, Aurelio, but not for your money. It’s for the child.’

‘Whose child?’

‘Yours, of course! She’s pregnant.’

During his previous sojourn in Naples, many years ago, Zen had investigated a particularly unpleasant killing in which an informer was tied to a table and his skull perforated by an electric drill. Zen’s present sensations appeared to approximate, however feebly, the experiences of the victim. He did a number of rapid mental calculations involving dates, times and places. It was, he concluded, just possible.

‘You didn’t tell them where I am, did you? Don’t give them this number! Don’t even tell them I’m in Naples!’

‘Why shouldn’t I tell them? Luisella’s your wife and Tania’s the mother of your child - my grandchild. They’re family, Aurelio.’

“For God’s sake, mamma! They’re just trying to get their hands on my money now I finally have some after all these years. Women are all the same!’

‘Don’t you use that tone of voice with me, Aurelio!

None of this would have happened if you’d had the simple common decency to pay me a visit when you were in town. I don’t expect much, God knows, only a few minutes of your time once every couple of weeks. Is that too much to ask?’

Many years’ experience of interrogations had left Aurelio Zen with a keen sense of when and how to turn the tables.

‘Why don’t you come down here?’ he suggested.

The flow of aggrieved verbiage ceased. There was a shocked silence.

‘To Naples?’ his mother demanded at last, her voice a whisper. ‘Are you crazy?’

It’s not as bad as it’s made out, mamma. I’ve been pleasantly surprised by the …’

‘First you drag me down to the South, now you expect me to move to Africa!’

‘Not to live, of course. But you might think about spending a few days here some time…’

‘If anything, I’ll go back to Venice! I can’t see any less of you than I do already, and if I’ve got to live all alone I might as well do it there as here…’

And so on, for another five minutes. As Zen listened, he realized for the first time the extent to which he had already become ‘meridionalized’. He saw it all with a different eye now, this dark, disturbing stuff boiling up like mud churned up by a power boat roaring up a shallow canal - with a clear, unforgiving Southern eye. These were extracts from another narrative, another life, redundant here.

Nevertheless he went through the usual motions, assuring his mother that he would call more often and visit her in person just as soon as the demands of the extremely vital and urgent case he was presently working on permitted. He told her that he loved her and missed her and would never ever come to Rome again without

coming to see her, however rushed he might be, because she was more important to him than anything or anyone else. He told what she wanted to hear, then hung up and went to tear the cord out of the wall. He couldn’t leave it here in his absence anyway. The last thing he needed was for Gesualdo and Sabatino to be fielding calls for someone called Aurelio Zen.

But before he could disconnect the instrument, it started to ring again. It’s mamma, he thought, calling back for further reassurance. His heart sank at the prospect, but it was idle to pretend that he wasn’t there.

‘Yes?’

‘Good evening, dottore. This is Pastorelli.’

‘Well?’barked Zen.

‘Many apologies for the interruption, dottore. I know we’ve been given very strict instructions never to disturb you at home, but I can’t get hold of Giovan Battista … of

Inspector Caputo, that is. He’s out somewhere, his wife said, and she doesn’t know when he’ll…’

‘So?’

‘Well, the thing is, we have a bit of a problem. It’s in relation to that case involving the stabbing of that Greek sailor on the night of the …’

‘Has he died?’

‘Who?’

‘The Greek!’

‘No, no. That’s to say, I don’t know. We’ve had no word as to his condition.’

‘Then why the hell are you wasting my time, Pastorelli?

If you’re lonely, go upstairs and chat up the whores.’

‘It’s the prisoner, dottore/

‘What about the prisoner?’

‘He’s gone.’

‘Gone?’ boomed Zen. ‘Who authorized his release?’

‘No one, dottore. He escaped.’

Come? Perche? Quando? In qual modo?

Pasquale had gone off duty after dropping the Squillace girls at the airport. He apologized profusely for not being able to drive Zen in person, but promised he would ring around and send someone reliable, thus sparing his client the indignity of having to call a taxi company himself, like some nobody without any standing or contacts in the city. Before leaving, Zen went across the alley and explained to the toothless Don Castrese that he was expecting friends to call that evening and that he might be delayed. He left a key and instructions to admit two young men answering to the names Gesualdo and Sabatino.

The cab dispatched by Pasquale was waiting for Zen in Via Cimarosa. The driver, a squat, tough-looking woman of indeterminate age and few words, confirmed his destination and did not speak again until they arrived at the port. It was the first time that Zen had had occasion to visit his place of work after dark, and he was astonished at the transformation. The shutters of the windows on the top floor of the police station were all closed, but cracks of light escaped here and there and the sound of disco music mingled with voices and laughter floated down through the soft evening air.

Pastorelli, a short intense-looking man with a permanently worried expression, was waiting in the entrance hall, visibly perturbed. Zen made no attempt to mitigate the man’s embarrassment or to respond to his explanations and excuses, merely leading the way upstairs to his office as though it were quite normal for him to be there.

Not until he was ensconced behind his desk did he deign to address a word to his subordinate.

‘As duty officer in charge of this post, you are personally accountable for ensuring that the statutory regulations are enforced and a proper degree of security maintained/

He lifted the phone.

‘In fact, I think we might be able to set a precedent here.

You know how hard it is to get fired from the police.

Many attempts have been made, but they nearly always result in mere demotion or transfer. But if I call the Questura and report that you have not only been turning a blind eye to the fact that a brothel is operating on the premises, but have allowed the suspect at the centre of the most important case this section has ever handled to escape from under your nose, I’m pretty sure that you’ll be on the street tomorrow - if not in jail yourself/