‘You don’t like it, Inspector?’
‘It’s good, but it’s thick as blood.’
Toto smiled broadly.
‘It’s from our grapes, Inspector. And if there’s blood in it, that’s normal.’ Then he raised a lid and a bubble of greasy smoke rose slowly and stuck to the ceiling.
It was already two o’clock. Bordelli stood up from his stool and stretched as if he was getting out of bed. He squeezed the cook’s shoulder by way of goodbye.
‘Ciao,
‘Be well, Inspector.’
‘I’ll do my best.’
He exited Toto’s lair feeling fairly light. It was the first time. He only had a halo of onion round his head. As he was about to get into his car, he felt someone touch his shoulder and turned round. Beside him stood a man of about seventy, with a nice, tired face and a small head that moved in jerks, like a snake’s.
‘May I? Cavalier Aldo Affumicato,’ he said.
‘A pleasure,’ he said. ‘Bordelli.’
They shook hands. The
‘Could I have a minute of your time?’ The
‘Actually …’ said Bordelli.
‘I don’t know whom to talk to about this, and I’ve got some very important things to say. Do you have a minute?’
‘All right,’ Bordelli said, though he wanted to leave.
‘You see, I worked at the Ministry of the Economy for sixteen years, and do you know what my job was?’
Bordelli waited in silence for the answer, but the man wouldn’t speak.
‘Aren’t you going to ask me what my job was?’ the
‘Sorry … What was it?’
‘But, were you about to go somewhere?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Go ahead.’
‘Oh, don’t worry about me, sir, I have a lot of time on my hands,’ the man said with an unhappy smile. ‘Where was I?’
‘You were telling me about your job at the ministry.’
‘Ah, yes … and had you already asked me what my job was?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Good. My job was the following: I had to report, at the end of each trimester, the volume of sausages produced in a depressed area of Basilicata … Are you sure I’m not boring you?’
‘Please, go on,’ said Bordelli. They were standing in the sun at two o’clock in the afternoon, but the
‘I’m from a town near Turin, you see, but I won’t tell you which because I’m sure you don’t know it. To move house from there to the south was a big sacrifice, I can tell you.’
‘I understand.’
‘I had to submit my reports to the Central Office of the Ministry of the Economy. And I would type them up personally; I took my job very seriously.’ The
‘What?’ asked Bordelli, ready this time.
‘The fact that the ministry never once sent a reply, or any sort of communication at all. Absolute silence. Aside from my salary, of course, a little green receipt that alerted me that my postal account had been credited. That’s all.’
‘Really?’
‘On my word of honour. Never a letter, never a phone call, and if I ever tried calling, the line was always busy. So, do you know what I did?’
‘What did you do?’
‘I did the following: one day I got on a train and went to Rome. I wanted to find out why I had never received any official communication … aside from my salary, of course, a little green receipt that … but I’ve already told you that, haven’t I?’
‘I think so, yes.’
‘Anyway, I left for Rome and, without telling anybody, I went straight to the ministry’s offices. They didn’t want to let me in, because they’d never seen me before, and said I had to identify myself. In the end they let me go and look for the man in charge of production analysis for the south, and I found him doing the crossword! But that’s of no interest. Do you know what I discovered?’
‘What?’
‘I discovered the following: that all my reports were there, still in their unopened envelopes, bound together by a strip of glued paper. Sixty-three envelopes, never opened. Can you imagine?’
‘How is that possible?’
‘The fact is that nobody had ever read even one of those reports. Just think!’
‘I have no words.’
‘When I asked for an explanation, do you know what they said?’
‘What did they say?’
‘They said the following: that those statistics were of no use to anyone, and that my studies were pointless. The reason for my job was something else, I forget what, something to do with politics. And so, do you know how I felt?’
‘How did you feel?’
‘Bad, very bad. I simply can’t resign myself to the fact that I spent sixteen years doing a useless job.’ The
‘Bordelli. I’m a police inspector.’
‘A pleasure. Cavalier Aldo Affumicato. Could I have a minute of your time? I’ve got some things to say, and I don’t know who to talk to.’ He held out his cold hand, and Bordelli shook it.
‘Listen, Cavaliere, why don’t you just forget about everything and take a nice holiday?’
‘Do you think I should?’
‘I think it would do you good.’
‘Then, you know what I’ll do?’
‘What?’
‘I’m going to go to the ministry and ask them to give me an important assignment. What do you think? Should I do that?’
‘I really don’t know.’
‘Yes, I think that’s what I’ll do … And what do you do, Signor Brodello?’
It was a difficult half-hour, but in the end the inspector managed to free himself. He got into his Beetle and drove off. The heat in the car took his breath away.
As Diotivede must be fairly well along at this point, Bordelli dropped in at Forensic Medicine. As soon as he walked into the laboratory, he felt revived; the temperature was decidedly pleasant in there. The doctor was travelling through the tiny, vast world of the microscope. He heard Bordelli come in, but didn’t move. At the back of the room was the slab with the body of Signora Pedretti-Strassen. The sheet covering her had a dark stain over the belly.
‘You know, Diotivede, if I had your job, I don’t know if I could ever eat liver … or tripe.’
‘I don’t see why.’
‘Don’t tell me you can’t imagine.’
Diotivede looked up from the microscope and saw the world life-size again.
‘Haven’t you anything to do at the office?’ he said, glaring at him. Bordelli realised he was once again
