Death in August

war he had seen things he didn’t like, and had placed a few ‘righteous’ bombs here and there — that is, bombs that didn’t kill anyone — just to let people know that not everyone was ready to take it up the arse.

Even before getting out of the car, Bordelli saw him through the window, leaning over the bar, reading the newspaper with a butt between his lips, hollow cheeked, fingers yellow with nicotine, an old partisan always ready to rant polemically against the Christian Democrats and just about everyone else. The inspector entered the bar and raised a hand in greeting.

‘Ciao, Carlino. Rosa was supposed to have left you the keys for me.’

Carlino guffawed and clapped his hands above the newspaper.

‘You’re just the man I was looking for, Inspector. Listen to this: the minister asserted that we need to forget the past … the country needs a positive response … Italy has emerged, with some effort, but with head held high, from a fratricidal war … and all that matters now is the future … he praised the industriousness of all categories of workers, who in only a few years … tremendous growth for the country … prosperity … a home … I am committed to enforcing respect for … and blah blah blah blah blah … I’ve heard this claptrap before, been hearing it for years, an’ it makes my hands itch so bad that if I start scratching I’ll scratch myself down to the bone.’

‘Stop tormenting yourself, Carlino. We’ve already done our part, now it’s time to let the young people try. You’ll see, sooner or later the bad guys’ll get a spanking.’

Carlino rolled up the newspaper and went over to the espresso machine.

‘Coffee?’ he said.

‘No thanks. I’ve already had two.’

‘The young are only interested in having fun, Inspector. What the hell do they care about the blackshirts and the war?’

‘Don’t take it personally.’

‘They only see us as senile fools with a nostalgia for bombs.’

‘They may be right, Carlino.’

‘I’d like to see these brats fight the Nazis and the Black Brigades, for Christ’s sake!’

‘Sooner or later they’ll learn what happened, you’ll see.’

‘At least one of those pricks up there needs to have the balls to tell the truth, Goddamn it all! After the war was over they let all the Fascists out of jail only to make room for us partisans. Don’t you think it’s time they explained why?’ He took Rosa’s keys out of a drawer and walked round the counter. ‘Goddammit! If we don’t change this world, we who have seen what we’ve seen … if we don’t do it, then nobody will. I’d bet my family jewels on it.’

Bordelli smiled.

‘I’d love to change the world,’ he said. ‘But I can only change it by doing my job well.’

Carlino gave him a funny look.

‘Sometimes I wonder how someone like you manages to stay in the police force, in the service of those guys.’

Bordelli sighed.

‘I’m not in anybody’s service, Carlino. I’m a policeman. I try to find out who killed whom. Politics has nothing to do with it.’

Carlino shook his head.

‘Wrong. Everything is political, Inspector, even … even taking a piss,’ he said. He dropped Rosa’s keys into Bordelli’s hand.

‘Well, Carlino. I’ve really got to go now.’

‘Take care, Inspector. And drop by some time.’

Bordelli left the bar and walked briskly towards Rosa’s building, as if getting there a few seconds earlier might save a few plants. He climbed the stairs, opened the door and rushed through the sitting room towards the terrace, but then stopped halfway. He had clearly heard a noise coming from Rosa’s bedroom.

‘Anybody here?’

He heard a door creak. He cautiously approached the room and turned on the light. Everything looked to be in order, but one of the wardrobe doors was ajar.

‘Is that you, Rosa?’

He turned off the light and went back into the hall. He reopened the front door and then closed it again, remaining inside the flat. Then he tiptoed into the kitchen and waited, looking towards the sitting room through the half-open door. About a minute later, there appeared a short, thin man with the sad face of a comic from a warm- up act for a variety show. The stranger tiptoed his way towards the front door. Bordelli came out of the kitchen and walked up to him, shaking his head.

‘Canapini! What are you doing here?’

The little man’s jaw dropped, and he nearly fell from fright.

‘Inspector … it’s you!’

‘Yes, but you still haven’t answered my question.’

Canapini stood there in the middle of the room without moving. He threw up his hands, his face turning sadder than ever. Bordelli flopped into an armchair.

‘How can you possibly be so unlucky, Canapini? A lady friend of mine lives here.’

The burglar grew animated and ran up to Bordelli.

‘I swear I didn’t know, Inspector. Anyway, all I took is this.’ He removed a small statuette of yellow glass from his pocket, dusted it on his shirtsleeve. ‘An’ I’m going to put it right back.’ He set it down on a console. ‘There,’ he said. ‘I swear I didn’t know.’

He looked at Bordelli with the expression of a beaten dog.

‘At ten in the morning, Canapini!’

The little man shrugged.

‘I’m in a bad way, Inspector. If I don’t find something to sell to Zoppo today, I won’t eat.’

‘When did you get out?’

‘Yesterday, Inspector. This is the first flat I’ve broken into.’

Bordelli stood up, knees cracking, and headed towards the kitchen.

‘Give me a hand watering the plants,’ he said. The little burglar followed Bordelli on to the terrace, which looked out over the roofs of Santo Spirito, and together they gave drink to the thirsty — geraniums, azaleas, tulips, rosemary, lavender, and all the other species of plants and flowers Bordelli didn’t recognise. Luckily they had survived the heat, and the moment they felt the water, they began visibly to revive.

‘Canapini, let’s not beat about the bush. First of all, strike this address from your list.’

Canapini was about to promise, but Bordelli raised a hand as if to say he took his word for it.

‘Secondly, take this … and I don’t want any fuss.’

He put a ten-thousand-lira note in the little man’s hand and then put his finger over the other’s mouth.

‘Don’t say anything, Canapini. I just got a raise today.’

‘But I can’t accept this, Inspector.’ He had tears in his eyes, holding the note with two fingers, as if it were diseased. Bordelli lost patience.

‘I don’t want to hear about it, Cana. Take it or I’ll arrest you, and I’m not joking.’

Canapini wiped his eyes with his fingers.

‘Thank you, Inspector. If all policemen were like you …’

‘You’d be out burgling every single day. Is that what you were going to say?’

Canapini blushed and twisted up his mouth. He seemed on the verge of sobbing. Bordelli put his hand on the man’s neck.

‘That’s enough, Canapini, for Christ’s sake! You’re the unluckiest burglar I’ve ever met! Why don’t you change professions?’

‘What would I do?’

‘Listen, why don’t you come for dinner at my place tomorrow evening? I’ve invited a few friends. Botta’s doing the cooking.’

The little thief lit up.

‘Botta? I haven’t seen him for months.’