‘Sorry,’ Bordelli said in a whisper, giving her a complicit look.
‘Ah, don’t get me going,’ said the woman. Bordelli looked behind her. On the other side of that door was a world that remained trapped in past centuries: massive black furniture, portraits on the walls, suits of armour, huge candelabras, dark carpets, a blue ceramic wood-burning stove. The air wafting out of that door smelled of old fabrics and burnt wood.
‘Since apparently you’ve seen him, what does the devil look like?’ Bordelli asked.
The old woman lowered her voice even more.
‘I haven’t seen him. But you do hear all kinds of noise,’ she said slowly, in a solemn tone.
‘What kinds of noise?’
‘Do you really want to know?’
‘Of course …’
‘Wait, I’ll call my mother.’ The old woman turned round and screamed: ‘Mamma! There’s a gentleman here wants to talk to you!’ Bordelli took a step forward.
‘No, please, I don’t want to disturb anyone.’
‘Mamma! I said there’s a gentleman here!’
‘Never mind, signora.’
‘No, no, here she comes now.’ Bordelli saw a wraith flutter in the darkness of the room behind them, but at first glance she seemed not to advance an inch. It was Mamma. She took a very long time to reach the door. She was small, tiny, all bones. She stood as though hung from her neck, her voice almost inaudible.
‘Who’s here?’ she said. There was a slight whistle in her voice.
‘This gentleman, here, wanted to know about the villa next door,’ the daughter said.
‘Your daughter tells me you hear noises there,’ said Bordelli.
‘Where should I look?’ the mother asked.
‘She’s blind,’ the daughter explained. Bordelli took another step forward.
‘I’m here, signora. Pleased to meet you.’ The mother extended a tiny, skeletal hand. Bordelli held those little bones for only a moment, fearing he might break them. The old woman took three small, futile steps across a single tile, then regained her breath after that exhausting greeting.
‘What is it you wanted to know?’ she said, mouth quivering. Bordelli looked her straight in the eye. Her eyeballs were covered by white veils veined with capillaries.
‘Your daughter was telling me you hear noises next door,’ he said.
The old woman made a vague gesture, which must have corresponded to some expression of exuberance in her younger days.
‘Oh, yes, yes. Many sounds, many, many sounds.’
‘What sort of sounds, signora?’
‘Many sounds. Many, many, many, many …’
‘Mamma, do you understand? The gentleman wants to know what kind of sounds … Stop acting senile.’ Bordelli wondered how he might extricate himself. His hand in his pocket fidgeted with his car keys. The transparent old woman joined her hands together and then pulled them tightly against her breast.
‘At night, mostly. Many, many …’
‘Not
‘Oh … all right …’
‘Tell him about the screams you heard last February.’
Bordelli pretended to be keenly interested.
‘What kind of screams?’ the daughter persisted, jabbing her mother in the shoulder with her fingertips.
‘Come on, Mamma, the gentleman is waiting.’
‘Yes, yes … terrible screams, terrible, terrible screams … like animals …’
The daughter intervened.
‘But they weren’t animals, I’m sure of that!’ she said very seriously, opening her eyes wide to emphasise the point. Meanwhile her mother seemed to have woken up and was eager to speak.
‘I have a cousin who’s mad, and I used to go and see him until ’46,’ she said.
The daughter gave a start at the sound of these words, taking such offence that she almost began to cry. She started slapping her mother lightly on the hands.
‘Why did you say that, Mamma? Why did you say that now? Eh? Did you have to go and say that? Eh?’
‘Let me speak … You see, sir, I so hate my sister … she drove my grandson mad.’ The daughter clenched her dentures, growled, and stalked away as if she would never return. The mother continued speaking calmly.
‘The only other place I ever heard such screams was in the madhouse. Now do you understand? Are you still here, sir?’
‘I’m here.’
The daughter reappeared and stood behind her mother. She looked a bit calmer. Bordelli wanted only to run away.
‘I’m so pleased to have met you both,’ he said, holding out his hand. The mother started waving her hands in the air.
‘Don’t you want to hear about the shots?’ she said.
‘What shots?’
‘They are so loud, so so loud, that they wake me up.’
‘Pistol shots?’
‘So, so loud.’
‘Mamma! You don’t understand! The man wants to know if they were pistol shots.’
‘Ah, that’s so nice of him …’
‘No, Mamma, you don’t understand …’
‘… so, so nice.’
‘Mamma!’ the daughter shouted. Bordelli felt he should intervene, and made a slight bow towards the daughter.
‘Please don’t disturb your mother any further, I beg you. I’ve understood everything perfectly, thank you. Thank you ever so much. Goodbye.’
The mother took two tiny steps forward.
‘Do come see us some time, sir, we’re always here, all alone,’ she said.
‘Mamma, why do you say that? Why?’
‘Because it’s true,’ the mother whimpered. Bordelli said goodbye again, loudly, so they would hear, and took to his heels. Behind him the argument continued. The daughter was furious.
‘Did you really have to go and say that? Eh? Why did you say that? Tell me why!’ she kept saying, enraged.
The mother wasn’t listening to her.
‘Adele, call the gentleman back here … we didn’t tell him about the grunting noises …’
‘Tell me why you said that! Tell me why! Why?’
The great front door closed, and silence returned. Bordelli was bathed in sweat, but at last he was free.
‘The devil,’ he said to himself. He would have given his right hand for a cigarette. It was possible that mother and daughter had heard only mating cats and sputtering cars, but still they had managed to give the villa an even stranger air.
He was about to go back into the garden when a white Fiat 500 pulled up. Stepping out of the car was a small, thin man of about sixty with a wrinkly mouth and a tiny skull that narrowed vaguely at the temples. He approached Bordelli with a hesitant step. Behind his enormous eyeglasses he wore a pained expression.
‘I’m looking for Inspector Bordelli,’ he said.
‘I am he.’
‘I am Dr Bacci, Signora Pedretti’s personal physician.’
They shook hands.
‘Poor woman. I still can’t believe it,’ said Dr Bacci, truly saddened. They walked through the garden and into the villa. Bordelli stopped at the bottom of the stairs.
‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you some questions about your patient,’ he said.
