Involuntary Witness

he needed time to think things over. In short, the whole classic load of shit.

Alessandra Mantovani had found herself in Bari, alone, with her bridges burnt behind her. She had stayed on without a murmur.

I liked her a lot. She was everything a good public prosecutor ought to be, or a good policeman, which comes to more or less the same thing.

In the first place she was intelligent and honest. Then she didn’t like crooks – of any sort – but she didn’t spend her time eating her heart out at the thought that most of them would get off scot-free. Above all, when she was wrong she was up to admitting it, without argument.

We had become friends, or something like it. Enough to lunch together sometimes, and occasionally tell each other something of our personal histories. Not enough for anything more to happen between us, even if our presumed affair was one of the many bits of gossip that did the rounds of the courthouse.

Patrono detested La Mantovani. Because she was a woman, because she was an investigating magistrate, because she was more intelligent and tougher than he was. Even though, naturally, he would never have admitted it.

“Here, Signora,” – he called all women magistrates Signora, not Dottoressa or Judge, to make them nervous and unsettle them – “come and listen to this story. It’s the latest, really a peach.”

La Mantovani stepped nearer and looked him in the eye, tilted her head to one side and said not a word. A slight nod – yes, go on and try to tell your story – and the ghost of a smile. It was not a warm smile. The mouth had moved but the eyes were utterly still. And cold.

Patrono told his story. It wasn’t the latest, or even very recent.

It was the story of a young man of good family talking to a friend and telling him how he is about to marry an ex-prostitute. The youngster explains to his friend that his fiancee’s ex-profession is no problem as far as he is concerned. No problem either are his fiancee’s parents, who are drug pushers, thieves and pimps. Everything therefore seems hunky-dory, but the lad confides to his friend that he has one really big worry.

“What’s that?” asks the friend.

How’s he going to tell the bride’s parents that his father is a magistrate?

Patrono had his snigger all to himself. Personally, I was embarrassed.

“I’ve got a rather good one too. About animals,” said La Mantovani. “Snake and Fox are wandering in the woods. At a certain point it starts to rain and they both take shelter in an underground tunnel, going in at opposite ends. They begin making their way along the tunnel, where it’s pitch dark, getting nearer and nearer each other until they meet. They actually bump into each other.

“The tunnel is very narrow and there’s very little room for them to pass. In fact, for one to pass the other has to flatten himself against the wall, in other words give way.

“But neither of them is willing to give way and so they start to quarrel.

“ ‘Move over and let me pass.’

“ ‘Move over yourself.’

“ ‘Who d’you think you are?’

“‘Who are you anyway?’

“ ‘You tell me first.’

“ ‘No, my dear, you tell me first who you are.’ And so on and so forth.

“In short, the situation seems to have reached an impasse and the two of them don’t know how to get out of it, partly because neither wants to take the initiative of attacking the other, not knowing who he is up against.

“Fox then has an idea. ‘Listen, it’s no use going on quarrelling, because that way we’ll be in here all day. Let’s have a game to solve the problem. I’ll stay still and you touch me and try to guess who I am. Then you stay still, and I’ll touch you and try to guess who you are. Whoever finds out the identity of the other wins and can pass first. What d’you think of that?’

“ ‘It’s an idea,’ says Snake. ‘I agree, but I have first guess.’

“So Snake, moving sinuously, starts touching Fox.

“ ‘Now then, what long, pointed ears you have, what a sharp muzzle, what soft fur, what a bushy tail… You must be Fox!’

“Fox is rather miffed, but has to admit that the other has got him.

“ ‘However, now it’s my turn, because if I guess right we’ll be even and we’ll have to find another way of deciding who goes first.’

“And he starts to touch Snake, who in the meanwhile has stretched out on the floor of the tunnel.

“ ‘What a small head you have, you don’t have any ears, you’re long and slimy… And you have no balls!

“ ‘You wouldn’t by any chance be a lawyer?’ ”

I lowered my eyelids and laughed to myself. Patrono tried to laugh too, but failed. He came out with a sarcastic cackle and tried to say something, but nothing equal to the occasion occurred to him. He didn’t know how to lose.

La Mantovani took off her robe, said she was going to her office, that we’d all be meeting when the hearing resumed and went her way.

Every so often, a real man, I thought.

16

Some days passed and then I got a telephone call from Abajaje.

She wanted to see me. Soon.

I told her she could come that very day, at eight in the evening, when the office closed. That way we’d be able to talk more calmly.

She arrived almost half an hour late, and this amazed me. It didn’t fit with the image I’d formed of her.

When I heard the bell ring I was already beginning to think of leaving.

I crossed the empty offices, opened the door and saw her. In the middle of the unlit landing.

She came in, dragging a big box. It contained the books and a few other belongings of Abdou, including an envelope with several dozen photographs.

I told her we could go through and talk in my room, but she shook her head. She was in a hurry. She remained where she was, one step inside the door, opened her bag and took out a roll of banknotes similar to the one she produced the first time she came to the office.

She held out the money and, without looking me in the face, began talking quickly. This time her accent was very noticeable. As strong as a smell.

She had to leave. She had to return to Aswan. She was forced, she was forced – she said – to return to Egypt.

I asked when and why, and her explanation became confused. Broken at times by words I didn’t understand.

She had taken her final exams more than a week before. In theory she should have gone straight back, and in fact all the other scholarship holders had already left.

She had stayed on, asking for an extension of the grant, claiming that she had to do further work on some subjects. The extension had been refused and yesterday she had had a fax from her country ordering her to return. If she didn’t do so, and at once, she would lose her position at the Ministry of Agriculture.

She had no choice, she said. Even if she stayed she could do nothing to help Abdou. Without money or a job.

Without anywhere to live, since they had already told her to vacate her room at the annexe as soon as possible.

She would go back to Nubia and try to obtain temporary leave. She would do everything she could to come back to Italy.

She had collected all the money she could to pay for Abdou’s defence, meaning me. It came to nearly three million. I must do all I could, all I could to help him.

No, Abdou didn’t know yet. She would tell him tomorrow, at visiting time.