are?’
Quickly trying a new tack, Zen started to explain that he had had to turn down an earlier invitation from the Paulons.
‘Fabia Paulon?’ exclaimed Rosalba indignantly. ‘That slut couldn’t cook an egg without…’
‘In any case, I’ve been at work all day.’
‘On Sunday?’ cried Rosalba, hardly pausing in her stride. ‘What are they thinking of? Let them get some of the younger men to do it. There’s no cause to drag an old man like you out of the house on his one day of…’
‘Is Cristiana there?’ Zen cut in.
‘I’ll call her. And listen, Aurelio, come to dinner tomorrow.’
‘If I’m free.’
‘Free? What is this, a prison? Make yourself free!’
Zen smiled minimally.
‘I’m working on it.’
‘What?’
‘Just call your daughter, will you?’
‘What’s it about?’ demanded Rosalba, suddenly suspicious.
‘I need to have a word with her about her husband.’
Rosalba grunted and put the phone down. Zen stubbed out his cigarette and stared at the window. The winter dusk was gathering like a hostile mob. Footsteps crossed a distant floor and then a cherished voice caressed his senses.
‘Aurelio.’
‘Hello, darling.’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t make it last night, but I just couldn’t get rid of the people I was with.’
‘What about tonight?’
There was a pause.
‘Mamma said you wanted to talk to me about Nando.’
‘That was just to give me a reason for calling. I don’t want to put you in an awkward position.’
‘Or yourself,’ Cristiana added tartly.
‘That too. So, what about it?’
‘Would about seven be okay? Or earlier?’
Zen’s heart leapt.
‘Earlier, earlier! Now.’
She laughed.
‘I’m at the office now,’ he said, ‘but I’ll come straight home. Will you be there?’
‘Is this all to do with the dramatic development you mentioned last night?’
‘Very much so. I’ll tell you when I see you. Will you be there when I get back?’
There was a brief pause.
‘Yes.’
Zen smiled secretly.
‘Yes,’ he echoed.
What a pleasure it is to walk out of an evening, a nephew at each elbow lest she slip on the snowy pavement! They’re at her beck and call these days, dear Nanni and sweet little Vincenzo. She has only to suggest how nice it would be to take a walk and perhaps drop in on Daniele Trevisan for a chat and a cup of something warming, and before she knows it they’ll be ringing her doorbell, eager to oblige.
Ada can remember a time, and not so long ago either, when things were very different. Weeks would go by without her seeing her nephews. Even worse, she was treated to midnight visits by mocking simulacra who borrowed Nanni’s clipped, high-pitched voice and Vincenzo’s stooping stance for their own malign purposes. They led her a merry dance for a while, these apparitions, but in the end she turned the tables on them — and with a vengeance!
Nothing’s too much trouble for Nanni and Vincenzo nowadays. They call on her every day, run errands for her, do her shopping, bring presents and generally lavish attentions of all kinds on her. And if by any chance they happen to be forgetful or remiss she need only mention Aurelio Battista, son of her old friend Signora Giustiniana, whom she helped out with some cleaning work when her husband went off and got lost in Russia. ‘Dispersed’, they called it in the papers, but Ada knew what that meant. People used to vanish in those days. It was almost normal. A child here, a man there, a whole family…
For her part, Ada still thinks of Aurelio Battista as that effeminate, long-haired lad she used to dress up in Rosetta’s clothes while his mother went the rounds of the neighbourhood, trying to make ends meet. But apparently for other people, Nanni and Vincenzo included, he is — she giggles at the thought — a Very Powerful and Important Official. Having cleaned the boy’s bottom when he had an accident, Ada remains unimpressed by these trappings of authority, but Nanni and Vincenzo seem to be completely taken in. The happy result is that whenever she wishes to bring her nephews to heel, she has only to drop a passing reference to her friend’s son — the merest casual comment, such as ‘Dottore Zen called by yet again yesterday, but I pretended to be out’ — and in an instant, as though by magic, the boys become completely tractable! It is a weapon all the more effective in that she hardly ever has occasion to use it.
This evening, though, had been one. Having been molly-coddled as children — Ada had warned her sister time and time again that central heating rots one’s moral fibre, but would she listen? — Vincenzo and Nanni are reluctant to venture out in what they call cold weather. They should have seen the winter of ’47, when the canals froze over and people walked across to the Giudecca! But as usual, all Ada had to do was mention quite casually, in passing, that her friend the policeman had dropped round again and tried to get her to implicate her nephews so that he could have them arrested and thrown into prison to await trial, and how after a while she had started to wonder if it might not be easier just to give him what he wanted and be rid of this new harassment, which was almost as bad as the previous one…
Speak of the devil! There is Aurelio Battista, picking his way towards them along the snow-encrusted alley. She knows by the way the grip on her elbows tightens that Nanni and Vincenzo have seen him too. A flurry of anxiety, the first for days, troubles the surface of her new-found serenity. She hopes there won’t be a scene, just when everything has worked out so nicely.
The tall figure striding towards them glances up, taking in the trio ahead. He eyes them each briefly, his gaze lingering a moment on Ada, then passes by without the slightest glimmer of recognition. Vincenzo glances at Nanni, who lets go of his aunt’s arm. Crouching down, he scoops up a double handful of the soft wet snow, moulds it firmly into a ball as hard as a rock and, before Ada can work out what he has in mind, hurls it. She watches bemusedly as it speeds through the darkening air, then Vincenzo yanks her round and marches her along the street towards Daniele’s house.
Behind them, a cry rends the silence. Ada wriggles free of her nephew’s grasp and looks round. Aurelio Battista stands rubbing the back of his head and staring at her. His hat lies capsized on the snow near by. Ada wonders what can have happened. Perhaps he’s troubled by migraine, poor boy. She suffered from it herself at one time, before that role was usurped by other and greater torments, and she dimly recalls that just this sort of cold, wet weather often brought it on. Something has certainly made Giustiniana’s boy very tense and snappy. Snatching up his hat, he strides towards her.
‘Come along, Auntie,’ croons Vincenzo softly.
They have almost reached their goal. Dear Daniele! How pleased he will be to see them. He used to be rather sweet on her at one time — well, besotted, actually. And under different circumstances she might easily have been tempted, because Daniele Trevisan was then one of the handsomest lads in the neighbourhood, and with very winning manners, considering his origins. But for a Zulian to ally herself with someone whose father was in trade was of course quite out of the question.
They have arrived. Nanni is already ringing Daniele’s bell, while Vincenzo brushes a trace of fluff off the sleeve of her coat. What dear, thoughtful boys they are!
But what’s this? Aurelio Battista suddenly shoves his way rudely between them, fixing her with his eyes, waving his finger in her face. ‘Give them to me, Ada!’ he spits out.
