The other man sucked complacently at his cigar.
‘I think,’ he said. ‘I think, and then I think again. Then I review my conclusions with my friends here in my home town, and occasionally even have the pleasure of discovering that one of them has a streak of imagination to add a detail to my scheme, like young Saverio here.’
He bent forward and stared at the man across the table.
‘You used to be like that, Rosario. That’s why I always talked things over with you first. You were intelligent and creative. What happened, Rosario? Where did all that energy go?’
There was no reply. In the intense silence which had fallen on the group of men, a precise pattern of sound made itself heard. No one looked round, but each person seemed to become marginally denser and more still. The footsteps tapping rhythmically across the cobbles grew ever closer, passing beneath the statue of a nineteenth- century native of the town who had briefly achieved limited fame as a poet, then shifted to a rich crunching on the gravel strewn under the trees in the centre of the square.
The newcomer moved at a steady pace through the men gathered about the table with its chessboard. He was tall and imposing, in his eighties perhaps, his face collapsed on to the bones beneath, but with eyes of a startling blue clarity. He wore a brown blazer over a check shirt, with a dark red tie and grey flannel trousers. His feet were clad in beige socks and open leather sandals and he carried a briar walking-stick in one gnarled hand, with the aid of which he favoured his left leg. No one said a word to him, or gave the slightest impression of being aware of his presence. The man stopped in front of the green-painted table. He looked neither at the players, nor at the attendant entourage, but at the chessboard.
He stood there for over a minute, completely absorbed in his study. No one spoke, no one moved, but a sense of unease seemed to have come over the company. At length the newcomer straightened up and sniffed deeply.
‘Black to win in five moves,’ he announced in an Italian whose flexible spine had been replaced by a steel pin.
Only now did he look at the two players. The one called Don Gaspare glanced up at him in a curious way, simultaneously contemptuous and apprehensive.
‘Ah, yes, of course you know all about winning, Herr Genzler.’
The other man looked back at the board for an instant, then turned implacably back to Don Gaspare.
‘Black in five,’ he repeated. ‘Unless one of you makes a mistake.’
There was a subliminal gasp all around the table. No one talked to the capo like that. But Don Gaspare simply puffed contentedly on his cigar.
‘I don’t make mistakes,’ he replied calmly.
‘Perhaps. But I hear that Rosario is not as good as he used to be.’
The intruder bowed vestigially.
‘At your service, Don Gaspare.’
The chess player returned an even more sketchy bow.
‘And yours, General.’
The intruder turned his back and stalked off. The men around the table listened with communal intensity to the crunch and then the slapping of his sandals as he made his way across the square to what was to all appearances the town’s only commercial enterprise, a combination bar and grocery store, into which he disappeared.
Back in the public garden in the centre of the square, the silence continued for some time.
‘Black in five moves, eh?’ Don Gaspare remarked at length. ‘Can you see how, Rosario?’
The other player performed a pantomime shrug and grimace.
‘It’s easy enough to say something like that to make yourself look good!’ he exclaimed.
‘Can you see how?’ Don Gaspare repeated emphatically.
Rosario did not reply. The other man took out a cellphone and punched buttons.
‘Turi? Don Gaspa. Put the general on.’
A pause.
‘Herr Genzler? Black in five, you said. How, exactly?’
He took out a pen and started scribbling on the back of an envelope.
‘To Queen’s pawn seven? But that’s… Right. And then? Ah! I understand. Thank you. What are you drinking? Fine, tell Turi that it’s on me.’
He put the cellphone away. Gripping the chessboard, he turned it around so that he was behind the black ranks. After a moment, he sent a bishop sliding forward two squares. Rosario regarded him with anxiety, then taking the white pieces he replied by capturing a forward pawn. Don Gaspare immediately moved again, a crab-like advance by a hitherto unregarded knight. Rosario sat staring at the board until his opponent suddenly hammered his fist down on the table.
‘People come to me with their problems!’ he shouted furiously. ‘I don’t need more problems. What I need is solutions! Is that clear?’
He stood up, surveying the men assembled there.
‘Is that clear?
‘Si, capo,’ everyone muttered, like a congregation responding to the priest.
Don Gaspare stared around the circle, making eye contact with each man. Then he looked back at the chessboard. Without glancing at his opponent, he made three further moves and then flicked the middle finger of his right hand against the white king, which went flying on to the gravel under the trees.
‘Carla?’
‘Papa! Where have you been? I was worried about you.’
‘I’m in Rome.’
‘What’s this music?’
‘Music?’
‘Muzak. Elevator music’
‘I don’t hear anything.’
‘Well, I certainly do. So you’re in Rome? Why?’
‘I had to leave suddenly.’
‘Can you speak up, please? This music…’
‘I had to come to Rome. Unexpectedly. A personal matter.’
‘Oh, yes. Yes, I see.’
‘I don’t know when I’ll be back, exactly. I’m taking a few days’ leave.’
Quite apart from the underlay of soft pop, the connection was poor, fading in and out, but always dim and drained.
‘What’s the weather like there?’ a voice like her father’s asked.
‘Much the same. And in Rome?’
‘Sandy.’
‘What?’
‘Never mind. Listen, it may be a while before I get back. Will you be all right?’
‘Of course. I just wish you were here, though. They searched my room.’
‘What? Who?’
‘I don’t know. But someone has been here. They left a message on my computer.’
‘Your what?’
‘My laptop. My whole life’s on it, and someone has been messing about with it. I’ve got back-ups, of course, but…’
‘Back-up lives?’
Carla laughed.
‘Sorry, I forgot you don’t speak the language.’
‘Look, Carla, if someone broke into your apartment, call the police. I’ll give you a number. A name, too. Baccio Sinico. He’s a good man and he’ll…’
‘I don’t have time now. We’re going away for the weekend and I’m just about to leave. I’ll do it on Monday.
