you…’
‘That was nothing, Mamma. But he’ll be here soon. All we have to do is wait.’
Ruggiero trusted his father, and believed in his strength, but sometimes had to concentrate a little before he could call up a clear picture of his face. When his father did come home from Germany, he was always an unhealthy white colour. His clothes smelled foreign, and he sometimes seemed to have a slight difficulty with speaking Italian, exaggerating the dialect when talking to Ruggiero, but soon running out of things to say. Then he would start talking about the funny things the Germans said and believed, and he would praise their cars and roads. His father and mother would retire into their bedroom, speak in private tones, then the volume would drop still further, and yet he could still hear them hushing each other and stifling sounds that were already muted.
He knew now what they were up to. Luca once claimed to have watched his parents through the keyhole, but then altered his story when Pepe accused him of perversion.
Even without Luca’s graphic eyewitness accounts, by now they all knew what their returning fathers did with their mothers — hence the arrival of Roberto, or Robertino as he immediately became known and would probably remain for the rest of his life. All the kids had a father who worked abroad, except Pepe whose father ran the garage. Enrico, of course, lived with his aunt and uncle. His mother had died from breast cancer several years after Enrico was born, and his father showed no interest in finding a replacement either in Germany or Calabria. Enrico claimed he remembered his mother’s face, but she was dead before he was four, which made his claim as unreliable as most of what he said.
The one thing Ruggiero knew for certain was that no matter what happened, his father would do the right thing, and that anything his father told him to do he would do. The Curmacis might not be the most loved family, but Basile, too, was unloved, had few surviving blood relatives, yet his writ extended as far as Filadelfia. People might whisper about the Curmacis, but no one would ever dare say out loud that Agazio Curmaci was an infame, which made the atmosphere of intimidation in the bar yesterday hard to accept.
He went up to his bedroom. His father would soon return to the village and on September 2nd they would attend the procession of the Madonna di Polsi and enjoy a fine picnic afterwards, where he would be encouraged by his father to drink wine and warned by his mother not to. Together he and his father would display quiet confidence.
Downstairs, his mother was moving back and forth as if cleaning the house. Ruggiero lay on his bed, closed his eyes and inhaled its familiar smell, the smell that had accompanied him through his childhood. He wished his father were here already, guarding the doors, fighting for his family.
24
Lake Avernus, Pozzuoli-Naples
Konrad was talking again.
‘It is logical for people with serious communication problems, or who are autistic or aggressive or sociopathic or suffer from Asperger’s syndrome, to choose to leave their home environment and live in a foreign land. I think this might explain some of the characteristics of the American people. Maladapted Europeans and captive Africans.’
‘Indeed?’ said Blume. Most of his energy was going into keeping the camper van on the road.
‘Yes, because people with serious problems in their relationships, if they are intelligent, travel away from their home and stay away. When they are abroad, they always have a pretext for acting alienated and their incapacity to relate to normal society becomes part of their foreignness. People will often justify their strange and sometimes unpleasant behaviour on the grounds of cultural differences and homesickness,’ said Konrad. ‘America was built by people like these. Also, if I might add, they were not very efficient people. These “pioneers” had an entire continent at their disposal as well as slave labour, yet their empire has lasted less time than the Macedonian kingdom. And as for comparing it with the Roman or Greek empires.. ’
‘You’re just in a bad mood because you haven’t eaten,’ said Blume.
‘I am not in a bad mood. But you are not a relaxing driver.’
‘You shouldn’t have drunk so much wine on an empty stomach, then you could be at the wheel.’
‘You are right. You will take me to Lake Avernus before we go on to Positano.’
‘Was that a question or an order?’ said Blume.
Konrad bent his head down so he could look out the window at the scenery around him. From the doleful head-shaking that followed, Blume knew what turn the conversation was about to take.
After several minutes Konrad said, ‘This country is filthy. So far every verge has been filled with rubbish and every road is full of potholes. Everything is falling down.’
Blume nodded, pleased at having guessed right. ‘I thought you might be about to say that, because you’ve already said that.’
‘But it is a disgrace,’ said Konrad. ‘Is this not a sign of inferiority? Be honest.’ But instead of giving Blume a chance to be honest, he added, ‘I do not think Italians will ever defeat organized crime. I think your theory about small units is quite plausible, but I don’t think it fully explains the Italian tendency to illegal behaviour. Of course, I do not think the Italians are racially inclined to violence and theft… and bad driving. I am hardly,’ he laughed at the absurdity of the idea, ‘a racist.’
‘The thought never even crossed my mind,’ said Blume.
‘… I think perhaps they have a virus.’
‘If you’re talking about the Mafia, remember that viruses spread, and Germany has been infected for some time.’
‘You must understand that I am not using a metaphor. I am referring to a real virus, a biological virus. Are you all right, Commissioner? You seem to be sucking.’
‘Sucking?’
‘ Mist. That is not the right word. You have tremors in your face and you are pressing your eyes closed.’
‘I suffer from headaches,’ said Blume.
‘You should try transcranial magnetic stimulation,’ said Konrad. ‘It also gets rid of depression and reveals your hidden artistic abilities. Unfortunately, the effects are not permanent.’
‘I’ll tell my terrific doctor. What’s this virus you’re talking about?’
‘It is called Toxoplasma gondii. It is a virus like the one that causes malaria, and it is common throughout the world, but I believe it is particularly common in Italy. This virus enters the bloodstream, then invades the brains of its victims, in this case Italians, and causes neurosis. This is not to say all Italians have Toxoplasma gondii, but perhaps more have it here than in other countries. It causes poor driving and an inclination to risk taking and rule breaking.’
‘Where does your mysterious virus come from, Konrad?’
‘Ultimately, all viruses come from outer space.’
‘Same quadrant as you?’ asked Blume.
‘This virus,’ continued Konrad, ‘resides in cats and rats and other mammals. A rat with the virus altering its brain might be unnaturally attracted to cats — this is the risk taking at work, you understand. So the rat goes to the cat and says chase me…’
‘So it’s a talking rat?’
‘Obviously the rat does not speak,’ said Konrad. ‘You are not taking this seriously. You are a superficial man.’
‘I am sorry,’ said Blume. ‘The rat, without speaking, informs the cat — in writing perhaps? — that it wants to be chased.’
‘It makes this clear by virtue of the fact it approaches the cat. An animal that deliberately approaches its predator and seeks death is an unnatural thing.’
‘So the cat kills the rat,’ said Blume.
‘Absolutely!’ said Konrad, pleased that Blume had followed him this far in his reasoning. ‘The rat gets caught and dies, but the virus goes into the cat and from there it gets passed to humans. But it is also passed from the
