‘You were, too, weren't you, Professoressa?'
‘I learned English as a child, yes’ Paola said and left it at that. She did not add that it had not been from her family but from a succession of English nannies. The less any student knew about her personal life, the better. With a gesture to the Mack Smith books, Paola asked, 'What about you?'
Claudia got to her feet. 'I've spent summers in England.' That, it seemed, was the only explanation Paola was going to get.
‘Lucky you’ Paola said in English and then added with a smile, 'Ascot, strawberries, and Wimbledon’
It's more like mucking out the stables at my aunt's place in Surrey’ Claudia answered in the same accentless English.
'If your German is as good, it must be quite extraordinary’ Paola said, not without a trace of envy.
'Oh, I seldom get to speak it, but I still like to read in it. Besides’ she said, hefting the books on to her hip, 'it's not as if there were any Italian accounts of the war that are particularly reliable.'
‘I think my husband will be pleased to talk to you, Claudia. He's very fond of history, and I've listened to him say for years what you've just said.'
'Really? He reads?' Claudia asked, then, aware of how insulting that sounded, added lamely, 'History, I mean.'
'Yes’ Paola answered, gathering up her papers and resisting the impulse to add that her husband was also able to write. In a voice just as pleasant as previously, she said, ‘Usually the Romans and the Greeks. The lies they tell seem to leave him less angry than the ones contemporary historians tell, or so he says.'
Claudia smiled at this. 'Yes, I can understand that. Would you tell him that I'll call him, probably tomorrow? And that I'm very eager to meet him?'
Paola found it remarkable that this attractive young woman seemed to find nothing at all unusual in telling another woman how eager she was to meet her husband. The girl was by no means stupid, so it must result only from a sort of ingenuousness Paola had not seen in a student in quite some time or from some other motive she could not discern.
It went against everything she had learned about the necessity of avoiding involvement with students, but curious now to know what was behind Claudia's request, she said, 'Yes, I'll tell him.'
Claudia smiled and said, quite formally, 'Thank you, Professoressa’
Bright, apparently widely read, at least trilingual, and respectful to her elders. Considering these things, it occurred to Paola that perhaps the girl had been raised on Mars.
5
Because Paola had told him the night before that the girl wanted to talk to him directly, Brunetti realized who it must be when the guard at the entrance to the Questura phoned him to say that a young woman was downstairs, asking to speak to him.
‘What’s her name?' Brunetti asked.
There was a pause, after which the guard said, 'Claudia Leonardo.'
'Show her up, please,' Brunetti said and set down the phone. He finished reading a paragraph from a meaningless report on spending proposals, set the paper aside and picked up another, not at all unaware that this would show him to be busy when the girl arrived.
There was a knock, the door opened, and he saw a uniformed arm, quickly withdrawn, and then a young woman. She came into the office, certainly looking far too young to be a university student preparing for her last exams, as Paola had said.
He stood, motioning toward the chair that faced him.
'Good morning, Signorina Leonardo. I'm very glad you found time to come and see me’ he said in a tone he attempted to make sound avuncular.
Her quick glance told him she was accustomed to being patronized by older people; it also showed him how little she liked it. She seated herself, and Brunetti did the same. She was a pretty girl in the way young girls are almost always pretty: oval face, short dark hair and smooth skin. But she seemed bright and attentive in a way they seldom are.
'My wife told me there's something you wanted to discuss with me’ he said when he realized she was leaving it for him to speak.
‘Yes, sir.' Her gaze was direct, patient.
'She said you were curious about the possibility of a pardon for something that happened a long time ago and for which, unless I misunderstood what my wife told me, a man was convicted.'
'Yes, sir’ she repeated, her glance so unwavering as to make Brunetti wonder if she were waiting for him to resume patronizing her and was curious only as to what new form it would take.
'She also said that he was sent to San Servolo and died there.'
That's right.' There was no sign of emotion or eagerness on the girl's face.
Sensing that there would be no warming her with these questions, he said, 'She also told me you were reading the Mack Smith biography of Mussolini.'
Her smile revealed two rows of immaculate teeth and seemed to open her eyes wider, until the dark brown irises were completely surrounded with brilliant, healthy white. 'Have you read it?' she asked, her voice charged with eager curiosity.
'Some years ago’ Brunetti answered, then added, 'I usually don't read much modern history, but I had a conversation at dinner one night with someone who started telling us all about how much better it would be if only he were here again, how much better it would be for all of us if he could ...'
‘Instil some discipline into young people’ she seamlessly completed his phrase, 'and restore order to society’ Claudia had somehow managed a perfect echo of the orotund voice of the man who had spoken in favour of Il Duce and the discipline he had managed to instil into the Italian character. Brunetti threw back his head and laughed, delighted and encouraged by the way her imitation dismissed with contempt the man and his claims. ‘I don't remember seeing you there,' he said when he stopped laughing,
'Oh, God, I hear it all the time, even at school,' she said with exasperation. 'It's fine for people to complain about the present. Ifs one of the staples of conversation, after all. But once you start to mention the things in the past that made the present the way it is, then people begin to criticize you for having no respect for the country or for tradition. No one wants to go to the trouble of thinking about the past, really thinking about it, and what a terrible man he was’
'I didn't know young people even knew who Il Duce was,' Brunetti said, exaggerating, but not by much, and mindful of the almost total amnesia he had discovered in the minds of anyone, of whatever age, with whom he had attempted to discuss the war or its causes. Or worse, the sort of cock-eyed, retouched history that portrayed the friendly, generously disposed Italians led astray by their wicked Teutonic neighbours to the north.
The girl's voice drew him back from these reflections. Most of them don't. This is old people I'm talking about. You'd think they'd know or remember what things were like then, what he was like.' She shook her head in another sign of exasperation. 'But no, all I hear is that nonsense about the trains being on time and no trouble from the Mafia and how happy the Ethiopians were to see our brave soldiers’ She paused as if assessing just how far to go with this conservatively dressed man with the kind eyes; whatever she saw seemed to reassure her, for she continued, 'Our brave soldiers come with their poison gas and machine-guns to show them the wonders of Fascism’
So young and yet so cynical, he thought, and how tired she must be already of having people point this out to her. ‘I’m surprised you aren't enrolled in the history faculty’ he said.
'Oh, I was, for a year. But I couldn't stand it, all the lies and the dishonest books and the refusal to take a stand about anything that's happened in the last hundred years’
'And so?'
‘I changed to English Literature. The worst they can do is make us listen to all their idiotic theories about the meaning of literature or whether the text exists or not’ Hearing her, Brunetti had the strange sensation of listening to Paola in one of her wilder moments. 'But they can't change the texts themselves. If s not like what the people in
