back from Rome and was waiting-for a job at a state school. She
thought that by taking the job she was offered at the Academy, even
though it was only part time, she'd at least have entered the state
system.' At Brunetti's questioning glance, she explained, 'She thought
it was run by the Army, which would make it a state school. But it's
entirely private, not attached to the Army in any official way, though
it seems it somehow manages to receive quite a bit of state funding. So
all she had was a badly paid part-time job. And then when the
permanent position came up, they didn't give her the job, anyway.'
'What did she teach, English?' Brunetti had met Susanna a number of
times. The youngest sister of a classmate of Paola's, she had gone to
Urbino to study, then come back to
Venice to teach, where she still was, happily divorced and living with
the father of her second daughter.
'Yes, but for only one year.'
This had been almost ten years ago, so Brunetti asked, 'Couldn't things
have changed since then?'
'I don't see why anything should have. Certainly, the public schools
have done nothing but get worse, though I imagine the students have
remained pretty much the same: I don't see why things in private
schools should be any different.'
Brunetti pulled out his chair and sat. 'All right. What did she
say?'
That most of their parents were terrible snobs and that they passed
this feeling of superiority on to their sons. To their daughters as
well, for all I know, but as the Academy takes only boys...' Paola's
voice trailed off, and for a moment Brunetti wondered if she were going
to use this opportunity to launch into a denunciation of single-sex
schools that received funds from the state.
She came and stood near him, took his glass of wine and sipped at it,
then handed it back to him. 'Don't worry. Only one sermon at a time,
my dear.' Brunetti, unwilling to encourage her, stifled a smile.
'What else did she say?' he asked.
That they felt entitled to everything they had or their parents had and
that they believed themselves to be members of a special group.'
'Doesn't everyone?' Brunetti asked.
'In this case Paola went on, 'it was more a case that they felt
themselves bound only to the group, to its rules and decisions.'
'Isn't that what I just said?' Brunetti asked. 'Certainly we police
feel that way. Well, some do.'
'Yes, I suppose so. But you still feel bound by the laws that govern
the rest of us, don't you?'
'Yes/ Brunetti agreed, but then his conscience, and indeed his
intelligence, forced him to add, 'Some of us.'
'Well, what Susanna said was that these boys didn't. That is, they
thought that the only rules that governed them were the rules of the
military. So long as they obeyed them and remained loyal to that
group, they believed they could pretty much do anything else they
wanted.'
Paola studied him as she spoke, and when she saw the attention he gave
to what she said, she went on, 'What's more, she said that the
teachers, most of whom had a military background, did everything they
could to encourage the students to think like this. They told them to
think of themselves as soldiers first and foremost.' And then she
smiled, though grimly. 'Just think of the pathos of it: they aren't
soldiers, aren't associated with the military in any real way, yet
they're being taught to think of themselves as warriors, loyal only to
the cult of violence. It's disgusting.'
Something that had been nibbling at the edge of his memory finally
broke through. 'Was she there when that girl was raped?' he asked.
'No, I think that was a year or two after she left. Why?'
'I'm trying to remember the story. The girl was the sister of one of
them, wasn't she?'
'Yes, or a cousin,' Paola said, then shook her head as if that would
better summon the memory. 'All I remember is that the police were
called to the school and at first it looked as if the girl had been
raped. But then it dropped out of the papers like a stone.'
'It's strange, but I don't have a clear memory of it, just that it
happened, but none of the details are clear.'
The think it happened when you were in London on that course,' Paola
suggested. 'I remember thinking, at the time, that I had no way of
knowing what really happened because you weren't here to tell me, and
the only source of information I had was the newspapers.'
'Yes, that must be it,' he agreed. 'I'm sure there's something in the
files; there's got to be, at least the original report.'
