'Giuliano receives a sum every four months she told him.
A certain hesitation at the end of her statement led Brunetti to ask,
'Are there any conditions?'
'So long as he is actively pursuing a career in the military, he'll
continue to receive it.'
'And if he stops?'
'It does, too.'
'His time at the Academy?'
That's part of the pursuing.'
'And now?' he asked, waving a hand to indicate the unmilitary chaos of
Giuliano's room.
She shrugged, a gesture he was beginning to associate with her, then
answered, 'So long as he's still officially on leave, he's considered
...' her voice trailed off.
'Pursuing?' Brunetti ventured and was pleased by her smile.
The door opened then and Giuliano came into the room, bringing with him
the scent of cigarette smoke. He walked back to the bed, and Brunetti
noticed that his shoes left muddy tracks on the tiles of the floor. He
sat, propping his hands on either side, looked at Brunetti and said, 'I
don't know what happened.'
'Is that the truth or what you decided to tell me while you were
outside?' Brunetti asked mildly.
'It's the truth.'
'Do you have any idea at all?' Brunetti asked. The boy gave no sign
that he had even heard the question, so Brunetti asked an even more
hypothetical question: 'Or of what might have happened?'
After a long time, head still lowered and eyes still on his shoes, the
boy said, The can't go back there.'
Brunetti did not for an instant doubt him: no one who heard him would.
But he was curious about the boy's reasons. 'Why?'
'I can't be a soldier.'
Why is that, Giuliano?' he asked.
'It's not in me. It just isn't. It all seems so stupid: the orders
and the standing in line and everyone doing the same thing at the same
time. It's stupid.'
Brunetti glanced at the boy's aunt, but she sat motionless,
staring at her nephew, ignoring Brunetti. When the boy spoke again,
Brunetti turned his attention back to him. 'I didn't want to do it,
but my grandfather said it's what my father would have wanted me to
do.' He glanced up at Brunetti, who met his eyes but remained
silent.
That's not true, Giuliano/ his aunt interrupted. 'He always hated the
military.'
Then why did he join?' Giuliano snapped back, making no attempt to
disguise his anger.
After a long time, as if she'd considered the effect her words were
bound to have, she answered, 'For the same reason you did: to make your
grandfather happy.'
'He's never happy,' Giuliano muttered.
A silence fell on them. Brunetti turned and looked out the window, but
all he saw was the long expanse of muddy fields and, here and there, a
tree trunk.
It was the woman who finally broke the silence. 'Your father always
wanted to be an architect, at least that's what your mother told me.
But his father, your grandfather, insisted that he become a soldier.'
'Just like all the other Ruffos,' Giuliano spat out with undisguised
contempt.
'Yes/ she agreed. 'I think that was part of the cause of his
unhappiness.'
'He killed himself, didn't he?' Giuliano startled both of the adults
by asking.
Brunetti turned his gaze back to the woman. She looked at him, then at
her nephew, and finally said, 'Yes.'
'And before, he tried to kill Mamma?'
She nodded.
'Why didn't you ever tell me?' the boy asked, his voice tight and
