edge of his desk.
Into the pause between tracks, Brunetti barked, his voice intentionally
loud, 'Cadet.'
The word cut through the low hiss of the headphones and the boy jumped
to his feet. He turned towards the voice, his right hand leaping
toward his forehead in salute, but he caught it in the wire of the
headphones and the Discman
crashed to the floor, dragging the headphones after it.
The impact seemed not to have dislodged the disc, for Brunetti could
still hear the bass, loud even halfway across the room. 'Hasn't anyone
ever told you how much that will damage your hearing?' Brunetti asked
conversationally. Usually, when he put this same question to his own
children, he pitched his voice barely above a whisper, the first few
times successfully tricking them into asking him to repeat himself.
Wise to him now, they ignored him.
The boy slowly lowered his hand from his forehead, looking very
confused. 'What did you say?' he asked, then added, by force of
habit, 'sir.' He was tall and very thin, with a narrow jaw, one side
of which looked as if it had been shaved with a dull razor, the other
covered with signs of persistent acne. His eyes were almond shaped, as
beautiful as a girl's.
Brunetti took the two steps that brought him to the other side of the
room, and noticed that the boy's body tightened in response. But all
Brunetti did was bend down to pick up the Discman and headphones. He
set them carefully on the boy's desk, marvelling as he did at the
spartan simplicity of the room: it looked like the room of a robot, not
a young man, indeed, of two young men, if he was to believe the
evidence provided by bunk beds.
The said loud music can damage your hearing. It's what I tell my
children, but they don't listen to me.'
This confused the boy even more, as if it had been a long time since an
adult had said anything to him that was both normal and understandable.
'Yes, my aunt tells me that, too.'
'But you don't listen?' Brunetti asked. 'Or is it that you don't
believe her?' He was honestly curious.
'Oh, I believe her all right the boy said, loosening up sufficiently to
reach down and press the off button.
'But?' Brunetti insisted.
Tt doesn't matter,' the boy said with a shrug.
'No, tell me Brunetti said. I'd really like to know.'
'It doesn't matter what happens to my hearing the boy explained.
'Doesn't matter?' Brunetti asked, utterly at a loss to grasp his
meaning. That you go deaf?'
'No, not that he answered, paying real attention to Brunetti and
apparently now interested in making him understand. 'It takes a lot of
years for something like that to happen. That's why it doesn't matter.
Like all that Global Warming stuff. Nothing matters if it takes a long
time.'
It was obvious to Brunetti that the boy was in earnest. He said, 'But
you're in school, studying for a future career I presume in the
military. That's not going to happen for a number of years, either;
doesn't that matter?'
The boy answered after a few moments' reflection. That's different.'
'Different how?' asked a relentless Brunetti.
The boy had relaxed now with the ease of their conversation and the
seriousness with which Brunetti treated his answers. He leaned back
against the top of his desk, picked up a packet of cigarettes and held
it out to Brunetti. At his refusal the boy took one and patted around
on the top of his desk until he found a plastic lighter hidden under a
notebook.
He lit the cigarette and tossed the lighter back on to the desk. He
took a long drag at the cigarette. Brunetti was struck by how very
hard he tried to appear older and more sophisticated than he was; then
the boy looked at Brunetti and said, 'Because I can choose about the
music but I can't about the school.'
Sure that this made some sort of profound difference to the boy but
unwilling to spend more time pursuing it, Brunetti asked, 'What's your
name?' using the familiar to, as he would with one of his children's
friends.
'Giuliano Ruffo/ the boy answered.
Brunetti introduced himself, using his name and not his title, and
stepped forward to offer his hand. Ruffo slid from the desk and took
Brunetti's hand.
'Did you know him, the boy who died?'
