When the boy did not answer for a long time, his father turned
minimally towards him and gave a slight nod.
He leaned towards his father and whispered something, the last words of
which, 'have to?' Brunetti couldn't help but overhear.
'Yes/ the Maggiore said in a firm voice.
The boy turned back to Brunetti. 'It's very difficult,' he said, his
voice uneven.
'Just tell me what happened, Paolo/ Brunetti said, thinking of his own
son and the confessions he had-made over the years, though he was sure
none of them could compare in magnitude to what this boy might have to
say.
'I was the boy began, coughed nervously, and began again. 'I was with
him that night.'
Brunetti thought it best to say nothing and so did nothing more than
look encouragingly.
The boy glanced up to the top of the table at Donatini, who gave an
avuncular nod.
'I was with him he repeated.
Where?'
'In the showers the boy said. Usually, it took them a long time to get
to the confession. Most people had to build up to it with a long set
of details and circumstances, all of which
would make what finally happened seem inevitable, at least to
themselves. 'We were there the boy said and then stopped.
Brunetti looked at Donatini, who drew his lips together and shook his
head.
The silence went on so long that at last Donatini was driven to say,
Tell him, Paolo.'
The boy cleared his throat, looked at Brunetti, started to glance at
his father but stifled the gesture and looked back at Brunetti. 'We
did things he said, and stopped.
For a moment that seemed all he was going to say, but then he added, To
one another.'
Brunetti said, 'I see. Go on, Paolo.'
'A lot of us do it the boy said in a voice so soft Brunetti doubted the
microphone would pick it up. 'I know it's not right, not really, but
nobody gets hurt, and everybody does it. Really.'
Brunetti said nothing, and the boy added, 'We have girls. But at home.
And so it's .. . it's hard .. . and .. .' His voice stopped.
Brunetti avoided the eyes of the boy's father and turned to Donatini.
'Am I to understand that these boys engaged in sexual acts with one
another?' He thought he might as well be as clear as he could and
hoped he was right.
'Masturbation, yes Donatini said.
It had been decades since Brunetti had been as young as this boy, but
he still failed to understand the strength of Paolo's embarrassment.
They were boys in late adolescence, living among other boys. Their
behaviour didn't surprise him: the boy's reaction did.
Tell me more about it Brunetti said, hoping that whatever he heard
would help this to make sense to him.
'Ernesto was strange Paolo said. 'It wasn't enough for him to, well,
just to do what we do. He always wanted to do other things.'
M5
Brunetti kept his eyes on the boy, hoping with his attention to spur
him on to explain.
That night, he told me that... well, he told me he'd read about
something in a magazine. Or a newspaper.' Paolo stopped and Brunetti
watched him worry at this detail. Finally he said, 'I don't know where
he read it, but he said he wanted to do it that way.' He stopped.
'To do what?' Brunetti finally asked. 'What way?' For an instant, he
took his eyes from the boy and saw his father, sitting with his head
lowered, looking down at the table as if he were willing himself not to
be in the room where his son had to admit this to a policeman.
'He said the thing he read said it made it better, better than
anything,' the boy went on. 'But it meant he had to put something
around his neck and choke himself a little bit when he ... well, when
he did it. And that's what he wanted me there for, to be sure that
nothing went wrong, when it happened.'
The boy gave an enormous sigh, pulling air into his lungs, preparing
himself for the final leap. 'I told him he was crazy, but he wouldn't
