"Gladly," Belbo replied."But how will your friend in Florence know where I've left thesuitcase?"
"I have taken theliberty of reserving a seat for you, seat number 45, car 8. It'sreserved as far as Rome, so no one else will occupy it in Bolognaor in Florence. You see, in exchange for the inconvenience I'mcausing you, I make sure that you will travel comfortably and nothave to make do in the dining car. I didn't dare buy your ticket,of course, not wanting you to think I meant to discharge myindebtedness in such an indelicate fashion."
A real gentleman, Belbothought. He'll send me a case of rare wine. To drink his health.Yesterday I wanted to dispatch him to the bowels of the earth andnow I'm doing him a favor. Anyway, I could hardlyrefuse.
Wednesday morning, Belbowent to the station early, bought his ticket to Bologna, and foundAglie standing beside car 8 with the suitcase. It was fairly heavybut not bulky.
Belbo put the suitcaseabove seat number 45 and settled down with his bundle ofnewspapers. The news of the day was Berlin-guer's funeral. A littlelater, a bearded gentleman came and occupied the seat next to his.Belbo thought he had seen the man before. (With hindsight, hethought it might have been at the party in Piedmont, but he wasn'tsure.) When the train left, the compartment was full.
Belbo read his paper,but the bearded passenger tried to strike up conversations witheverybody. He began with remarks about the heat, the inadequacy ofthe air-conditioning, the fact that in June you never knew whetherto wear summer things or between-seasons clothing. He observed thatthe best was a light blazer, just like Belbo's, and he asked if itwas English. Belbo said yes, it was English, from Burberry's, andresumed his reading. "They're the best," the gentleman said, "butyours is particularly nice, because it doesn't have those goldbuttons that are so ostentatious. And, if I may say so, it goesvery well with your maroon tie." Belbo thanked him and reopened hispaper. The gentleman went on talking with the others about thedifficulty of matching ties with jackets, and Belbo continuedreading. I know, he thought, they all think me rude, but I don'ttake trains to establish human relationships. I have too much ofthat as it is.
Then the gentleman saidto him, "What a lot of papers you read! And of every politicaltendency. You must be a judge or a politician." Belbo replied thathe was neither, but worked for a publishing firm that specializedin books on Arab metaphysics. He said this in the hope ofterrifying his adversary. And the man was obviouslyterrified.
Then the conductorarrived. He asked Belbo why he had a ticket for Bologna and a seatreserved to Rome. Belbo said he had changed his mind at the lastmoment. "How lucky you are," the bearded gentleman said, "to beable to make such decisions, according to how the wind blows,without having to count pennies. I envy you." Belbo smiled andlooked away. There, he said, now they all think I'm either aspendthrift or a bank robber.
At Bologna, Belbo stoodup and prepared to get off. "Don't forget your suitcase," hisneighbor said.
"No. A friend willcollect it in Florence," Belbo said. "For that matter, I'd begrateful if you'd keep an eye on it."
"I will," the beardedgentleman said. "Rest assured."
Belbo returned to Milantoward evening, shut himself in his apartment with two cans of meatand some crackers, and turned on the TV. More Berlinguer,naturally. The news item about the train appeared at the end,almost as a footnote.
Late that morning on theIntercity between Bologna and Florence, a bearded gentleman hadvoiced suspicions after a passenger got off in Bologna leaving asuitcase on the luggage rack. True, the passenger had said someonewould pick it up in Florence, but wasn't that what terroristsalways said? Furthermore, why had he reserved his seat to Rome whenhe was getting off in Bologna?
A heavy uneasinessspread among the other travelers in that compartment. Finally, thebearded passenger said he couldn't bear the tension. It was betterto make a mistake than to die, and he alerted the chief conductor.The chief conductor stopped the train and called the RailwayPolice. The train was stopped in the mountains; the passengersmilled anxiously along the tracks; the bomb squad arrived... Theexperts opened the suitcase and found a timer and explosive, setfor the hour of arrival in Florence. Enough to wipe out a few dozenpeople.
The police were unableto find the bearded gentleman. Perhaps he had changed cars and gotoff in Florence because he didn't want to end up in the newspapers.The police were appealing to him to get in touch withthem.
The other passengersremembered, with unusual precision, the man who had left thesuitcase. He must have looked suspicious at first sight. He waswearing a blue English jacket without gold buttons, a maroonnecktie; he was taciturn, and seemed to want to avoid attractingattention at all costs. But he had let slip the information that heworked for a paper, or a publisher, or for something having to do(the witnesses' testimony varied) with physics, methane, ormetempsychosis¡Xbut Arabs were definitely involved.
Police stations andcarabiniere headquarters had been alerted. Anonymous phone callswere already coming in and being sifted by the investigators. TwoLibyan citizens had been detained in Bologna. A police artist hadmade a sketch,
