Cold Tuscan Stone

pieces of stone, such as bowls and plates, a dull glow. On one side ranged displays of large sculpture: human figures, trees, and animals. Rick recognized copies of famous works including a small replica of Michelangelo’s Pietá from St. Peter’s Basilica. And of course the ubiquitous Tower of Pisa. He wondered how many foreign tourists would buy such bulky pieces of art to jam into their suitcases. And since some of them weighed hundreds of pounds, how many tourists would pay the freight to ship them home? Farther along the wall stood smaller items such as floor and table lamps, their alabaster shades casting a warm tone from the bulbs underneath. The right side of the store interested Rick in his role as buyer, its shelves crowded with copies of Etruscan pieces either in alabaster or metal. There were various stone panels decorated with human and mythological figures, as well as bronze geese and salamanders. Ceramic vases in various shapes and sizes, looking to Rick as much Greek as Etruscan, covered a long shelf, battle scenes filling their dark red surfaces. It wasn’t Costco, but he found the amount of inventory a bit overwhelming.

In the middle of the room the jewelry collections glittered, mostly Etruscan in their style. Their glass cases formed a rectangle enclosing a smiling young woman dressed in a crisp white blouse and blue skirt. She patiently watched Rick walk around the room before asking if she could be of any assistance.

“My compliments on your merchandise. It is an excellent collection. I trust most of it is from local artisans?”

The woman was pleased not only with the compliment, but also the fluent Italian in which it was paid. He still wore his casual shoes from the trip, and even though Timberlands were widely sold in Italy, she had decided he was an American. Footwear, for many Italians, was the surest test of foreignness. That, and the way one walked. “Yes, most of the work is done locally. Are you Italian?”

“I’m from America,” Rick answered, not wanting to complicate things with another explanation of his dual citizenship. “My interest is in purchasing some items in quantity for an establishment back in the United States.” He pulled out one of Beppo’s cards from the Santa Fe gallery and passed it to her. She looked at it and reached down to press a button below the counter.

“I’m sure that Signor Landi, the owner, would be pleased to talk with you, Mr.…?”

“Montoya, Riccardo Montoya.” He took the card back, wrote his name and cell number on it, and returned it to her.

As he introduced himself, a frowning man appeared from the rear of the shop, but his face changed to a smile when he saw the look on his employee’s face. It was clear that the button was usually used for problem situations. Rick assumed that disgruntled customers would be the most extreme problem that the owner normally dealt with.

“Signor Landi, may I present Mr. Montoya from America, who may be interested in some quantity purchases.” The man read the card which was passed to him and shook Rick’s hand.

“Welcome to Galleria Landi, Signor Montoya. How may I be of assistance?”

The smile was thin, like in the photo Rick had seen in the ministry, but now he could see that it matched not just the man’s face but also the rest of his body. He was dressed in a heavy wool suit which was slightly too large for his frame, as if he had recently lost weight. Accentuating the gaunt lines of his face was a narrow beard and moustache that could have been painted on the man’s pale skin. The yellow teeth, as well as Landi’s voice, indicated that he had been a smoker all his adult life, and likely earlier.

“I am living in Rome, and a friend who runs this gallery back in Santa Fe asked me to look into possible purchases here in Tuscany. He thinks that the Etruscan style would be of interest to his clients.”

“Excellent,” said Landi. “What sort of pieces do you think would be appropriate? As you can see we have various lines.” He held up his hands and looked around the shop to prove his point.

Rick was ready with his answer. Beppo had impressed on him the need to go slowly. The idea at this point was to build up credibility and give the impression that he was a serious buyer. Rick explained that Tuscan art could sell well in a certain niche of the Santa Fe tourist market. Tuscan style homes already enjoyed great popularity in Santa Fe and throughout the Southwest United States, so Tuscan decoration would make perfect sense. The gallery was especially interested in things Etruscan, so Volterra became a logical place to start. No need to talk about prices at this point, now he just wanted to see what was available and be sure it could be found in reasonable quantities. He lowered his voice and told Signor Landi that high quality and timely delivery were very important to the gallery owners. The Italian nodded his head in understanding, the stained teeth all too visible.

They walked around the shop while Landi talked about the various pieces. Yes, we have a large stock of these goblets, and those miniature stele are easy to turn out. The alabaster eggs come in various sizes and would certainly be easy to ship without risk of damage. Those bronze lizards are very popular with American tourists, but perhaps you are looking for something more upscale?

Rick listened, nodding at the appropriate moments, while he studied the man. He wondered how his uncle the policeman would have sized up Landi, and what characteristics would have made an impression, positive or negative. The exterior was not important, you couldn’t deduce anything about the man by his looks, since he didn’t appear any different from hundreds of people that Rick had met in Italy, all of them honest people. Same with Landi’s smoking. The habit was not