anything more than a coincidence, but this curse was carved in bronze. Why? So that it would last through eternity, and that leads me to believe that the crime at its origin must have been a particularly gruesome one. I think we can assume that it took place here, that is in the ancient city of Velathri. Now you are showing me documentation attesting to the burial of a Phersu, seemingly dating back to the same era as the inscription, with material evidence hinting at an especially blood-curdling ritual. That’s where we stand, isn’t it?’
‘I would say so, yes,’ admitted Fabrizio.
‘It comes naturally to connect the two, even if we might rather not.’
‘It does.’
‘As if that were not enough, two individuals accused of attempting to open the tomb are found with their throats ripped out and their necks and faces devoured by some beast which has left no traces of any sort. I’ve never heard of such a series of coincidences.’
‘Have you spoken to Lieutenant Reggiani?’
‘Of course. I am a government official.’
‘Right.’
‘Reggiani is a top-notch officer. He’s got balls.’
Fabrizio was surprised by the use of such a colloquial expression by the director, who was always so proper. He interpreted it as coming from a need to confide and be consoled, which alarmed him even more. Balestra must be letting on much less than what he actually knew about the inscription. All the signs indicated that the man was scared to death.
‘He may succeed in solving this thing sooner than we expect,’ concluded the director.
‘Maybe. But that’s not the impression he gave me.’
‘We’ll see,’ commented Balestra, nervously chewing on his half-cigar.
‘We’ll see,’ repeated Fabrizio mechanically.
He had the feeling that Balestra still had more to say and that, if he insisted, he could tease the information out of him.
‘I don’t want to seem intrusive, but I wonder if you would possibly allow me to have a look at what you’ve managed to translate. I’d keep it completely confidential, obviously.’
‘I can’t,’ replied the director. ‘It’s too soon. I’m not at all certain of my interpretation and there are still many gaps. It’s quite complicated. You’ll have to be patient.’
‘The fragmentation of the inscription into six or seven pieces – did that happen in antiquity or was it done by the people who wanted to smuggle it out?’
‘It was done quite recently, I’m certain of it. It’s obvious they used a diamond-edged saw, those vandals.’
Why did they do it?’
‘For any number of reasons. First of all, to make it easier to transport. An intact object of that size is very visible and could easily arouse suspicion. In this case, I would imagine that the inscription was about to be taken out of the country. Any decent restorer would be able to weld the pieces back together. Or, even more likely, the fence, or the dealer himself, may have realized that more money could be had by selling the pieces one at a time. The curious thing is that the author of the ancient curse broke it down into blocks himself, so that the fragmentation of the slab did not create gaps in the text.’
‘How do you interpret that?’
‘That the author wanted to accentuate each and every part of the curse; to make it stronger, more effective.’
‘Right. I agree.’
‘The cutting was done by someone who was smart enough to saw through the slab right where the six breaks in the text were… Listen, Castellani, I’m sorry, but I can’t say anything more about it for the time being. You’ll just have to be patient. We’ll keep in touch. Please feel free to call me at any time if there are new developments or if you need anything.’
Balestra got up then to show him to the door, but added, ‘Please remember not to mention what I’ve told you to anyone. I’ve been working on this inscription for two years and I don’t want anything to leak before I’ve finished studying it and before…’
‘Before what, sir?’
‘Before the seventh fragment appears. I haven’t given up hope.’
‘You can count on my discretion.’
Fabrizio thought of the voice of that woman on the phone and for an instant was tempted to mention it to the director, but he realized that the situation was perplexing enough without this further complication. He didn’t mention the call. He took the photographs from the desk and put them back into his briefcase.
‘Have copies made and send them to me, please,’ said Balestra.
Fabrizio nodded, shook his hand and walked down the corridor to his own office.
Francesca poked her head in almost immediately. ‘What did he think?’
‘He was blown away.’
‘I believe it. You don’t see stuff like that every day.’
‘He told me about the inscription.’
Francesca seemed surprised. ‘What inscription?’ she asked.
Fabrizio turned and walked to the window. He stood watching people pass in the street below. Opposite was a souvenir shop with a bad copy of the lad of Volterra in the window. He said, ‘Do you really feel we need to continue this game? The inscription in six fragments that Balestra is trying to translate.’
Francesca came up behind him and put her hand on his shoulder.
‘Listen, it’s not that I don’t trust you,’ she said in a conciliatory tone. ‘Balestra ordered me not to breathe a word about it to anyone and I’ve kept my promise. It’s a hot find. There’s still a piece missing and he-’
‘He also made me swear not to talk about it and, what do you know, here I am talking to you. I know about the missing piece.’
‘Well?’
‘Francesca, I want you to get me the translation. You have access to his office and you could manage it.’
‘Don’t even think about it.’
‘Then I’ll get it myself.’
‘You’re crazy. I’ll tell the carabinieri.’
‘You’re a fool who doesn’t realize what trouble we’re in and how dangerous this situation has become. For me, especially, but for you as well. Do whatever the hell you want, but stay away from me.’
Francesca looked at him in shock and, without managing to say a word, walked out and slammed the door behind her.
7
FABRIZIO GATHERED his papers and walked towards the exit. He stopped for a moment, instinctively, to look at the lad in room twenty. The cloudy sky covering Volterra cast a grey light through the window that enveloped the statue, spreading a pale green reflection on his scrawny shoulders. There weren’t many visitors, but each one stopped and glanced repeatedly up from their guidebook, as if trying to understand what no guide could explain: the mysterious feeling of longing that hovered around the boy, as if the inconsolable grief of his loving parents still floated in the air like a light fog after thousands of years.
He walked down the stairs and was heading out when he found Francesca leaning against the door jamb.
‘She must be pretty,’ she commented, turning towards him.
‘Who?’
‘That Sonia. They’re expecting her at the museum tomorrow and everyone’s already having fits.’
‘She does have a nice figure, but she’s not my type.’
‘Good.’
‘Why?’
‘Because. Did I make you angry earlier?’
