‘I remember that one. With Michael Douglas and Val Kilmer. The story about those two lions that devour a hundred and thirty workers on a railroad project. In Africa, at the end of the 1800s. Is that the one?’
‘Yes, that’s it. You know, the film is based on a true story. Everyone thought the two man-eaters were spirits, ghosts in the shape of lions who couldn’t be defeated. Well, you know what? They’re now sitting stuffed in a window display in a museum in Chicago. I saw them.’
‘You saw them? In Chicago?’
‘No. I downloaded the image from the Internet. One of the new guys can navigate the web like a real sea wolf. So, you know what else? They don’t even look scary. They are small and scraggly-looking. Doesn’t that console you?’
‘Not in the least,’ replied Fabrizio. ‘I’ve heard the phenomenon explained by animal-behaviour specialists. A predator, for some reason, becomes disabled. He can’t run as fast as the others, or isn’t as strong, and he gets kicked out of the pack. At some point, by pure chance, he kills a human being and immediately realizes that man is a slow, easy prey and, let’s say, has high nutritional value. From that moment on, he hunts and eats only people. Now, would you say that our creature is disabled in some way, or is killing out of hunger?’
Reggiani shook his head, discouraged. ‘I have to admit you’ve got a point there. In any case, I still intend to hunt it down and take it out.’
They heard the sound of an engine outside. ‘That must be Massaro,’ observed Fabrizio.
Reggiani got up and went to the door.
‘Listen…’ Fabrizio began.
‘I’m listening,’ said the officer with his hand on the door handle.
‘Nothing… I have to check out this thing first and then I’ll let you know, I promise.’
‘I hope so,’ said Reggiani. ‘For your sake.’ He started out, then turned back again. ‘You know, I was wondering… that colleague of yours…’
Fabrizio couldn’t help but smile. ‘Francesca?’
‘No, the other one.’
‘Sonia?’ asked Fabrizio with pretended nonchalance.
‘Yeah, I think that’s her name. You two aren’t… together, are you?’
‘No. We’re not.’
‘If I wasn’t in the shit up to my eyeballs, I wouldn’t mind having a go. Good God, someone like her can’t just spend all her time with bones, right? She must like flesh as well, I hope.’
‘I imagine she does,’ replied Fabrizio. ‘I’d bet on it actually.’
He closed the door behind Reggiani, went back to the table and switched on the computer.
12
HE HAD JUST sat down when the telephone started to ring. He raised the receiver after a moment of hesitation and said firmly, ‘Hello.’
‘This is Signora Pina,’ said the voice on the other end.
‘Signora! What can I-
‘It was you, Doctor, who told me to call you if I saw anything that…’
‘Oh yes, of course, of course. You’re not disturbing me at all. I was just about to start working.’
‘Well, I wanted to let you know that I heard noises last night.’
‘What sort of noises?’
‘I really couldn’t say… And I saw that light glowing again from down in the cellar.’
‘Did you see anything else?’
Signora Pina fell silent for a moment, then spoke up again. ‘Nothing. I didn’t see a thing. The house went pitch dark afterwards and as silent as a grave.’
‘I see. Thank you, Signora Pina. Be sure to keep me informed if it happens again.’
‘You can count on it, Doctor. Nothing escapes me from here.’
Fabrizio lowered his head and sighed. He was lost in thought for a few long moments, then he shook himself and went back to work.
He scanned the sequence image by image, passage by passage, until he had the entire inscription saved on his computer. He opened a program in which he could divide the screen into three parts and inserted the Etruscan version on the right and the Latin version on the left, leaving the centre open for his translation. He plugged in his laptop alongside, turned it on and connected it to the largest, most complete Latin dictionary that existed on the planet, the
He worked for hours and hours with no interruption and without even getting up. He sipped at a glass of water, as he was accustomed to doing when he was dealing with a particularly thorny intellectual challenge. On the wall in front of him was a blow-up of the lad of Volterra, which seemed to fill the empty kitchen with its melancholy aura. He didn’t stop until he was utterly exhausted, at nearly two a.m. He got up to stretch his stiff limbs and contemplated the screen with satisfaction. The central column was slowly filling up with Italian words, nursed along by the Etruscan and Latin texts. Word after word, the past was coming alive, one scrap at a time. He sat down again and went back to work. There were still a number of gaps, some longer than others, empty spaces that interrupted the flow, and as his frustration grew, so did his excitement. But he was feeling utterly drained and fatigue was setting in.
He got up, took an amphetamine and put on a Mahler symphony to buoy up his emotions, which were taking off every which way. The hours passed as the text was pieced together, taken apart and reassembled in an uninterrupted series of interpretative hypotheses. Streams of data filled the laptop’s plasma screen: word lists, tense sequences, exemplifications, hundreds of alphabetical symbols representing all the possible variants. In Latin, in Greek, in Etruscan. Fabrizio paused only to watch the sun rising over the forested hills that loomed to the east with their curving, undulating shapes. Then, forgetting how early it was, he called Aldo Prada, his linguist friend, to consult with him about all the doubts that had emerged in his long night’s work.
‘I’m so sorry!’ said Fabrizio when he realized he’d woken his colleague up. ‘I’m so tired I don’t know what I’m doing.’
‘What are you doing?’ asked Prada, immediately intrigued and not at all sleepy.
‘I’m… trying to read an inscription.’
‘Unpublished, right? Where did you find it?’
The telephone call was turning into an uncomfortable interrogation.
‘It’s not the inscription from Volterra, is it? Isn’t that where you said you were going? I’ve heard about it, although no one has any details. I was talking to Sonia the other day and-’
‘Aldo, what I need is your help, not your questions. This thing I’m working on is important and urgent but I’m afraid I can’t explain.’
‘You’ll name me in the publication, though, right? Or we can publish it together. What do you say? You are going to publish it, right?’
‘No. I’m not going to publish it. It isn’t mine to publish.’
‘Ah,’ sighed his colleague in a tone both disappointed and suspicious.
‘Listen,’ said Fabrizio impatiently. ‘We’ve always been friends, haven’t we? That’s why I thought of you. If you think you can help me, say so, otherwise forget it. I’ll stumble through it on my own, as I have been doing.’
‘Don’t get angry. I was just curious… It’s not every day you hear about an unpublished inscription. Let’s start from scratch. If you’re calling me, it must mean you’re stuck – that is, the expressions you’re trying to translate are not in established sources.’
‘That’s it. You’re the only person who can help me right now. I’ll be eternally grateful and, as soon as this thing is over, I’ll tell you the whole story. I promise you that I’m not doing anything illegal. I’m just dead tired right now
