the riverbanks…” he added, uttering an oath as he hung his overcoat on a hook.
“If the river freezes over, they’ll be walking on the waters as well,” Soneri said.
“That won’t happen. I’ve seen it covered only twice in my life, and you need a bitter cold like this every day for a fortnight.”
The radio broke in with its update on the freeze. It seemed that ice was forming all along the Emilia side, where the shore was more exposed to the winds from the north-east.
“A wicked beast,” Barigazzi said. “It starts off on the still water and then advances slowly on all fronts. Gradually it’ll sink its grip into the riverbed. They’ll need to move if they’re to get all the boats on to dry land. Wood and ice don’t go well together.”
“There’s one missing here at the port,” the commissario said.
The others made no reply. Ghezzi pretended to be adjusting the radio, and Barigazzi got up to look across the river. He turned to face them and in an effort to lower the tension which had suddenly built up, he announced: “If it was up to me, I’d go at full speed. Unless they’ve already decided to leave the magano at some other port.”
“Is there any way of checking?” Soneri asked Ghezzi.
Ghezzi picked up the microphone, pressed a few buttons and sent out a request for information. A few moments later, the replies began to come in. It appeared the boat had not put in at any of the ports.
“Would you keep on sailing in freezing weather like this?” Soneri said.
The old boatman shrugged. “They’ve still got a bit of time. There’s one mooring after another and they know the river well.”
Soneri turned to listen to the news on the radio. According to the bulletins, the temperature was almost ten degrees below zero everywhere.
“Like a refrigerator,” Ghezzi muttered.
At Bocca d’Enzo, they had caught a silure weighing ninety kilos, and the lucky angler was now recounting the various stages involved as though he were the guest on a real radio programme.
“He’ll sell it to the Chinese; they’re keener on silure than on ordinary fish like chub,” Soneri heard Barigazzi say as he left the club. The cold had not lifted. If the magano was to make it back, it would have to be that evening. He would be there waiting for them. To keep the cold at bay, he had equipped himself with supplies of parmesan shavings from Il Sordo.
Out in the yard, he was seized by an unfamiliar longing for company. He felt that the whole business was now coming into the final straight, like the freeze taking hold of the river bit by bit. At that very moment, the strains of “Aida” began to ring out and he saw it was Angela.
“Ah, so you haven’t been sucked under by a whirlpool,” she said.
“I’ll never forgive myself for having disappointed you,” Soneri said, feeling overwhelmed by loneliness.
“There are so many things for which you need forgiveness, but I won’t go into them now because they’re nearly all un-pardonable.”
“I know. But it makes sense to do things on a grand scale, especially with women. That way they feel sorry for you.”
“Don’t get carried away with yourself, and don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what day it is today.”
Soneri had indeed forgotten their anniversary. One morning many years previously, on a day every bit as cold as today with the same frost clinging to the hedgerows, Angela had appeared quite suddenly, framed by hawthorn. He had been taken by her no-nonsense but beguiling manner, which in some odd way resembled the aroma of his cigar. It had all started there…
“I’m sorry,” he said, “but these inquiries…”
He heard a sigh. “What have the inquiries got to do with it? It’s just that you and I are one year older, that’s all there is to it.”
Before he had the chance to reply, he heard the telephone cut out. Angela’s tone of pain and hopelessness lingered in his ears and he called her back, but the telephone was left to ring out and he imagined her throwing herself on to the bed, in tears. He knew she was capable of that. Her tough shell disguised a vulnerable and tender heart.
With his mind occupied by this distraction, Soneri found he had walked the length of the elevated road, beyond the descent that would have taken him into the town. He only realized how far he had gone when he drew abreast of the monument to the partisans.
The frost had made the floodplain rock hard underfoot and the undergrowth bristling and sharp-edged. He made his way down the embankment and when he was in front of the small monument, he noticed that someone had tied a bouquet of roses around it. The blooms were already fading in the cold, but that spot was assuming some indecipherable significance. Three partisans and much later one old Fascist had perished there, perhaps the Fascist who had been in command at the battle and was responsible for the slaughter. The story had taken a strange turn, one not easy to comprehend.
He climbed back up to the road, wondering who the roses were for. Probably for the partisans, but who could have put them there? There would have been roses on the monument on April 25, for as long as there was some old person determined not to forget.
The commissario hurried into Il Sordo and ate his fill of spalla cotta, salame and culatello. He was going to need a lot of energy that night. He called Angela again, but to no avail. Back on the street, the wind cut through him as it went whistling through the colonnades. He crossed the road, leaving footprints on the frosty surface, came on to the piazza and then turned into the back lanes, passing in front of Melegari’s house, where the shutters were still open. When he was in sight of the Italia, a form emerged from the shadows and barred his way.
“How on earth did you manage to find me?”
“All anyone has to do is hang about near an osteria and sooner or later you’ll turn up,” Angela said.
The commissario looked at her with great delight. She was looking very pretty and he was glad to see her, but this thought was followed by the realization that that night he had a great deal of work to do.
“I can’t let up this evening,” he said, looking at her in the hope of seeing some sign of understanding.
“What makes you think I would have anything to do with men that want to let up?” she said, coming up close to him.
A few moments later, Soneri found himself leading her along the road in the darkness which had fallen suddenly over the river. They skirted the yard before turning on to the pathway that led to the cottages. When they came to Vaeven’s, he went ahead, taking great care to leave no footprints, and then ushered her up the staircase to the balcony. When they got to the doorway, he told her to wait while he made his way round the back and went in as he had done on the previous occasion. He opened the door for her and invited her in with a little bow: “Delighted to welcome you.”
Angela loved surprises of this sort, and wanted to know all about the house, but halfway through his account, she pushed him into the bedroom which had the heater. Being in the cottage would be more pleasant than lying in wait on the grass slopes of the embankment, and from there the moorings were in clear view. At around eleven o’clock, the commissario began to show signs of impatience as it became clearer that the magano could have put in somewhere else to avoid being caught by the ice, but half an hour later he noticed a light coming steadily upstream in the direction of the riverbank. When it was no more than about ten metres from the quay, it slowed right down. Seconds later, he was aware of a thud, like a bag falling. Soneri kept his eyes on the hawsers curving in the air as they were tossed ashore and on the gangplank being set up between the deck and the landing stage.
A man came ashore and started hauling in the ends of the cables and wrapping them round the bollards. From his build, it had to be Vaeven, as was confirmed for the commissario when he saw the gangplank sag under the weight of Melegari. The two seemed to exchange a few words before setting off along the pathway. Since they were on their own, Soneri wondered where the other man was. He had prepared his plan with Angela. They would hide in the room with the plants and when the mysterious friend of Dinon and Vaeven was safely in bed and under the covers, they would come rapidly into his room and take him by surprise. However, the two men did not stop at the cottage but walked straight on towards the yard, bypassing the embankment and making their way towards the houses. They gave every impression of coming home from an ordinary trip, as relaxed as any two fishermen after a day on the river.
During the night, a light wind got up and for a few hours cleared the clouds from the sky, allowing some stars to appear, but with the dawn everything closed in again and the customary grey made its return. Soneri felt like a mole in the darkness. He left the cottage very early to accompany Angela to her car, but got back in time to see
