“As long as he doesn't get Alzheimer's. Now that would be embarrassing. Imagine if he came out onto the balcony thinking he was Mussolini and gave the Sunday faithful the fascist salute!'
The two men laughed again. She couldn't believe it was her father talking this way.
The Archbishop lowered his voice and she had to strain to hear him. “None of this is really funny. Change is not good for business.”
“It will come out all right. The Church doesn't change.”
“I'm still worried about this other affair.”
“Salvatore?”
“He’s a loose cannon.”
“I've taken care of it. He will find God very soon.”
“Where?”
“On the steps of the Palazzo di San Calisto.”
“Divine inspiration?”
Her father laughed. “Call it a shot out of the blue. Another sambucca?”
She felt the blood drain out of her face. She crept back along the hallway and up the steps to the roof garden. She thought she was going to be sick. The sting of the cold air revived her. She leaned on the parapet, her father’s voice running over and over in her head. Call it a shot out of the blue. She had wanted the truth. Now she had it.
***
Angeli came up to the roof to smoke a cigarette.
A violet dusk had settled on the skyline. As he replaced the lighter in his pocket he looked up and saw Simone standing at the other end of the terrace. He stared at her in astonishment. “Simone?”
“Ciao, papa.”
“I didn't know you were here.”
“I was here when you got back from lunch with the Archbishop.”
“And you have been up here the whole time?”
She turned and looked him in the eye. “Yes,” she said.
“You should have come down and graced us with your company.”
“It sounded to me as if you were busy.”
“Still, you should have paid your respects to the Archbishop. Besides, it’s freezing up here.”
“I wanted to be alone for a while. I needed time to think some things over.”
“What kind of things?”
She shrugged her shoulders and didn't answer him.
“You came to see me?” he asked, after a while.
“I did. But it's late now. Maybe another time. I have to go'
She kissed him perfunctorily on the cheek.
He watched from the roof as she walked away down the street towards the Piazza Navona.
I was here when you got back from lunch with the Archbishop.
And you have been up here the whole time?
She was a terrible liar.
Chapter 96
IT WAS THE HEART of one of the oldest cities in the world and yet it was still little more than a village. When Reuben first appeared in the piazza every eye was on him. When he bought a slice of pizza in the paneria, the baker watched him take up his position in the doorway across the street; the vendor at the kiosk who sold him a copy of La Repubblica saw him walk across the piazza to the bar on the corner and take a seat in a table by the window, knew that he was there when Signora Bonetti, Simone's neighbour, left to go shopping in the market and noted that he was still there when she got back.
Signora Bonetti saw him too.
So when Simone hurried home across the piazza, the pigeons scattering in her wake, Signora Bonetti hurried to meet her.
“Signora Rivera!'
“Ciao, Signora Bonetti!'
“Attenzione. A man has been watching the apartment all morning. He's sitting over there by the window. Do you see him?”
Simone was still pre-occupied with the things she had heard in her father's apartment on the Piazza Navona. I believe he will find God very soon. Right there on the steps of the Palazzo di San Calisto. She frowned and looked over at the caffé.
“Do you know him, Signora?”
Simone shook her head.
“The whole piazza has seen him. If he tries to follow you we'll call the carabinieri.”
“You're imagining things. He's just a tourist.”
But she wondered if it was the man in the leather jacket again, so she went into the bar to check. She felt the stranger’s eyes on her as she walked in. She nodded to Riccardo and asked for an espresso.
The man stood up and walked over. What did he want? Surely he was too old to try a casual pick-up?
He pulled out a chair and sat down at her table. Over his shoulder she saw that Riccardo was already on the other side of the bar, ready to haul him out of he touched her.
“Please don't be alarmed,” the man said. He reached into his pocket and put a photograph on the table in front of her. Her own face smiled back at her, wearing a dress she had never owned, sitting on the steps of a house she had never seen before in her life. She stared at it, and then at the stranger, open-mouthed.
“I know this is going to be a shock,” Reuben said, “But I'm your father.”
Chapter 97
SIMONE WAS SITTING at the window of her apartment. Reuben nursed his coffee. It had started to rain again and rain poured from the eaves into the cobblestones below.
“When I was a child, he was my hero. I used to sit on his lap in his study; he had this huge desk, massive, solid mahogany, there were little blue and white Argentine flags at each end and sometimes he let me play with them. He told me I was his princess.”
Reuben said nothing.
She stared at the photograph of Diana that he had given her. She could not stop looking at it. A twin! The world had shifted off its axis.
“What did your father tell you about his life?”
“He said he was in the military. He admits to arresting a few people on orders. But that's all.”
“Do you believe him?”
“I used to, yes. Then a couple of weeks ago a man came up to me in the courtyard as I was getting into my car. He gave me an envelope. In it there were some photocopies of files, documents. There was also a photograph of papito, it must have been taken over twenty years ago but I recognised him straight away. He has aged very gracefully.” She gave him a bitter smile. “This man said the papers proved my father was not just a soldier, that he was actually in charge of one of the detention centres. That he was a torturer.”
“Where is this man now?”
“I don't know. I haven't seen him since.”
“What about these papers?”
She shook her head, wondering at her own impetuosity. “My father has them. I threw them at him because I didn’t want to look at them again. He denied everything. Even then, I wanted to believe him.”
“You knew your real name was Angeli?”
“When we came here from Argentine he explained to us that there were people from the new government who might want to hurt us and that it would be better if we changed our name. I was only eight years old at the time. I suppose it's easy to frighten a child into believing anything. Even when I grew up it seemed to make sense. A soldier makes enemies.”
“It depends how he makes war.”
“It's like peeling an onion, one lie layered upon another. After a while you wonder if you're ever going to get through them all to the truth.” She looked at Reuben. It was impossible to think of this complete stranger as her father. She returned her attention to the photograph. “Who is she?”
“Her name is Diana. It used to be Eva. She is your sister.”
“Diana.” She said her name aloud to get accustomed to the sound of it. Diana, her sister. Her twin sister. “I want to meet her.”
“You will.”
“When?”
“Soon.”
“When?”
Reuben took a deep breath. “She lives in England, near London. I’ll arrange it. I’ll make a call.”
“How did you find her - how did you find me?”
“It wasn't easy.”
“You didn’t answer my question.”
He stared his hands. “It's better you don't know,
not yet. I promise I will tell you, but not now.”
“I want you to tell me now!'
“Haven’t you had enough shocks for one day?”
Her life was like a jigsaw; until today she had forced all the pieces into places where they did not belong and wondered to why the picture was distorted. Now she had everything where it really went and the result was not nearly as pretty.
It was one thing to know the truth; it was another to live with it.
Chapter 98
THE APOSTOLIC PALACE was far removed from the rundown parish church in Mexico City where they had last met. This time there were mirrored marble floors and vaulted ceilings bearing the ornate insignias of the Popes.
Only Salvatore had not changed. Yes, there was a little more grey in his hair, a few small lines around the eyes, but that was all. He still wore the simple black soutane of a cleric. He still looked ready to step out into the barrio.
He stretched out his hand. “Reuben. I've often thought about you. It's good to see you again. As you can see we live a little better at headquarters. Come in, please.”
Salvatore's office was simple, even Spartan, compared to the splendour outside; just bare white walls, a wooden crucifix, an idealised painting of the virgin with a crown of stars.
A nun brought in a tray with a silver coffee pot and two china cups. As she poured the coffee, Reuben felt Salvatore watching him. His eyes were clouded with concern.
“Only coffe, I'm afraid. I can't get you a kosher sandwich in here.”
“I'm not hungry.”
“So, how are you?”
“As you can see, my health is not what it was.”
“With your permission, I will pray for you.”
“I don't really believe in it, but as you wish. I suppose it can't do any harm.”
“Cover your bets,” Salvatore said and smiled.
“One way of looking at it. So, business is good?”
“Apparently. Despite all our best efforts.”
“And you've got a promotion?”
“I go where God wills. I even came to Rome for him.”
“You have not been back to Argentine?”
“It seems He does not need me there. Sometimes I wonder if He goes there Himself. What brings Reuben Altman to Rome?”
He set his coffee cup in its saucer. “I have found them, Father. I have found my daughters.”
He was silent for a long time. Finally: “Thank God.”
“Yes, thank God.”
“You have spoken to them? They are still together?”
“I have spoken to both of them. Individually. No, they are not together. They did not know of each other’s existence until they met me.”
“And?”
“It is a ... relief ... to know they are happy, that they came to no harm. But for me - they are strangers, father. I lost them as I lost Gabriella. It changes nothing for me. But I might yet change things for them.”
“How did you find them after so long?”
“The man who murdered my wife and kidnapped my daughters is here, in Rome.”
“Really?” He sighed and sipped his coffee. “That is quite remarkable. Is this why you are here? You want vengeance.”
“Surely you would not ask me to forgive him?”
“I am a man of God. Of course I will ask it of you. What will vengeance achieve, Reuben? It will change nothing.”
“It's not vengeance I am looking for. It's justice.”
“So you are to be his judge as well as his executioner? I beg you, don't do it.”
“I have made up my mind.”
“So then why did you come here? You want me to give you my blessing, tell you that's it's the right thing to do? You know I will not do that.”
“He murdered my wife and took my children.”
“And taking his life will restore your family to you?”
“Father, he did not just take my wife and my daughters, he took away my belief in life. He took my trust, my hopes. I am useless for anything now except hate. These people, it is not what they do to your body, it is how they desecrate your soul. If you want to set the Devil a challenge, ask him to make a Hell worse than this.”
Salvatore's dark eyes studied him. “So, that’s why you came. You wanted your revenge on me, too.”
“On you?”
“For not hating them. You want me to bear witness.”
“Is that what you think?”
“Why else would you come?”
Reuben stood up. “It was good of you to see me, Father.”
“For the last time, don't do it.”
“If I can rid the world of evil, how is it a sin?”
“Evil is an intrinsic part of the world. By fighting it, all you do is create more.” He sighed. “I shall pray for you, Reuben. I shall pray for God to take away your strength.”
Reuben thought that was what he would say. He thanked him for his hospitality and left.
***
Her father was dressed in a tuxedo and cummerbund, his white scarf and overcoat draped over his arm. He seemed surprised to see her. Marco waited to one side. She noticed the bulge in his jacket, just under the arm.
He came towards her, his arms outstretched. “Caro,” he said and embraced her. “We are just on our way to the opera.” He fixed her with those piercing blue eyes. When she was small, she remembered, she thought he could tell everything she had done that day just by looking at her. “But you've been crying. Whatever's wrong?”
Her mother appeared in the hallway in a long silk gown and mink wrap.
“You lied to me,” Simone said. He had to strain to hear her.
His expression quickly changed to anger. “What is it now?”
“You're not even my father.”
Francesca gasped aloud.
He looked at his wife. “I'm getting a little tired of this.”
“What are you saying? Of course he is your father! What is wrong with you? You're making yourself sick with all this. Listen to you!'
“What happened to my real mother?”
He looked at his watch. “We have to go. The Opera is starting in half an hour. I don't have time for this.”
“My real mother in Argentine.”
Francesca stepped between them. “What are you talking about, your real mother? I'm your real mother!'
“No, you're not.”
“Are you on drugs? Is that what it is? Should we take you to a doctor?”
“What happened to my mother, papito? Was it you? Did you kill her?”
“This is madness. Who have you been talking to?”
“Just tell me the truth, for once in your life.”
Francesca’s voice became gentle again. “Caro. Why are you doing this? What have we ever done to deserve this?”
“I'm going to call the doctor,” Angeli said. “There's something wrong with her.”
Simone turned and ran out of the door and down the fire escape. Perhaps I am going crazy. When she reached the street, she heard music. They were playing Christmas carols in Piazza Navona.
She ran blindly through the cobbled streets. What had she hoped for? Some final mea culpa, a redemption for him, for her? She saw an ambulance pull up next to a carabinieri on the other side of street. A tramp had died in the doorway of a toy shop. She watched the paramedics load him into a green body bag. Here, where the best apartments sold for twenty million dollars, a man had had nowhere to go in the middle of winter and had been allowed to die.
The truth had always been there in front of her all along. She just had never wanted to see it.
Chapter 99
GINO ROLLED UP the steel shutters, closing the bar for the night. Riccardo shouted good night, zipped up his black leather jacket and climbed on his Lambretta, parked in an alley on other side of the street. He searched in his jeans pocket for his keys.
The silhouette of a woman detached itself from the shadows and came towards him. “Ciao, Riccardo.”
He looked
up, startled. “Simone. Come stai? '
“Va bene.”
“You'll freeze out here. You okay?”
“Sure. How's that girlfriend of yours?”
“We split up. What happened to your voice?”
“I've got a cold, that’s all. Want to walk for a while?”
“Sure, if you want.”
He climbed off the moped and followed her into the piazza. The yellow lights of the street lamps reflected on the ice-slick cobbles.
“What is it?” he asked her. “What's happened?”
She stopped, put her hands deep in the pockets of her jacket. “Imagine the most terrible thing in the world.”
“What’s this about?”
“Have you got it?”
“Yes.”
“What is it?”
“Well, I can't think of anything.” She was crying. He stared at her, bewildered. “Why don't you just tell me what's going on?”
“If you had to choose between your family and your conscience what would you choose?”
“Can we go up to your place? I'm cold.”
“There's someone there. You haven't answered my question.”
He felt a stab of jealousy, looked up at her window. The lights were on. There was a man waiting for her, perhaps the man he had seen the other day in the bar. But he was too old for her and anyway, if he was her lover why she was standing down here talking to him?
“I already chose between my family and my conscience,” he said. “My father wanted me to be a lawyer. I wanted to be an actor. So I gave up the chance to go to university to work in a bar for almost nothing. After two years I’ve been in one jeans commercial and an extra in a low budget comedy that never even got released. And I have to watch the girl I'm crazy about going out with other young guys who can afford to buy her dinner. That was my choice. I don’t know that I’d recommend it.” He took her hand. “What is it, Simone, what's going on?”
“I can't tell you.”
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