“And what are those rules?” Martuccia asked, now with a serious face.
“There are many different rules. For example, any criminal activity. It is strictly forbidden for any of our members to take part in anything criminal. They could cause irreparable damage to our small community. Believe it or not, we don’t allow just anyone into our group.”
“What is the advantage of such a community? There is usually a reason those people live on the street. They don’t fit in in society; otherwise, they would have a roof over their heads. Besides, you’ve got enough to worry about just so you can survive.”
Tardelli gave Martuccia a shove with his elbow. “Forgive my judgmental colleague. He is still young.”
The Professor smiled and nodded. “Those are indeed the typical preconceived notions about us. But not everyone that lives on the streets does so voluntarily, or is a bad person who deserves exactly what they got. Even though the questions about the advantage of a community like ours are legitimate. I can explain it to you quickly: respect, solidarity, and protection. Exactly the things society has denied us. We give all of our members a feeling of being worthy human beings—be it with some limitations, but those are all fleeting and of material nature.”
Martuccia really wanted to respond, but kept quiet. Besides, they hadn’t come here for a lecture about the details of a homeless existence. He tried to think how he could take the conversation in a different direction.
Apparently the same thought was going through Tardelli’s head, because he put the conversation back on track. “Okay, so back to Ottavio, Professor. Roughly what was his background and what kind of person was he?”
“In your civil society, he worked as an accountant. He was happily married and six years later they finally had a child, a daughter. But sadly, after a very debilitating illness, his wife died. At first, Ottavio went crazy and buried himself in his grief. He drank more than he should have and often lost himself in drunken episodes, filled with self-pity, fear of the future, and a deep sadness. He continually blamed himself, a thought that began to take over his mind to the point that he began to neglect himself and his daughter in many ways. He had convinced himself that it was his fault that his wife had died, not the disease that had destroyed her body. He, and no one else, was to blame, and he should have done much more and responded more adequately during her illness. Instead of following the doctor’s treatment plan, he should have found the best specialists in the world. Then she would have had a chance. He had put her fate in the hands of doctors who had not been able to save her. They had not made any mistakes; they had simply followed protocol. But he should have intervened sooner, an unforgivable mistake for which he blamed himself all day and all night, over and over.
“A few weeks after he was fired from his job, he received a visit from children’s protection services. Eventually they took from him the one thing he loved most in the world. And because of all these setbacks, he ended up on the streets and in our community.
“Why name him the Noble One?” Tardelli wanted to know.
“Because the name suited him perfectly. Ottavio was a sensitive, polite human being, who only ever had nice things to say about everyone. Despite his heavy-drinking problem, he still tried to take care of everyone else.”
“How was he with children?”
“He was very good with children. He was even friendly to the children who called him names on the street. And I’d like to emphasize that when I use the word friendly, I mean that in the proper sense of the word, gentlemen.”
They already knew about this part of Galli’s past. They also knew he had a daughter. She lived with a distant relative in Rome and no longer had any contact with her father. According to the detectives who spoke with her, she wasn’t sorry or regretful about that. Sad, he thought.
“So you really think Ottavio is not the murderer?” Tardelli asked.
“I’m convinced he is not. In fact, I would bet my life on it. It’s simply unthinkable that Ottavio could ever harm a child.”
“Well, that is quite a statement. Maybe he was just projecting his grief? Because he was really angry that he couldn’t see his daughter, or that she didn’t want to see him?”
The man took a swig from the bottle. “Yeah, it is quite a statement indeed, but you know what they say about drunken people!”
Martuccia laughed at the man’s self-deprecation. For the first time, he noticed that the homeless man, despite his shabby clothes and unkempt physical appearance, was actually quite civilized and charismatic. He looked straight into his eyes and suddenly saw what he had missed before. The look in his eyes. Pleasant, friendly, almost serene. A little like the saints depicted in the large paintings hanging in the museums.
“I would like to clarify something else,” the Professor said to Martuccia. “The fact that I speak to you with a certain amount of authority, also comes from a place of deep shame. The Council, our community, our society of homeless people, came into existence from a place of helplessness and powerlessness, and a need to give a sense of togetherness. But in reality there are dozens of desolate people, who are all, in their own ways, trying to make the best of it. Society views us as the scum of the earth, and that is precisely how we feel sometimes. We have nothing, and we are nothing. The majority of us don’t have any self-respect left. In an attempt to win some back, we have tried to unite. Together we stand and divided we fall. By uniting we feel stronger, but that in no way means we are some kind of clan. So I fully understand where your preconceived notions come from, sir.” He looked at Martuccia and continued: “They aren’t even all that far from the truth, but they are also not the whole truth.”
Martuccia nodded quickly. As far as he was concerned, the Professor had made his point clear.
“Thanks for talking to us, Professor,” Tardelli said genuinely. “Unless my colleague has any more questions, I think were done here.”
Martuccia saluted him with his right hand. “See you later, Professor.”
The man returned his greeting by raising his bottle. “Thanks for the gift, gentlemen. Have a good day.”
As they walked back to the parking lot, Martuccia slowed his pace.
“Why is he called the Professor?”
“Before he ended up on the streets, he was a Professor at the university,” Tardelli explained.
“Where did it go wrong?”
“Affairs with students—apparently he had a thing for younger women. It went on for a long time, until agirl’s father found out. That man was an archconservative with considerable influence. The story came out, and the Professor was fired. His wife left him and took the children with her. He was broken and found his solace in the homeless world.”
“Where he still managed to have quite a career,” Martuccia said with a real feeling of irony.
“The only positive thing, yes,” Tardelli grumbled. “But anyway, did this conversation leave you with any new insights?”
Martuccia shrugged his shoulders. “I’m not sure. It’s hard to explore someone else’s dark side. He may have been a very friendly man, but still he could also be …”
“A child killer?” Tardelli added. “It is true that witnesses often say they didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary because the perpetrator was always very friendly, but how well did they really know the person? Most of the time, people don’t really know the person very well. Everyone lives in his own little bubble. But I have a very high regard for the Professor. He has been right in the past. Come on, let me bring you back to your own little cocoon.”
18
Hans got up during the movie’s end credits. “I’m going to get another beer. Can I get you anything?”
“No, thank you,” Petra answered from behind her laptop. The action movie Hans had picked tonight did not manage to hold her attention for much longer than thirty minutes. After that she had crawled behind her computer to do something for herself.
Hans walked over to her first and put his hand on her s
houlder. Out of the corner of his eye, he also looked at the laptop screen. Petra closed the page quickly.
“Anything interesting?” he asked.
She turned toward him, looked him dead in the eyes, and raised her eyebrows.
“Ah, okay. I should mind my own business? Me, the nosy, beer-drinking, bad-action-movie watcher.”
Petra clicked her tongue, but couldn’t hold back her laughter. “You have a way of hitting the nail right on the head. You got it exactly right.”
Hans laughed and walked to the kitchen. They joked around with each other, but he had managed to see what Petra was reading before she’d closed the page. It was a page about traumas. He shook his head. This wasn’t good. He understood that Petra was constantly thinking about Niels, about everything he had been through and what he experienced, daily now. He suffered from the same problem. But Niels was in good hands with Irene, and he thought that they had become more honest with each other when they were having a difficult time with it all. At some point you have to find a moment of peace. It wasn’t good to be obsessing over Niels the entire day. He had tried to relax by watching a mindless and unpretentious action-hero movie.
Gathering information about traumas didn’t exactly contribute to a relaxing evening, or so it seemed to him. That didn’t help you relax at all; in fact, it probably only added to your anxiety or made you worry even more. Unless … He had blindly assumed that Petra was searching for information relevant to Niels. But what if he was wrong? What if she was searching for herself?
He took a sip of beer. He would have preferred to banish this question to the realm of fiction, but the idea stayed with him. The concept wasn’t all that strange. He only had to look at himself as an example. He was completely preoccupied with his son’s well-being all day. But at night the dreams would come. One night, he might sleep well but the next he would wake up in a cold sweat, with a feeling of real anguish. The feeling of loss. A prison. In his dreams he was the innocent suspect who lost his job and family. When he woke up it cost him a lot of effort to shake off the feelings of anguish. The nightmares were so real. Next to Niels’s health and safety, it had been his greatest concern. Apparently he wasn’t over it yet. But he knew he was innocent, and after they left, they had never heard from the Italian or Dutch authorities again. The chance that they still considered him to be a serious suspect was small.
But still, the rational thoughts couldn’t drive away the bad feelings. The nightmares continued and most of all, he felt guilty about it. Because, compared to Niels, what had he really experienced? Nothing that should have such a big impact on him now. He was an adult, and Niels was still a child.
And Petra was his mother. If he was experiencing these types of problems as a father, what must she be going through? Up until now, he hadn’t noticed anything alarming about her. In fact it only seemed as if she grew stronger every day. She managed to give Niels a real sense of security, in a way no one else could and yet still give him enough space to process things in his own way. She didn’t suffocate him, even though he knew how difficult it was for her to let him go. She had an incredible amount of willpower and put her entire life in service of Niels and him, while still managing to keep up appearances by going to work and acting as normal as possible. He had not told Petra about his dreams. He would simply tell her that he’d had a restless night, if she asked. So they weren’t really all that honest with each other. It was a big paradox. Because when they had agreed that they would get through this together and to be there 100 percent for Niels, they had forgotten themselves in the process. That was something they needed to be careful about. If one of them had a breakdown now, they would be in even more trouble.
But if he was going to confront Petra about it, he needed to put all his cards on the table as well. They each had to show their weaknesses to each other, and he wasn’t very good at that. And the fact that she didn’t want him to see what she was reading online also showed him that she wasn’t ready to talk about it yet either. He didn’t want any drama, certainly not this late at night. Tomorrow. Yes, tomorrow, he would bring it up. Let’s sleep on it tonight, he thought.
He entered the room again, grabbing the remote control and holding it demonstratively in front of Petra. “Do me a favor and close that laptop. It’s your turn to decide. Stars Dancing in the Sand or Farm Girl Needs a Boyfriend, or whatever those shows are called, I’m fine with it. You pick.”
Petra looked at her watch. “At this time? That could be difficult.”
She closed her laptop anyway and grabbed the remote from his hand. “Oh, well,” she said, smiling faintly. “I’ll find something.”
Hans was happy that she didn’t decide to retreat completely. A small victory.
19
October
Petra took the dresses that her client had left on the bench in the changing room and walked into the shop with the pile of clothes under her arm. When she stood by the clothes rack, she put the pile on the floor and grabbed an empty hanger. But no matter what she tried, the first dress kept sliding off the hanger. She cursed.
Liesbeth came from behind the counter while Petra, clearly irritated, picked up the dress from the floor. She heard Liesbeth lock the store’s front door. What the hell is she doing? she thought. It’s only two thirty!
Liesbeth walked up to her and grabbed her by the arm.
“Hey, what are you doing? What’s wrong?”
“This has got to stop.”
Liesbeth pulled her into the warehouse that was adjacent to the store. She grabbed two chairs and made it clear with a short nod that she had to sit down. “We need to have a talk,” Liesbeth said calmly.
Petra waved her away. “Don’t be silly now. Everyone is in a bad mood once in a while.”
“This goes beyond that. I see you dropping weight every day. How much have you lost?”
“Maybe a pound or two?”
“Don’t lie to me.”
“Almost nine pounds.”
Liesbeth nodded thoughtfully. “That’s closer to the truth, yes. Now why don’t you tell me why? And I’m not just talking about that awful day at Lake Garda. There must be something else.”
Her directness shocked Petra, but she could not go on pretending that nothing was wrong. Liesbeth knew her too well for that. And if she didn’t share her story with someone soon, she would also have to go see Irene and that would be like giving into weakness, a weakness she could not afford right now.
“Nightmares,” she said softly. “I dream about the most horrible things, and they repeat in my head all day. So my appetite has lessened.”
“Can you elaborate on your dreams a little? What do you dream about?”
Petra was afraid to make direct eye contact with her old friend. She had informed Liesbeth weeks ago about the drama that had taken place during their vacation. Even though she got along with Liesbeth very well, now that they were here, she found it rather difficult to speak about her personal problems to her. Her own problems. Normally they discussed other people’s problems. She took a deep breath and forced herself to go on.
“I keep experiencing that night over and over again. From the moment that I am walking through the bushes toward Hans and see Niels sitting there. As soon as I press him against me, I look at Mats’s face, who’s dead and lying on the ground next to him. But it isn’t Mats … It’s Niels. I’m holding Mats in my arms.” Her eyes welled up.
Liesbeth leaned into her and put her arms around her. “Oh, honey. I understand that something like that really stays with you and filters through into your day.”
“I’m sure it will pass. I just need a little more time.”
“That seems like the long way around.”
“What else can I do? Keep resisting it? The nightmares will still come, you know. Whether I want them to or not.”
“No, sweetie, I mean that you need to do something about it. You can’t hold it all in. This has been a trauma for you two as parents as well, don’t forget that.
You have to learn how to deal with that. You do a fantastic job taking care of Niels. You give him all the help he needs, but if you don’t take care of yourself, than you will run yourself into the ground. You have to talk about it in order to process it. Have you talked to Hans about it yet?”
Petra shook her head vigorously. She knew Hans well enough to know he was struggling with his own problems. It would be selfish of her to bother him with her problems. She was convinced it just needed more time. Didn’t time heal all wounds? she asked Liesbeth.
“No, it doesn’t,” Liesbeth answered. “Let me guess: in your daily interaction, nothing about him suggests anything is wrong? Anything that doesn’t concern Niels, he dismisses and is indifferent about?”
Petra smiled. Her friend had described it perfectly.
“Tough on the outside, soft on the inside,” Liesbeth continued. “I may be generalizing here, but usually this is right on the mark. And I think I know Hans well enough to say that this is exactly how he is. Or am I wrong?”
“No, you are right.”
“I only want to say one more thing about this, and then I’m going to drop the subject, okay?”
Petra nodded. On the one hand, she felt a little embarrassed, but, on the other hand, she was glad her friend cared about her so much. That gave her a great sense of security.
“You need to get professional help, a counselor. I know I may sound like a hippie, but I mean someone like the woman that Niels is seeing. What was her name again?”
“Irene Gerritsen.”
“Right. Well, what I have heard about her so far is that she is very down to earth and that Niels really gets a lot out of his visits with her. So I suggest you go talk to her.”
Petra looked doubtful. “I think that something like that is a bit too much. Besides, I am online all the time, and I learn a lot there.”
“The Internet?” Liesbeth responded rather harshly. “Yes, it’s a great source of information, but people also post a lot of nonsense on there. There are all kinds of idiots on there who talk one another into all sorts of things without fact checking any of it. Don’t get me wrong—I’m not against the Internet. It’s incredible to have the world at your fingertips, but while we think everything is closer and that it’s more accessible, we are in fact communicating from a distance all the time. We tell our digital friends everything, but we don’t even know our neighbors’ first names. Not to mention that we don’t know anything about their lives, happiness, or problems. We don’t talk to one another anymore; in this day and age, everyone is distant and cold.” She took Petra’s hand between hers. “Sorry, I didn’t want to come across condescending or preachy. I sound like a crazy, suspicious woman. I do understand how it can be helpful to read other people’s stories and to look up information, but then you are still processing all of it alone. I really think it’s much better to go talk to someone about it. It’s up to you, of course. And remember that no matter what you choose, my door is always open to you. Day or night. Whenever you need to talk, I’m here for you.”
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