Marchini tried to make excuses: That was all that was left in the vending machine.
Curreli ignored him and looked at Ginetti.
—The house is full of partial prints that don’t belong to either the family members or the girl. We ruled out all the prints from people in places anyone could have had access to: the mailman, the neighbor …
—I got it, go on, Curreli cut him short.
—Well, in the bathroom and in the girl’s bedroom we found the same type of print … The mailman doesn’t go into the bedroom … right?
Marchini smiled faintly and shook his head. The girl had an accomplice? he finally asked.
Ginetti nodded. As sure as we’re dying of heat today, he said, then asked, What does the girl say?
Curreli seemed to be in a daze. You’re asking me? he said in turn, but he moved toward the interrogation room without waiting for an answer.
Marchini and Ginetti watched Curreli close the door behind him, then looked at one another.
—He’s pissed, Marchini tried to explain. They were expecting him home, had his ticket already bought, but his plane left half an hour ago. Some pretty bad luck, you have to admit … Anyway, the girl hasn’t opened her mouth, hasn’t say boo … Not a word.
—She wasn’t alone. I’ll bet my motorcycle on it, Ginetti insisted. Prints don’t lie, but all these super technicians yank my chain … If you know how to read the prints, I’m telling you, super technology is a jerk-off.
—You need jerking off by any chance, Ginetti? Marchini said.
Ginetti raised the middle finger of his right hand. And walked off toward his office.
Marchini discreetly headed back into the interrogation room. Dr. Vanni, the assistant district attorney, was beginning to reveal signs of how tired she was. A V-shaped sweat stain had spread over Curreli’s chest. Without speaking, Marchini lifted his arm to feel if any cool air was coming out of the air conditioner. It was hopeless: not even a breath.
An incredible silence filled the room. Marchini looked at the girl, she was seated exactly as she had been six hours earlier, when she was summoned to come in and “talk” to the DA.
Dr. Vanni sat down in front of the girl and leaned toward her. Talking can only do you good, she murmured, her voice hoarse from exhaustion.
The girl looked at her, opened her mouth slightly as if to speak … but didn’t …
I remember that night, you couldn’t see even a few inches in front of you. I remember all of it. Almost all. You were afraid, you were trembling, you kept asking: Are you sure? You lowered your gaze like a small, spent sun. I watched you, I watched your eyes and I said to myself: Is that all? A man in the making, an overgrown child, an accomplice, a weapon. Take that thing off, I whispered, indicating your bright white sweater, take off your shoes too. And so we spent the minutes in silence while you removed your shoes and sweater. The problem was filling that silence, those long, empty minutes loaded with unasked questions. Outside the windows it was pitch black, a dark curtain covered everything. Don’t scream, I said, lightly brushing your lips, don’t scream. Are you hungry? I asked you at a certain point, toying with your hair. You shook your head no, but you tightened your arms around my hips. Strong as a sun at its zenith, you offered your mouth. For the kiss you closed your eyes and breathed through your nose. You entered the dark, you entered the moonless night. I broke away, bringing you back to the light: Are you afraid? I asked, breathing against your lips. A little, you said, offering another kiss. You mimed a small pain, a kind of intense suffering, but it was a desire to return to the dark. For there are things we women have always known and you men have always been unaware of. It had to have happened that way, as soon as we saw each other in the corridor at school, between classes, in the video game arcade, at the parish cinema, who knows? It had to have happened that way: I knew who you were.
—Look, if you continue acting like that it will be harder to find a way to help you. Dr. Vanni’s voice was a sequence of peaks and valleys like the graph of an electrocardiogram. Marchini hurried to fill a glass of water from the cooler. He handed it to the DA and she thanked him with a smile.
—We know you weren’t alone, Curreli ventured, taking advantage of the pause while Dr. Vanni swallowed.
For a moment the commissioner’s voice seemed to rouse the girl. Her eyes moved in perfect accord, like a cat hearing a suspicious sound, or an owl detecting the squeak of a mouse … but it was just for an instant. Then the girl reentered her mute state. She nestled there, she hunkered down there.
—We’ll be here all night. Dr. Vanni spoke her words with just a thread of a voice.
II
You should see her …
I knew you forever, I knew every single inch of your skin as soon as it was exposed to life. I knew things about you that even you didn’t know. I could stare at you unseen, waiting for my gaze to surround you. I knew that you would turn around looking for me among the others. I knew that you would turn to your friend and ask: Do you know that girl? That girl was me.
On the other end of the line, Commissioner Curreli’s wife took care to let him know that she no longer took anything for granted, far from it, she said, it was normal: When on earth had he ever come home when he said he was going to? Still, she said, she had heard the news on TV and had gotten really frightened. Curreli nodded his head as if his wife could see him. She went on: Hardly more than a child, dear God, such a cruel act.
—You should see her, Curreli interrupted. You should see her, he repeated. You wouldn’t believe she could do what she did.
The commissioner’s wife sighed over the line.
Curreli wanted to tell her that she was the same age as their oldest daughter, but he remembered that if his wife had seen the news broadcast she already knew that.
—She’s a child, the woman remarked as if reading his mind.
—Sure, a “child” who massacred an entire family. Curreli imagined seeing his wife cross herself in fear.
—My God, she whispered. And now?
—And now we’ll see what happens …
—Did you eat anything?
—With this heat?
—Of course, what, when it’s hot you stop eating? Order something cool, and eat a lot of fruit, will you? You always forget to eat …
—Hmm, we’ll see, Dr. Vanni gave us a two-hour break, since the girl isn’t talking … Marchini says he knows a place that has pretty good food … Incidentally, let me talk to Manuela.
A few seconds passed during which it became clear that the commissioner’s wife and Manuela were discussing whether his daughter would come to the phone.
Finally, in a hurried voice: Hi, Dad …
—Sweetheart, everything all right? Curreli asked.
At least ten seconds of silence from the receiver … Well, Manuela finally grumbled. Look, Dad, I’m in the middle of something. She broke off, and before Curreli could say goodbye the receiver had already been handed back to his wife.
—What’s wrong with her now? Curreli asked.
—Ah, what’s wrong, Giacomo! She’s seventeen, that’s what’s wrong … God help us … Nothing pleases her … One day she’s too fat, the next day she’s too short … Nothing fits her … What do I know…?
—Put her back on.
—Giacomo … she doesn’t want to, you know how she is … I’ll talk to her …
—Don’t tell me it’s still because of that earring! Curreli snapped.
—I’ll talk to her, his wife repeated. Go and eat something.
There was a full moon that absorbed your light. And you a rising star. The first time I took your hand, you looked straight ahead and continued walking, you didn’t do a thing, you left it up to me. You barely responded to the pressure of my fingers. I studied you: You were stunning, with a beauty all your own. You were attractive like the beginning of a world can be attractive. Nothing more. And that wasn’t why I chose you. You could have stopped me if you were a man, but you aren’t, you�
��ve never been, and who knows if you will ever become one at this point.
—I’ve always wondered what goes through people’s minds to make them commit such acts, Marchini said, sucking the meat of a clam directly from the shell … Fuckin’ heat, it won’t even cool off at night.
Curreli was stabbing an excessively oily seafood salad with his fork.
I was born on a luminous night; I struggled because I knew. I didn’t want to come out: too much light, too much exertion, too much terror. Everyone looked so extraordinarily happy: What a magnificent baby, what expressive eyes, what delicate hands. The rest is lived in silence, because my life has been coals beneath the ashes. My life has been trying to exist; it’s been an indigestion; it’s been seeing and hearing something that I was unable to grasp.
You’re in too much of a hurry, they said, you’ll recognize that eventually … How many times I screamed at my image in the mirror without opening my mouth: I hate you, I hate you, I hate you! I screamed this, because my life felt like a pair of tight shoes.
In Curreli’s dish the tentacles of the squid seemed like arabesques, the little coils of crab meat were pitiful, only the green of the sliced celery looked good and the orange fruit of the ripe mussel. Commissioner Curreli thought it was hopeless: The seafood salad was an aberration so far from the sea, in a trattoria for truckers in the center of Rome. Then he thought maybe this particular seafood salad was a painting by Miró, or maybe not, maybe Kandinski. Certainly Kandinski with Miró’s curves …
—… to commit such acts … Aren’t you hungry? Marchini’s voice came from far away.
Curreli raised his head from his plate. I can’t stand the fact that the girl isn’t talking, I’ve never been able to put up with people who insult you with silence.
—Maybe she’s simply realized that she has nothing to say.
—Sure, and by not talking she ends up exterminating her family … They always do that. You know, don’t you, that I have a daughter who is seventeen?
Marchini nodded. Muzak was coming from the TV on the restaurant wall, meant to emphasize the day’s news:
… The party responsible for the slaughter of the Amadesi family—the mother Laura, her twin children Luca and Denis, the paternal grandmother Erminia—has a face and a horrifying name: Deborah Amadesi. The seventeen-year-old was detained by the assistant district attorney in charge, Elena Vanni, after the young woman was summoned as someone having information about the matter. The interrogation, which has gone on for twelve hours now, does not appear to have produced results. According to investigators, the girl has withdrawn into absolute silence, overwhelmed by the circumstantial evidence. The area is being combed in search of an accomplice, who according to well-informed sources may have helped the girl commit this horrendous crime.
—You don’t know what a child’s silence means, you have no way of knowing how terrible it is. It’s better not to have them at all, kids, Curreli blurted out for no apparent reason.
—You’re talking like that because you’re tired, Marchini responded.
III
Let me die.
That’s how I implored, at night: I hate you, let me die.
Deborah Amadesi narrowed her eyes a little. Up till now she had not shifted position, she had endured the questions without losing her composure. Curreli had confronted her, looking her straight in the eye.
—You know, don’t you, that what’s happening here is just a farce?
It was then that Deborah Amadesi narrowed her eyes for the first time. So that she almost seemed to be forcing herself not to cry.
—Everything is a farce with you kids, the commissioner burst out.
Dr. Vanni looked at him with growing concern.
—Nothing is ever enough, right? the commissioner continued. There’s always someone who has something that you don’t have and as luck would have it that thing is vital!
The girl went back to her catatonia, but her expression had totally changed: She seemed watchful now, and riveted, like a gazelle ready to sidestep an attack or a lioness ready to launch one.
But everything moved forward relentlessly. Time went about its business in the tedious recurrence of days. I had one persistent thought: I wanted it to end. I was afraid of that void disguised as everything. And I was afraid of becoming like my mother. Who was a terrible model, who was both suffering and joy, who was pain and sacrifice, who was sweetness, who was a rising moon, luminous, full of expectation. She would have understood and would have been willing to die for me. Like the time when I suddenly felt that cramp in my stomach. Then blood. And everything I had ever known came to an end. I ran to my mother’s room and wept. And Mamma smiled a broad smile. I remember very well what she said to me. It’s like dying a little, she said, because women safeguard the mystery of death: It’s the price they have to pay to give life.
My breasts grew, then it was a matter of dissembling. Though maybe it was only a way of existing. In school, at the gym, in church. Eating in the evening, smoking in the afternoon, drinking in the morning. Testing the limits. Screaming at night. Ready to sacrifice myself. I had already been dying a little for some time. And she, my mother, was already dead, only she didn’t know it. My father, no, he was a scorching hot sun, a constant, merciless high noon. Pure power, truth and justice. Far away, who knows where. Why aren’t I him? Why aren’t I his? Why don’t I have that satisfied, contented gaze? Why did he go away? He could have loved me, but like all men, he was afraid. Because men’s power lies in not having any power: That’s how they win all the time. They make us think that their weakness depends on us, but they are weak to begin with and that’s all there is to it. It’s simple. Killing him would not have been necessary. A waste of time. Again.
Silence. Dead silence. Curreli leaned forward until his nose was almost touching that of the girl.
—A farce, he repeated. Because we know all there is to know. Do you hear me?
The last question was an octave higher. Marchini jumped in his chair. Deborah Amadesi did not budge, not even to avoid the commissioner’s heavy breath.
—We know you have an accomplice and we’ll find him within a few hours …
Then, unexpectedly, you arrived. You who were there at the beginning of it all and breathed my breath.
—Then, unexpectedly, you arrived. You who were there at the beginning of it all and breathed my breath, Curreli read, showing the girl a twisted strip of paper. You had it in your pocket. What is it, a rock song? If you would be kind enough to tell us which “you” you were referring to, maybe we’d lose less time and maybe the DA would also keep this in mind.
The girl didn’t bat an eye. Absolutely nothing.
I remember that night well, it wasn’t even romantic without a moon like that, it was filthy and shabby. We made love in my room and you said how great it would be if it could always be this way. Without knowing it, you said something dangerous. I repeated: If it could always be this way? You looked at your watch: What time does your mother get back? you asked. She won’t be back, I replied, she won’t ever be back.
As she smoked a cigarette in the corridor, Dr. Vanni shook her head. Time is running out, she said. As soon as the attorney arrives, we’re done.
—What could happen? Marchini said ironically. The witness stops talking?
Both the commissioner and the assistant district attorney found the line rather funny, but by some unspoken agreement decided not to show the inspector, who laughed on his own without missing his associates in the least.
—What does Ginetti say about the prints? Vanni asked.
Curreli shook his head before responding.
—Partial and too deteriorated to tell us anything. If the girl doesn’t talk, all we can do is speculate about the accomplice …
—Maybe it is only conjecture, Marchini remarked. This time Curreli and Vanni laughed heartily …
IV
What did you do?
Then, suddenly, it was all over … and she’ll never b
e back. My mother didn’t even have time to suffer. We embraced each other, I embraced you. In the night that was vanishing, I saw too many things that were vanishing with it. It was at that point that I thought about it, and it was as if I understood everything: that it wasn’t her, that it wasn’t freedom, that it wasn’t continuing to strike her, covering her mouth so she wouldn’t scream, that it wasn’t even my mother, that body on the floor drenched in its own blood. I embraced you; you, as usual, looked at me, your eyes half-closed.
I begin to laugh because you’re strange and you don’t want me to talk. You ask yourself so many questions, seeing my mother there on the floor. I hear them banging around inside your head, I feel you taste them on your palate and try to remove them from your teeth with the tip of your tongue, like a candy that is too sticky. For my dear little brothers and my grandmother, it was like fulfilling a duty, you know? See, the worst thing was discovering the pointlessness, discovering that all my thinking and thinking and thinking wouldn’t affect anything … discovering that the enemy had not been defeated. I’m laughing because I see that you’re uneasy, an uneasiness that is new … you, who believed blindly, now begin to have doubts … and night is collecting its things and day arrives and the light returns and the void comes back to life and nothing seems important anymore, not even this fiction of ours.
Seeing the girl’s faint smile was a strange experience. In the interrogation room, Curreli, Marchini, and Vanni, after sixteen hours, felt like the survivors of a silent shipwreck. That place, that table, every single floor tile, had heard all types of confessions, voices, lies, but never such stubborn silence. Curreli instinctively returned the smile, as if all those sixteen hours spent together were nothing but a long, grueling prologue.
—Did I tell you I have a daughter your age? the commissioner suddenly asked.
The girl couldn’t help briefly shaking her head.
Rome Noir Page 13
