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Authors: Donna Leon
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lying about, but he was now convinced that he was.
Niccolini imitated the pathologist’s former position, and leaned back against the railing.
A sound resembling a war whoop caught their attention, and all of them turned and looked towards the far end of the campo , where Marco swirled in ever-narrowing circles around one of the trees. Brunetti, watching the narrowing gyre of the boy’s play, wondered at Niccolini’s behaviour. He would understand misery or grief or an explosion of tears. During his career he had seen the opposite, as well: cold-hearted satisfaction at the death of a parent. Niccolini seemed nervous and paralysed at the same time. Why else force Rizzardi to repeat his judgement that the death had been natural?
Rizzardi pushed back the sleeve of his jacket and looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, Signori, but I have an appointment.’ He reached to shake hands with Niccolini and said a polite goodbye. He told Brunetti that he would send him thewritten report as soon as he could and told him to call if he had any questions.
Niccolini and Brunetti watched silently as the pathologist walked across the campo and disappeared into the hospital.
7
When Rizzardi was gone, Brunetti asked, nodding in the direction of the hospital, ‘Is there anything else you have to do in there?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Niccolini answered, shaking his head as if to remove the idea or the place. ‘I signed some papers when I went in, but no one told me I had to do anything else.’ He looked at the hospital, then back at Brunetti, and added, ‘They said I can’t see her until this afternoon. Two o’clock.’ Then, speaking more to himself than Brunetti, he said, ‘This shouldn’t have happened.’ He looked up then and said, as if he feared Brunetti had reason to doubt it, ‘She was a good mother.’ Then, after a pause, ‘She was a good woman.’
Despite the years – decades – he had spent as a policeman, Brunetti still wanted to believe this to be true of most people. Experience suggested that they were good, at least until they were put into unusual or difficult situations, and then some – many, even – changed. Brunetti surprised himself by thinking of prayer: ‘lead us not into temptation’. How intelligent of whoever had said that – was it Christ himself? – to realize how easily we were tempted and how easily we fell, and how wise we are to pray to be spared temptation.
‘… you think they’ll …’ he heard Niccolini say and returned his attention to the other man. Instead of finishing the phrase, the veterinarian raised his hand in the air, palm towards the sky, then let it fall to his side, as if resigned to the fact that the heavens had little interest in what had happened to his mother.
Brunetti’s lack of attention had been temporary. He very much wanted to listen to whatever the doctor had to say and so, glancing at his watch, he suggested, ‘Dottore, if you’d like, we could have something to eat together.’ He paused, then said, ‘But if you’d like to be by yourself,’ Brunetti went on, involuntarily raising both palms and shifting his body backwards, ‘I understand.’
Niccolini’s glance was level and direct. Then he too looked at his watch: his eyes stayed on it for some time, as if he were trying to figure out what the numbers meant.
‘I have an hour,’ he finally said. Then, very decisively, he added, ‘Yes.’ He looked around the campo for a familiar point and said, ‘I don’t know what to do until then, and the time will pass more quickly.’ He looked back at the bar where they had had a coffee. ‘It’s all different,’ he said.
‘The bar? Or the campo ?’ Brunetti asked. Or perhaps Niccolini was talking about life. Now. After.
‘All of it, I think,’ Niccolini said. ‘I don’t come to Venice much any more. Just to visit my mother, and that’s so close to the station that I don’t see other parts of the city.’ He looked around him, his
Niccolini imitated the pathologist’s former position, and leaned back against the railing.
A sound resembling a war whoop caught their attention, and all of them turned and looked towards the far end of the campo , where Marco swirled in ever-narrowing circles around one of the trees. Brunetti, watching the narrowing gyre of the boy’s play, wondered at Niccolini’s behaviour. He would understand misery or grief or an explosion of tears. During his career he had seen the opposite, as well: cold-hearted satisfaction at the death of a parent. Niccolini seemed nervous and paralysed at the same time. Why else force Rizzardi to repeat his judgement that the death had been natural?
Rizzardi pushed back the sleeve of his jacket and looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry, Signori, but I have an appointment.’ He reached to shake hands with Niccolini and said a polite goodbye. He told Brunetti that he would send him thewritten report as soon as he could and told him to call if he had any questions.
Niccolini and Brunetti watched silently as the pathologist walked across the campo and disappeared into the hospital.
7
When Rizzardi was gone, Brunetti asked, nodding in the direction of the hospital, ‘Is there anything else you have to do in there?’
‘No, I don’t think so,’ Niccolini answered, shaking his head as if to remove the idea or the place. ‘I signed some papers when I went in, but no one told me I had to do anything else.’ He looked at the hospital, then back at Brunetti, and added, ‘They said I can’t see her until this afternoon. Two o’clock.’ Then, speaking more to himself than Brunetti, he said, ‘This shouldn’t have happened.’ He looked up then and said, as if he feared Brunetti had reason to doubt it, ‘She was a good mother.’ Then, after a pause, ‘She was a good woman.’
Despite the years – decades – he had spent as a policeman, Brunetti still wanted to believe this to be true of most people. Experience suggested that they were good, at least until they were put into unusual or difficult situations, and then some – many, even – changed. Brunetti surprised himself by thinking of prayer: ‘lead us not into temptation’. How intelligent of whoever had said that – was it Christ himself? – to realize how easily we were tempted and how easily we fell, and how wise we are to pray to be spared temptation.
‘… you think they’ll …’ he heard Niccolini say and returned his attention to the other man. Instead of finishing the phrase, the veterinarian raised his hand in the air, palm towards the sky, then let it fall to his side, as if resigned to the fact that the heavens had little interest in what had happened to his mother.
Brunetti’s lack of attention had been temporary. He very much wanted to listen to whatever the doctor had to say and so, glancing at his watch, he suggested, ‘Dottore, if you’d like, we could have something to eat together.’ He paused, then said, ‘But if you’d like to be by yourself,’ Brunetti went on, involuntarily raising both palms and shifting his body backwards, ‘I understand.’
Niccolini’s glance was level and direct. Then he too looked at his watch: his eyes stayed on it for some time, as if he were trying to figure out what the numbers meant.
‘I have an hour,’ he finally said. Then, very decisively, he added, ‘Yes.’ He looked around the campo for a familiar point and said, ‘I don’t know what to do until then, and the time will pass more quickly.’ He looked back at the bar where they had had a coffee. ‘It’s all different,’ he said.
‘The bar? Or the campo ?’ Brunetti asked. Or perhaps Niccolini was talking about life. Now. After.
‘All of it, I think,’ Niccolini said. ‘I don’t come to Venice much any more. Just to visit my mother, and that’s so close to the station that I don’t see other parts of the city.’ He looked around him, his
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