Read Online The Light in the Ruins by Chris Bohjalian - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Chris Bohjalian
Tags: Suspense
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the site at the Villa Chimera went to Arezzo. We could have stopped there after Monte Volta.”
Decher shook his head, annoyed either with himself or with Lorenzetti. “You told me when we were arriving at the villa. I wish you had reminded me later, when we were leaving.” He folded his arms and glared at Vittore. “Tell me, why Arezzo? Why not Florence?”
Vittore shrugged. “No mystery—it was closer to our home. When we found the site, we called the museum there first. The curator took me under his wing.”
“I assume you realize that Herbert Kappler has a profound interest in Etruscan art.”
“Who’s Kappler?” The question had come from a young Florentine named Emilio. Like Vittore, he was an archeologist first and a soldier second. The Germans at the table turned toward him, astonished that he didn’t know and had the naïveté to ask. Vittore wondered how dismissive Decher would be in his response.
And the colonel did pause before answering, trying to decide just how caustic he should be. In the end, he setttled upon professional disdain. “Herbert Kappler was a great friend of Reinhard Heydrich before the vermin killed Heydrich last year in Prague. Now he is our SS liaison to Il Duce and a security consultant to the Fascist police in Rome. His specialty? He is very good at suppressing resistance. He is very good at rounding up Jews and partisansand other enemies of the state,” Decher said, and then added the dagger: “Would you like to meet him? I could arrange an introduction.”
And so, partly to rescue Emilio and partly because of his resentment at the idea that Decher had trespassed at the Villa Chimera, Vittore asked, “Colonel, may I inquire why you’re so interested in the tombs?”
“It’s neither complicated nor mysterious. Officers at the Ahnenerbe have seen the images on Kappler’s pottery—particularly on a krater and on a plate—and want to learn more about the Etruscans. And, thus, so do I.”
Vittore thought the Ahnenerbe was the part of the SS that obsessed about German ancestral heritage. But he wondered now if he was mistaken. Why would a group dedicated to the myth of Aryan supremacy give a damn about the Etruscans? He was about to press his luck and ask Decher what, specifically, the Ahnenerbe wanted to learn when Lorenzetti jumped in.
“There may be Nazis on vases, Vittore,” he explained. His smirk was perceptible, but only barely.
“I’ve seen dancers and musicians on Etruscan work,” said Emilio, “but, I must confess, never a Nazi.”
“They would be hard to miss,” Lorenzetti agreed.
“Well, I can assure you, there were none on the artifacts from my family’s land,” Vittore said. “But perhaps from the Tarquinia dig in ’39. You know how warlike the Etruscans were in Tarquinia.”
“You’re all very funny,” Decher told them. “But I have heard from reliable sources that this is a matter of interest to the Reichsführer himself.”
“Himmler?” Vittore asked reflexively, unable to mask the incredulity in his voice. “I would think he has more pressing concerns,” he continued, and he saw in his mind the troops trapped in a small corner of North Africa and the troops—including his brother, Marco—preparing to defend Sicily.
“Yes, the Reichsführer,” Decher said. “It seems there wereGermanic tribes here. And the Reichsführer is interested in the origins of the race—why we are who we are.”
“You are who you are because your country is too cold. Really, I couldn’t live there,” Lorenzetti said.
One of the other Germans, a lanky Bavarian with sad eyes that were all but lost to the dark bags beneath them, Jürgen Voss, sat forward in his chair and folded his hands before him on the table. “The Reichsführer has suggested that the first tribes may have come from either the highest mountains of Tibet or the Arctic, so it makes sense that we are comfortable in a climate that can be rather frosty.” He was completely
Decher shook his head, annoyed either with himself or with Lorenzetti. “You told me when we were arriving at the villa. I wish you had reminded me later, when we were leaving.” He folded his arms and glared at Vittore. “Tell me, why Arezzo? Why not Florence?”
Vittore shrugged. “No mystery—it was closer to our home. When we found the site, we called the museum there first. The curator took me under his wing.”
“I assume you realize that Herbert Kappler has a profound interest in Etruscan art.”
“Who’s Kappler?” The question had come from a young Florentine named Emilio. Like Vittore, he was an archeologist first and a soldier second. The Germans at the table turned toward him, astonished that he didn’t know and had the naïveté to ask. Vittore wondered how dismissive Decher would be in his response.
And the colonel did pause before answering, trying to decide just how caustic he should be. In the end, he setttled upon professional disdain. “Herbert Kappler was a great friend of Reinhard Heydrich before the vermin killed Heydrich last year in Prague. Now he is our SS liaison to Il Duce and a security consultant to the Fascist police in Rome. His specialty? He is very good at suppressing resistance. He is very good at rounding up Jews and partisansand other enemies of the state,” Decher said, and then added the dagger: “Would you like to meet him? I could arrange an introduction.”
And so, partly to rescue Emilio and partly because of his resentment at the idea that Decher had trespassed at the Villa Chimera, Vittore asked, “Colonel, may I inquire why you’re so interested in the tombs?”
“It’s neither complicated nor mysterious. Officers at the Ahnenerbe have seen the images on Kappler’s pottery—particularly on a krater and on a plate—and want to learn more about the Etruscans. And, thus, so do I.”
Vittore thought the Ahnenerbe was the part of the SS that obsessed about German ancestral heritage. But he wondered now if he was mistaken. Why would a group dedicated to the myth of Aryan supremacy give a damn about the Etruscans? He was about to press his luck and ask Decher what, specifically, the Ahnenerbe wanted to learn when Lorenzetti jumped in.
“There may be Nazis on vases, Vittore,” he explained. His smirk was perceptible, but only barely.
“I’ve seen dancers and musicians on Etruscan work,” said Emilio, “but, I must confess, never a Nazi.”
“They would be hard to miss,” Lorenzetti agreed.
“Well, I can assure you, there were none on the artifacts from my family’s land,” Vittore said. “But perhaps from the Tarquinia dig in ’39. You know how warlike the Etruscans were in Tarquinia.”
“You’re all very funny,” Decher told them. “But I have heard from reliable sources that this is a matter of interest to the Reichsführer himself.”
“Himmler?” Vittore asked reflexively, unable to mask the incredulity in his voice. “I would think he has more pressing concerns,” he continued, and he saw in his mind the troops trapped in a small corner of North Africa and the troops—including his brother, Marco—preparing to defend Sicily.
“Yes, the Reichsführer,” Decher said. “It seems there wereGermanic tribes here. And the Reichsführer is interested in the origins of the race—why we are who we are.”
“You are who you are because your country is too cold. Really, I couldn’t live there,” Lorenzetti said.
One of the other Germans, a lanky Bavarian with sad eyes that were all but lost to the dark bags beneath them, Jürgen Voss, sat forward in his chair and folded his hands before him on the table. “The Reichsführer has suggested that the first tribes may have come from either the highest mountains of Tibet or the Arctic, so it makes sense that we are comfortable in a climate that can be rather frosty.” He was completely
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