Read Online The Silence of the Wave by Gianrico Carofiglio - Free Book Online Page A

next morning Roberto woke up very early, before dawn. He tried in vain to get back to sleep, but he was feeling too restless, so he got up, dressed, ate a few cookies, drank a glass of milk, and went out, moving quickly as if he were late for an appointment.
    He walked along the Via Panisperna, turned into the Via Milano, quickly reached the Via Nazionale, and by the time he circled the fountain in the Piazza Esedra he was almost running. He got to the Porta Pia, went through it, and it was not until he was in the Via Alessandria that he realized he was very close to the doctor’s office. Except that there were another eight hours to go before his appointment. It was only then that he eased the crazy rhythm of his walk, continued for another half an hour, and found himself inside the Villa Ada park.
    The first thing he noticed was that there was a drinking fountain near the entrance, similar to the one he had seen a few days earlier. The discovery gave him a quiver of joy.
    He should have been feeling tired, he thought, instead of which he felt a kind of excess of energy, something that needed releasing and working off. He descended a slight, grassy slope and looked around to see if there was anybody about. Obviously there were a few people, even though the park was half deserted. Who cares, he told himself, everybody comes here to exercise, and he started doing push-ups.
    He did them until he collapsed face down. When he got up again, his arms were shaking and he found it hard to control his breathing.
    An elderly man with an Alsatian on a lead was looking at him anxiously. There were other people exercising in the park, but in tracksuits and sneakers. Someone doing push-ups in jeans and a regular jacket was unusual to say the least. When the owner of the Alsatian realized he had been spotted, he looked away. Obeying an instinctive impulse, Roberto walked toward him.
    “Good morning,” he said in a cordial tone, trying to recover his breath.
    “Good morning,” the man replied, somewhat puzzled. The dog was following the scene, its senses alert.
    “Alsatians are my favorite dogs,” Roberto said.
    The old man seemed to relax. “Mine too. I’ve always had Alsatians, ever since I was a little boy. They’re the best.”
    “Yours must be three or four years old.”
    “You have a good eye. He’s actually three and a half.”
    “Isn’t he a bit of a handful when you take him for a walk?”
    “You mean that because I’m old he might drag me or make me fall?”
    “No, I didn’t mean that, I—”
    “Don’t worry, it’s a perfectly reasonable question. I’m eighty-one. If he decided to send me flying he could do it easily.”
    “But he doesn’t.”
    “No, he doesn’t. He’s a good boy, very well trained.”
    “Trained by you?”
    “Yes. Training dogs was my hobby when I was younger. I was quite good at it, I took part in competitions and often won.”
    “What kind of competitions?”
    “Do you know something about them?”
    “A bit. I’m a carabiniere, I’ve had quite a bit to do with dogs.”
    “Ah, I used to have quite a few friends in the Carabinieri’s canine unit. I’ve lost touch with all of them; I have no idea if they are still alive. Anyway, I took part in competitions in the utility and protection categories. The last one I went in for must have been about twenty years ago.”
    It was a neutral phrase but he seemed suddenly overcome with emotion. It was as if he were looking into the distance but couldn’t find what he was searching for.
    “Does he let people stroke him?” Roberto asked at last.
    “If I give permission,” the old man said, with a hint of pride. And then, turning to the dog: “It’s all right, Chuck, he’s a friend.”
    The dog started wagging his tail soberly and approached Roberto, who stroked his head and then scratched him behind the ears.
    “Can I ask you a question?” the man said.
    “Of course.”
    “Why were you doing push-ups in your street clothes like