Read Online White Death by Tobias Jones - Free Book Online Page B

archaeologists from all over the world pile in to examine the finds. It won’t be finished until you and I are underground ourselves. And why do they want to build it anyway? To get from the railway station to the campus that little bit quicker? It’s crazy.’
    ‘Sounds sensible to me,’ I said again.
    He looked at me, about to rant once more, but saw me smiling and shook his head. ‘Billions of euros. Billions and billions of euros of our taxes just so a few students can save three minutes of travelling time. Cazzo, why don’t they just get out of bed a couple of minutes earlier?’ He looked at me and shook his head again.
    I smiled back and held up my glass. He picked up his and we clinked.
    ‘To the underground,’ I said.
    ‘Cazzo,’ he was still shaking his head, ‘this city needs an underground like a fish needs fresh air.’
    A waitress came to our table.
    ‘For me the tortelli,’ Spago said.
    She looked at me.
    ‘Risotto al limone please.’
    ‘To drink?’
    ‘Water. And something red. A gutturnio. As long as it’s still. Or sangiovese.’
    She nodded and went away and Spago continued his rant.
    ‘They keep trying to improve this city and every time they try they lose something of the soul of the place. Look at la ghiaia. For centuries it’s been a sort of trading pit. You know, you descended from the grandeur of the boulevards with their marble urns and pillars and pediments, and you walked down the steps into a democratic marketplace, our bustling souk where farmers and artisans could trade gossip and goods with the bourgeoisie and aristocrats. It was the one place in this city where everyone mixed, where the poorest immigrant rubbed shoulders with the fur-coated casalinga. It was where the poor went to buy their socks and where the rich went to buy their artichokes. So what have they done with it?’
    My head bounced as I exhaled in derision.
    ‘It’s now going to become a car park and a shopping mall.’ Spago shook his head in disbelief. ‘And they had only just finished a car park and shopping mall the other side of town. How many car parks and malls do we need?’
    Spago was one of the few people in the world who got better when he was self-righteous. Because although he was earnest he would also smile, like some people’s stupidity amused him, and he wanted to amuse you too by showing what daft things they had done.
    ‘I’m not against innovation,’ he went on. ‘I know we need investment, new enterprises and so on. But we can’t just pour concrete everywhere. You remember that fiasco with Piazzaledella Pace? For ages they had it fenced off whilst they debated who would get the contract to build a car park. And then some genius – I wish I knew who it was – simply said “no, let’s just throw around some grass seed”. And look at it now. It’s one of the most beautiful squares in Italy. People go there to eat their sandwiches. Students sit around and sing songs at dusk. Couples court. Mothers take their children there to run around. There’s our beautiful, bombed Palazzo della Pilotta, the statue of the partisan, there are those lights on the path that cuts from Via Garibaldi to the Palazzo, there are those clear pools of water. That’s what attracts tourists, not somewhere to park their hire car, where a lift takes them to yet another expensive boutique. Cazzo!’
    I nodded, smiling in agreement.
    ‘Anyway,’ he looked at me, ‘you didn’t ask me out to lunch to hear my philosophy of urban development.’
    ‘No.’ I looked at him apologetically. ‘Although that’s sort of what it’s about.’
    ‘Allora?’
    ‘I’m on a case.’
    ‘Always on a case, eh?’
    I nodded and looked at him. ‘Masi Costruzioni,’ I said slowly.
    He blinked slowly and stared at me. ‘You really pick your cases.’
    ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
    ‘Masi?’ He started shaking his head, keeping his eyes on me. ‘Amedeo Masi?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Put it this way: that guy’s