all right, I understand your feelings. Now tell me why.’
Lele had the grace to laugh. ‘It must be strange, this anger after so long. I haven’t heard his name in, oh, I don’t know, twenty years, but all I needed was to hear it, and everything I knew about him came back.’ He paused for a moment and then added, ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, how some things just don’t go away? You’d think time would have softened some of it. But not with Guzzardi.’
‘What hasn’t been softened?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Well, obviously, how much we all hated him.’
‘All?’
‘My father, my uncles, even my mother.’
‘Why?’
‘Are you sure you have time to listen?’ Lele asked.
‘Why else call?’ Brunetti asked in response, grateful that Lele hadn’t bothered to ask why he was curious about Guzzardi.
By way of answer, Lele began by asking, ‘You know my father was an antiquarian, a dealer?’
‘Yes,’ Brunetti answered. He had a vague memory of Lele’s father, an enormous man with a white moustache and beard who had died when Brunetti was still a young boy.
‘There were a lot of people who wanted to leave the country. Not that there were many places where they could go, not go and be safe, that is. But at any rate, after the war began, some of them approached my father, asking if he could sell things for them.’
‘Antiques?’
‘And paintings, and statues, and rare books, just about anything that had beauty and value.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He acted as agent,’ Lele said, as though that explained everything.
‘What does that mean, that he acted as agent?’
‘Just that. He agreed to find buyers. He knew the market and he had a long list of clients. And in return he took ten per cent.’
‘Isn’t that normal?’ Brunetti asked, aware that he was missing whatever message Lele thought he was conveying.
‘There was no such thing as normal during the war,’ Lele said, again as though that would explain everything.
Brunetti interrupted. ‘Lele, there’s too much going on here that I don’t understand. Make things clear to me, please.’
‘All right. I always forget how little people know, or want to know, about what happened then. It was like this. When people were forced to sell things or were put into positions where they had no choice but to sell things, they had the option of trying to do it themselves, which is always a mistake, or they could turn to an agent. Though that was just as often a mistake.’
‘Why?’
‘Because some of the dealers had smelled the scent of money, great sums of money, and many of them, once they realized how panicked the sellers were, went mad with it.’
‘Went mad how?’
‘By raising their percentages. People were desperate to sell and get out of the country if they could. Towards the end, most of them finally realized that they would die if they stayed here. No,’ he corrected himself, ‘not die: be killed. Be sent off to be murdered. But some of them still lacked the courage to cut and run and leave everything behind them: houses, paintings, clothing, art, papers, family treasures. That’s what they should have done, just left it all and tried to get to Switzerland or Portugal, even to North Africa, but too many of them weren’t willing to take the loss. But then finally they had no choice.’
‘And so?’ Brunetti prodded.
‘So, in the end, they were forced to sell everything they had, turn it into gold or stones or into foreign currency, into something they thought they could carry out of the country with them.’
‘Couldn’t they?’
‘This is going to take a long time to explain, Guido,’ Lele said, almost apologetically.
‘Good.’
‘All right. It worked, at least many times, it worked like this. They contacted the agents, many of whom were antiquarians, either here or in one of the big cities. Some of the big collectors even tried to deal with Germans, men like Haberstock in Berlin. The word had got around that
Lele had the grace to laugh. ‘It must be strange, this anger after so long. I haven’t heard his name in, oh, I don’t know, twenty years, but all I needed was to hear it, and everything I knew about him came back.’ He paused for a moment and then added, ‘It’s strange, isn’t it, how some things just don’t go away? You’d think time would have softened some of it. But not with Guzzardi.’
‘What hasn’t been softened?’ Brunetti asked.
‘Well, obviously, how much we all hated him.’
‘All?’
‘My father, my uncles, even my mother.’
‘Why?’
‘Are you sure you have time to listen?’ Lele asked.
‘Why else call?’ Brunetti asked in response, grateful that Lele hadn’t bothered to ask why he was curious about Guzzardi.
By way of answer, Lele began by asking, ‘You know my father was an antiquarian, a dealer?’
‘Yes,’ Brunetti answered. He had a vague memory of Lele’s father, an enormous man with a white moustache and beard who had died when Brunetti was still a young boy.
‘There were a lot of people who wanted to leave the country. Not that there were many places where they could go, not go and be safe, that is. But at any rate, after the war began, some of them approached my father, asking if he could sell things for them.’
‘Antiques?’
‘And paintings, and statues, and rare books, just about anything that had beauty and value.’
‘What did he do?’
‘He acted as agent,’ Lele said, as though that explained everything.
‘What does that mean, that he acted as agent?’
‘Just that. He agreed to find buyers. He knew the market and he had a long list of clients. And in return he took ten per cent.’
‘Isn’t that normal?’ Brunetti asked, aware that he was missing whatever message Lele thought he was conveying.
‘There was no such thing as normal during the war,’ Lele said, again as though that would explain everything.
Brunetti interrupted. ‘Lele, there’s too much going on here that I don’t understand. Make things clear to me, please.’
‘All right. I always forget how little people know, or want to know, about what happened then. It was like this. When people were forced to sell things or were put into positions where they had no choice but to sell things, they had the option of trying to do it themselves, which is always a mistake, or they could turn to an agent. Though that was just as often a mistake.’
‘Why?’
‘Because some of the dealers had smelled the scent of money, great sums of money, and many of them, once they realized how panicked the sellers were, went mad with it.’
‘Went mad how?’
‘By raising their percentages. People were desperate to sell and get out of the country if they could. Towards the end, most of them finally realized that they would die if they stayed here. No,’ he corrected himself, ‘not die: be killed. Be sent off to be murdered. But some of them still lacked the courage to cut and run and leave everything behind them: houses, paintings, clothing, art, papers, family treasures. That’s what they should have done, just left it all and tried to get to Switzerland or Portugal, even to North Africa, but too many of them weren’t willing to take the loss. But then finally they had no choice.’
‘And so?’ Brunetti prodded.
‘So, in the end, they were forced to sell everything they had, turn it into gold or stones or into foreign currency, into something they thought they could carry out of the country with them.’
‘Couldn’t they?’
‘This is going to take a long time to explain, Guido,’ Lele said, almost apologetically.
‘Good.’
‘All right. It worked, at least many times, it worked like this. They contacted the agents, many of whom were antiquarians, either here or in one of the big cities. Some of the big collectors even tried to deal with Germans, men like Haberstock in Berlin. The word had got around that
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