Cosi Fan Tutti

XII

When the phone rang the first time, Zen assumed it must be work. On his return from the trip to consult Gilberto Nieddu in Rome, he had called by the port and dropped off the grey cassette with the duty officer, a young man named Pastorelli who had merely saluted Zen and returned to a volume of Mickey Mouse comics printed on what looked like crudely recycled toilet paper. After returning the video game to the plastic bag containing the suspect's other belongings, Zen had departed as inconspicuously as he arrived.

By dint of staying out of the house most of the next day, he had managed to avoid hearing anything further about the progress — or, more likely, the lack of it — of the case to which he was supposedly devoting his every waking hour. He realized that this ostrich approach to problem solving was widely regarded as immature and escapist, but where, he demanded of the hypothetical sneerers, had all his clear thinking and tireless energy got him in the past? To Naples, was the answer, and when in Naples…

Sooner or later, nevertheless, he had to go home to meet the new tenants of the lower flat and see them properly installed. It was while he was overseeing this operation that the phone started ringing upstairs. Obedient to his 'what I don't know can't hurt me' philosophy, he decided to let the machine take it. It was not until some time later, on one of his trips up to his own flat in search of decorative materials to fake the influence of a woman's hand below — and also to remove various personal effects which might reveal more about him than he wished strangers to know — that he finally bothered to listen to the message.

'So you were in town yesterday and didn't even bother to come and see your poor mother who you've abandoned here like some old coat you've no more use for now you've gone native in the sunny south with some slut you've picked up like that time in Venice with Rosalba's baby who may I remind you happens to be my Goddaughter apart from anything else which makes you her great-Godfather but of course that didn't stop you from going right ahead and ditching Tarda who I'd just begun to think of as part of the family and someone who might one day take the place of your poor wife Luisella who just happens to be in Rome for a week and actually took the trouble to come round here and visit me unlike some I could mention even though you walked out on her fifteen years ago the same way you do on all the women in your life including your mother who I'd have thought might feel entitled to a little consideration seeing as how you wouldn't even be here today if it hadn't been for me carrying you in my belly all those long months and in wartime too with the shortages and the fear and my husband disappearing the way he did which is I suppose where you get it from not that that's any excuse and I certainly don't see why I should be punished for something I suffered enough from at the time God knows instead of which you hide there behind the answering machine like the coward you are while I sit here all alone and unloved at my age in a strange city with no one to care for me — sola, perduta, abbandonataV This was the recorded version. When he called her back, Zen was treated to a live encore, preceded by a lengthy recitative explaining how she heard about his visit from Rosa Nieddu, who 'accidentally let it slip' when she came by to drop off the girls that morning so that she could drive Gilberto to the airport and how at first she couldn't believe what she'd heard and then Rosa tried to pretend she hadn't said it and then broke down and confessed everything and they had both burst into tears and hugged each other.

'Ah, the female mafia on the job again!' murmured Zen, feeling drenched in oestrogen as though in cheap scent.

Fortunately his mother was not listening.

'Then later on Luisella called to say she needed to get in touch with you about the divorce settlement 'What? I haven't seen her for ten years! We haven't lived together for.. / 'But you're still married to her, Aurelio, and now she's met someone else and wants to have children before it's too late. I hope you don't mind, but I did just say that as you've made all that money from that American family I'm sure you'll have no trouble agreeing to any suggestions which her lawyers may make.'

'Are you out of your mind, mamma?'

'Then that evening Tarda dropped round so naturally I told her about you coming all the way up here to chat about video games with your pal Gilberto and not even bothering to come and see your poor mother who you've abandoned here like some old coat you've no more use for now you've moved to the sunny south and gone native…'

And so on, for some time. And when Zen finally succeeded in getting the conversation back on track, it promptly ran right over him.

'So then Tarda told me her news. You'll never guess what's happened!' "I suppose she wants to get married so that she can divorce me and get her hands on the American money you no doubt told her about too.'

'She does want to marry you, Aurelio, but not for your money. It's for the child.'

'Whose child?'

'Yours, of course! She's pregnant.'

During his previous sojourn in Naples, many years ago, Zen had investigated a particularly unpleasant killing in which an informer was tied to a table and his skull perforated by an electric drill. Zen's present sensations appeared to approximate, however feebly, the experiences of the victim. He did a number of rapid mental calculations involving dates, times and places. It was, he concluded, just possible.

'You didn't tell them where I am, did you? Don't give them this number! Don't even tell them I'm in Naples!'

'Why shouldn't I tell them? Luisella's your wife and Tania's the mother of your child — my grandchild. They're family, Aurelio.' "For God's sake, mamma! They're just trying to get their hands on my money now I finally have some after all these years. Women are all the same!'

'Don't you use that tone of voice with me, Aurelio!

None of this would have happened if you'd had the simple common decency to pay me a visit when you were in town. I don't expect much, God knows, only a few minutes of your time once every couple of weeks. Is that too much to ask?'

Many years' experience of interrogations had left Aurelio Zen with a keen sense of when and how to turn the tables.

'Why don't you come down here?' he suggested.

The flow of aggrieved verbiage ceased. There was a shocked silence.

'To Naples?' his mother demanded at last, her voice a whisper. 'Are you crazy?'

It's not as bad as it's made out, mamma. I've been pleasantly surprised by the…'

'First you drag me down to the South, now you expect me to move to Africa!'

'Not to live, of course. But you might think about spending a few days here some time…'

'If anything, I'll go back to Venice! I can't see any less of you than I do already, and if I've got to live all alone I might as well do it there as here…'

And so on, for another five minutes. As Zen listened, he realized for the first time the extent to which he had already become 'meridionalized'. He saw it all with a different eye now, this dark, disturbing stuff boiling up like mud churned up by a power boat roaring up a shallow canal — with a clear, unforgiving Southern eye. These were extracts from another narrative, another life, redundant here.

Nevertheless he went through the usual motions, assuring his mother that he would call more often and visit her in person just as soon as the demands of the extremely vital and urgent case he was presently working on permitted. He told her that he loved her and missed her and would never ever come to Rome again without coming to see her, however rushed he might be, because she was more important to him than anything or anyone else. He told what she wanted to hear, then hung up and went to tear the cord out of the wall. He couldn't leave it here in his absence anyway. The last thing he needed was for Gesualdo and Sabatino to be fielding calls for someone called Aurelio Zen.

But before he could disconnect the instrument, it started to ring again. It's mamma, he thought, calling back for further reassurance. His heart sank at the prospect, but it was idle to pretend that he wasn't there.

'Yes?'

'Good evening, dottore. This is Pastorelli.'

'Well?'barked Zen.

'Many apologies for the interruption, dottore. I know we've been given very strict instructions never to disturb you at home, but I can't get hold of Giovan Battista… of Inspector Caputo, that is. He's out somewhere, his wife said, and she doesn't know when he'll…'

'So?'

'Well, the thing is, we have a bit of a problem. It's in relation to that case involving the stabbing of that Greek sailor on the night of the…'

'Has he died?'

'Who?'

'The Greek!'

'No, no. That's to say, I don't know. We've had no word as to his condition.'

'Then why the hell are you wasting my time, Pastorelli?

If you're lonely, go upstairs and chat up the whores.'

'It's the prisoner, dottore/ 'What about the prisoner?'

'He's gone.'

'Gone?' boomed Zen. 'Who authorized his release?'

'No one, dottore. He escaped.'