Cosi Fan Tutti

XXXIII

'Are you saying that this operation began even before the communication from the group calling itself Strade Pulite was made public?'

The question came from a man in the first row, identified on his name tag as a reporter for the International Herald Tribune, but in fact an aide who had been planted among the audience to 'facilitate efficient and expeditious coverage of this historically significant event'.

The Questore, whose eyes were no less dark and obscure than the glasses he had worn earlier, nodded briefly.

'My officers have been aware of the existence of these terrorists for several months. Indeed, it was for this very reason that I arranged for the transfer of a noted specialist from the Criminalpol squad in Rome.. / He turned to Aurelio Zen, who was standing slightly behind and to one side of him, facing the melee of reporters, cameras, microphones and lights.

'To preserve the secrecy of our operation, Dottor Zen was nominally appointed to an administrative post in the Port of Naples. It was there that we had our first breakthrough, with the arrest of one of the men whose bodies were discovered today, Giosue Marotta/ 'But surely he was charged with stabbing a Greek sailor?' a TV reporter asked with a puzzled frown.

'Exactly! Marotta, a noted hothead, was injudicious enough to get involved in a scuffle with some foreign naval personnel while acting as courier in a low-level smuggling operation of no relevance to the present case.

This gave us a convenient pretext to arrest him without revealing our hand and thereby losing the initiative. But his connection to the Strade Pulite terrorists was proved in tragic and dramatic fashion when one of their commandos attacked a police car in which he was being transferred to hospital and cold-bloodedly gunned down one of our most promising younger officers, Ispettore Armando Bertolini.'

There was a moment of respectful silence.

'But if you knew about Strade Pulite from the first, why couldn't you protect the other three victims?' another voice demanded.

The Questore raised one finger.

'It is essential to distinguish here between knowledge of the group's existence and precise intelligence as to its goals or targets. Thanks to our extensive intelligence efforts, we have been aware of these fanatical throwbacks to the anni di piombo for some considerable time, but it is only within the last few days that we have been in a position to predict where they would strike next.'

'What can you tell us about the method of assassination they employed?' asked the plant, helpfully changing the subject.

'It was the same in every case,' the Questore replied, as though reading from a tele-prompt. 'A truck belonging to the municipal cleaning department would be stolen at gunpoint. In the present case, the attackers disguised themselves as policemen performing a routine traffic control. Meanwhile the prospective victim had been followed, his movements noted, and a suitable time and venue selected. He would then be knocked unconscious and thrown into the truck, there to be crushed to death by the compacting machinery. The whole thing took only a few seconds. Afterwards the truck was driven to an abandoned factory site in the Pendino area, where there was vehicular access to a series of underground quarries. The contents were then deposited in the disused cistern where we discovered them today.'

A female reporter held up her hand and received the Questore'snod.

'Three of the victims — Attilio Abate, Luca Delia Ragione and Ermanno Vallifuoco — were all under judicial investigation for alleged offences ranging from bribery and tax evasion to association with organized crime/ she noted. "The other, Giosue Marotta, was a known confederate of Vallifuoco. How do you explain this choice of targets?

What were the terrorists' long-term aims?'

The Questore assumed an air of intense gravity.

'The men arrested this morning are still under interrogation, and we hope to have more precise answers to your questions soon. However, the overall object seems quite clear. It is true that the victims had been accused of various offences, but we must not forget that these allegations had not been tested in a court of law. Without wishing to prejudge the findings of the investigating magistrates, I suggest that the aim of these terrorists was to ensure that they never were/ 'You mean that these were political acts?' prompted the plant.

'Without doubt. This was a classic campaign of destabilization, such as we have seen so many times before in recent years. In short, it was the work of ideologically motivated extremists determined to demonstrate that the rule of law had broken down and that only direct vigilante action could "clean the streets" of our cities. And unfortunately there were many ready to believe them, to call for a suspension of due legal procedure and the implementation of new, so-called "elite" law-enforcement agencies, operating independently of the police and unaccountable to our democratically elected representatives in Rome.'

He smiled.

'Not the least of the triumphs we have achieved here today is to prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that good old-fashioned policing, using tried and true methods, is capable of obtaining the desired results without any recourse to such new and potentially risky experiments.'

'So how did you trap them in the end, dottore?' asked a reporter from RAI Uno.

'Thanks to a combination of diligent and tireless work by the staff of this service, and the exceptional heroism of the operative whom I personally seconded from Criminalpol.'

Another nod in Zen's direction.

'Despite all our stringent security measures, we learned a few days ago that our targets had identified him, that they were aware of the threat which his presence in Naples posed, and that they were preparing to eliminate it. I personally communicated these facts to Dottor Zen in a conference late last night. I told him that I was not prepared to order him to proceed with an operation which put his life in imminent danger, but that if he agreed to volunteer, then we might draw the terrorists into a trap and smash the whole operation once and for all. I am proud to say that, faced with such a terrible choice, he did not hesitate for a single moment.'

The serried faces all turned towards Zen with expressions of awe and admiration. Flash bulbs exploded, cameras whirred, microphones were pushed forward.

'The Questore is too generous,' Zen said with an embarrassed shrug. "I only did my duty, as I hope and believe that any other member of the force to which I am proud to belong would have done in the same circumstances.

But let us not exaggerate the contribution of any one individual. A coup such as this is dependent not on the exploits of one person, but rather on team-work, dedication, discipline and efficiency. I would like to add that I have never seen these qualities more abundantly or effectively employed than here in Naples, under the inspirational leadership of my esteemed superior and colleague.'

'What about the identity of the terrorists?' someone called out. 'Have they any links to other organizations, domestic or foreign?'

The Questore shook his head and held up his hands.

'That's all we have time for now,' he declared firmly. "I and my men have pressing work to do to clear up the remaining questions surrounding this case. As for Dottor Zen, as I am sure you will appreciate, he is in need of rest and recuperation after his heroic ordeal.'

The Questore sweeps out with his retinue, the reporters hasten away to break the news he has given them to a waiting world, and the various soldiers, servants, sailors, wedding guests, street people and hangers-on who have somehow squeezed in all withdraw, leaving Aurelio Zen alone upon the bare, brilliantly lit stage.

Finale Not for long, however, for almost at once the doorbell sounds, unleashing a bustle and scurry of activity. First the food arrives, carried upstairs in deep trays balanced on the shoulders of two strapping lads who proceed to lay it out on silver platters under the direction of an elderly retainer distinguished both by his uniform — significantly more pleated and layered than theirs — and by the expression of transcendental dignity which he retains throughout these proceedings, contrasting pointedly with the air of barely controlled panic with which his underlings go about their business.

Before long, bottles of spumante make their appearance, arrayed in beds of cracked ice, together with yards of snowy starched linen to cover the trestles hastily erected at one end of the terrace to accommodate all these goodies.

And not a minute too soon, for the guests are already starting to roll up. The first to arrive is Valeria, who has only with difficulty been dissuaded from bringing a selection of snacks and appetizers of her own devising in a well-meaning attempt to bail out the helpless bachelor who has impulsively decided to throw a party for the entire cast, and now appears awed and slightly resentful at having so misjudged both the competence of the host and the scale of the hospitality which he has laid on.

But this mood does not last. As she tells Zen, her daughters have been in touch and assured her that all is well, and with that anxiety dispelled she is in a mood to celebrate.

Pasquale and Immacolata Higgins are the next to appear, the former almost unrecognisably elegant thanks to a very nice near-Armani suit and all the accoutrements. La Igginz has just spent all day, not to mention a lucrative part of the night, behind the wheel and is wearing a rather less fetching ensemble designed with a view to comfort rather than style, terminating in a pair of garish yellow plastic sandals.

Valeria Squillace starts to feel even better.

Zen returns the silver box which Pasquale gave him, slightly battered by the experiences he went through, and explains how it saved his life.

'So what's the secret?' he asks.

Pasquale shrugs.

'It's not something to speak about at an event like this, duttb. Abit of respect is called for. Let's just say that every year the corpse of a certain saint, preserved here in Naples, exudes a liquor which the priests soak up with cotton wool and make available to a few select people who…'

Aurelio Zen is already beginning to look as though he was sorry he asked, but luckily for him Dario De Spino now emerges from the interior of the house, whose front door downstairs has been left open to save the host from having to run up and downstairs every time someone rings. Dario, it must be said, thought long and hard before agreeing to show up at all. His sixth sense still told him that it would be better to lie low for a while, particularly at any function to which Gesualdo and Sabatino will inevitably have been invited.

Nevertheless, the promise of a lavish party with lots of free eats and booze was a powerful inducement, and the flattering pleas of the two Albanians, who phoned him personally and practically burst into tears when he hesitated, was just enough to swing the balance, albeit against his better judgement. He does not want to lose contact with lolanda and Libera, for whom he still has plans whose scope is validated by the spectacle they offer, entering with a studied air of confidence and sophistication, resplendent in the outfits which Dario has had knocked up for them through a friend of a brother-in law's friend's cousin's business associate.

'Quite the party, Don Alfonso!' he exclaims, voicing the thoughts of the other guests, none of whom, however, has been vulgar enough to express them.

Zen shrugs modestly.

'It's not every day one survives a murder attempt.'

'Murder?'

'How?'

'When?'

'Where?'

'Why?'

The guests, including Professor Esposito, who has just joined the gathering, crowd eagerly around Zen.

'Shortly after midnight this morning,' he begins, sending Valeria a meaningful glance, "I was on my way home when I encountered a team of garbage collectors at work.'

The newcomer laughs.

'Impossible! I'm sorry, dottore, but you'll have to do better than that. City employees at work at such an hour here in Naples? Unheard of!'

Zen smiles and nods.

'Exactly, Professor. They weren't garbage collectors at all, but a team of killers from the terrorist organization known as Strade Pulite/ 'Wait a minute!' objects Dario De Spino. "I saw the TV news story about that. It happened all right, but not to you. It was some policeman from Rome, a certain Aurelio … I don't recall… Aurelio…'

'Zen,' says Gesualdo, coming out on to the terrace with Sabatino. 'His name's Aurelio Zen, and he's a policeman.'

'Don't be ridiculous!' Valeria exclaims. 'He's called Zembla. Aren't you, Alfonso?'

She is furious at the unexpected appearance of her daughters' unsuitable suitors, even though Zen has explained that that's all over now that they've fallen head over heels for the fascinating Albanian immigrants installed in the lower apartment and have completely forgotten the Squillace girls, far away in a foreign land, thank heavens, blissfully ignorant of how quickly and with what little trouble they have been displaced in their lovers' affections.

'Why would terrorists want to kill someone like you?' demands Iolanda. 'They only go for big shots, people of real importance/ The majestic majordomo advances, holding a telephone on a long extension cord.

'For you, cummendatb/ he says, handing the instrument to Zen.

'Hello?'

'Aurelio?'

'Is that you, Gilberto?'

'I just… check you're… after the… congratulations on../ 'Speak up, can you? It sounds like you're calling from Russia!'

'I am/ 'What?'

'That's how I was able to get the passport so quickly, courtesy of my partners here. If you know the right people, Moscow's even better than Naples these days. Anyway, I was watching CNN here at the hotel and who should I see but you!'

'They ran that in Russia?'

'You're world-famous, Aurelio! And after smashing those terrorists they'll have to give you your old job back, maybe even with Some promotion.'

'Well, I don't know about…'

'So it seemed a good moment to make a small confession.'

Zen wiggles his empty glass at a passing waiter, who fills it with scintillating wine.

'When you brought me that video-game cassette,'

Nieddu says faintly, "I was at a very low ebb, as you know.

Times were difficult, not just for me but for Rosa and the kids…'

'Yes?'

'Well, like I told you, the cassette I returned to you was not the same as the one you brought me. What I didn't tell you was that it wasn't an accident/ 'It wasn't?' "I'm only human, Aurelio. The temptation was too strong. Anyone would have done the same. It was just too good a chance to pass up. The first version of this particular game sold millions, billions! And now I had my hands on a usable prototype of the sequel, months before it was scheduled to hit the shops anywhere! Can you imagine the possibilities? Of course I wasn't in a position to manufacture and market it myself, but I'd heard that they had the facilities here in the former Eastern bloc, plus a progressive, libertarian approach to things like copyright laws. So…'

Zen hangs up and hands the phone back to the grave retainer.

'I am not taking any further calls,' he says.

The paid functionary bows silently and withdraws as though he has been in the service of the family his whole life.

Meanwhile Gesualdo and Sabatino have paired off with their respective mates, and the rest of the party are disputing vociferously about their host's identity. The exchange on this subject between Pasquale and Professor Esposito is characterized by a particularly colourful and inventive display of rhetoric, which is unfortunately lost on the subject himself since it is conducted not merely in dialect, nor yet that variant common to the Borgo San Antonio Abate neighbourhood, but a sub-species of the latter, a sort of family jargon spoken only by persons of a certain age and social class from a particular couple of streets in the shadow of the eponymous church — and only then in moments of great emotion.

The resulting encounter is both competitive and cohesive, at once an affirmation of a common heritage incomprehensible to outsiders and a struggle for dominance in terms of criteria which only the other is capable of judging.

It is also incredibly loud and animated, suggestive of imminent bloodshed to ears untuned to its finer nuances.

Zen makes the mistake of going over to calm them down, and immediately becomes the centre of attention once again, deflecting questions and fielding comments, gesturing hugely and maintaining a confident, unproblematic smile while he tries to work out who knows what about which aspect of whatever it is that has happened to whom.

Meanwhile the young people, left to their own devices, gravitate by unspoken agreement towards an outlying area of the terrace overlooking the cascade of steps far below, the tiled roofs of the house opposite and the seeming avalanche of the whole city petrified whilst scurrying down the hill towards the level expanse of the bay. The exhausted evening air, laden with an intimate, insinuating heat, coils and swirls around the quartet as they stand together, chatting and nodding, ignoring the stunning vista in a grand, proprietorial way.

Although their words are inaudible, the thoughts which they convey and conceal in equal measure are fairly clear to any casual onlooker. Gesualdo is in love with lolanda. Look how he leans forward and brushes his lips against the nimbus of her long hair, how his eyes always seek hers out and then focus afresh when they meet, how the motions of his hands seem at once to respect and caress the contours of an emanation which surrounds her body, perceptible only to him.

His beloved, on the other hand, is more problematic.

The open stance and glowing, shocked expression convey a message which that muscular tautness and those convulsive gestures appear to call in question, if not contradict.

This ambiguity might be explained in various ways, from the banal 'Does he really love me?' to the rather more suggestive 'Would he still love me if he knew…?' But the exact nature of the revelation Iolanda so obviously fears, but also desires, remains for the moment unclear.

The young buck to her left, on the other hand, leaning over the edge of the terrace with breathtaking disinvoltura, presents no such problem. He eyes up Libera with a disconcertingly frank appreciation which is neither tainted nor redeemed by any ambiguity. 'I've had this,' his eyes say, 'and if it came my way again, and there was nothing better on offer, I'd have it again.' Unappealing as this may sound, it must be said that Sabatino is easily the least constrained and most charming of the four. If you were there, scanning the company, glass in hand, he's the one you'd head for.

It is when we come to the object of his salacious homage that the whole thing threatens to fall apart. The other three are each, in their varied ways, paying tribute to the object of their desires, with whatever unspoken and perhaps unspeakable reservations. But Libera… She isn't even looking at Sabatino, for a start-off, but at Iolanda, and her gimlet stare expresses no love for anyone, with whatever qualifications or reservations, only the purest, crassest… well, frankly, bitchery. It's as though Iolanda had done her some wrong, scored a point over her in some way. But how can this be? Libera certainly isn't in love with Gesualdo.

Why should she care? What's going on? 'Mannaggia 'a Madonna!' This cry comes from Sabatino. Having told everyone what he wants them to know in a shameless survey of his conquest's charms, he is now gazing down at the alley below on the lookout for fresh game. And here it comes, in the form of two young women making their way down the steps through the hushed, expectant dusk. Sabatino stares at them fixedly for a long moment, his face a collapsed parody of the complacent mask he was wearing a moment earlier. He whirls around, staring wildly at Gesualdo, who is lost in the mists of love's young dream. Sabatino runs up to the other end of the terrace, where Aurelio Zen is holding forth to a confused but still attentive audience. The young man whispers urgently into his ear.

'Impossible,' replies Zen in the confident tone he has been using for his explanatory discourse.

'They're right outside the house!' Sabatino shouts, unable to modulate his emotions any longer. 'They'll be here at any moment!'

'What is it?' demands Valeria.

Zen turns to her.

'It seems that your daughters have returned.'

'Nonsense! "I spoke to them on the telephone just before I left to come here.'

'What are we going to do?' wails Sabatino. 'They'll be here any moment! If they find those Albanians here…'

'I wouldn't worry about that,' Valeria comments in a tone of unctuous malice. 'I'm sure they'll be very understanding.

Women always are about these matters.'

'What women?' demands Libera, joining the group.

Zen grasps her by the arm.

'Get your companion, go down to my bedroom, close the door and don't come out until I tell you. First, though, give me one of your shoes.'

Libera frowns.

'My shoe? Why?'

'Because that's what I'm paying you to do, Zen replies sweetly.

Libera slips off one of her shoes and hands it to him.

'Fetishist.'

She turns to Iolanda and gives a piercing whistle.

'Pay-off time!' she trills mockingly.

Her companion is clearly none too happy about having her rapturously fraught unspoken dialogue with Gesualdo interrupted, but after a few barked phrases in dialect from Sabatino he relinquishes her to Libera, who hustles her back into the house.

'What are you playing at?' Valeria hisses to Zen. "I want my girls to catch them together!'

'Catch them doing what? Attending the same party?

What does that prove? The whole idea was to arrange for them to be caught in flagrante, but since your daughters have shown up without any warning, we'll have to improvise.'

'I still don't believe they're really here. That young delinquent must be imagining things. He's probably on drugs. There's no way my girls would come back to Naples without letting me know.'

Here they are, nevertheless, stepping out on to the terrace and looking uncertainly around.

'Stap me!' exclaims Immacolata Higgins. 'If it isn't my two young ladies of last night. Well, well, it's a small world, to be sure.'

Valeria Squillace inspects the pierced and tattooed apparition in black leather.

"Is that you, Orestina?' she demands in a tone of mingled anxiety and menace.

'We were robbed, mamma!' cries Filomena, rushing forward with outstretched arms. 'They threatened us with a knife and took our money, credit cards, everything.

It was horrible, just horrible!' "I thought it was a fascinating piece of street theatre,'

Orestina comments dismissively. 'And they were very polite about it. The knife was just a prop. They left us our passports and return tickets, and one of the guys tipped me off to this great tattoo parlour by Camden Lock/ She slips the jacket and blouse off her shoulder, revealing the full extent of the tattoo, together with a considerable amount of the surrounding flesh.

'It's disgusting!' her mother pronounces. 'Wash it off immediately. And stop exhibiting yourself like that! Have you no shame?'

'It doesn't wash off, mamma,' Orestina replies, adjusting her dress. 'That's the whole point. It's a way of reclaiming your body, personalizing it…'

Valeria's silence is more intimidating than any reply.

'But, mamma, I'm still the same person inside!' her daughter protests with just a hint of panic.

'You don't seem to understand, Orestina,' Valeria retorts icily. 'To me, and everyone else of my generation, you are now scum.' "I told her not to do it!' cries Filomena, whose panic is overt and urgent. "I begged her not to! But she never listens to me. She never did and she never will.'

'Of course I listen to your mewling,' her sister replies contemptuously. 'Why do you think we're here? Because after those guys robbed us you did your usual neurotic prima donna routine, sobbing and screaming about how you couldn't sleep again until you were safely back home tucked in with your teddy.'

Filomena bursts into tears and hugs her mother.

'But how on earth did you get here so quickly?' Valeria asks her. 'Why, it was only an hour ago that I spoke to you in London!'

'We were already here, mamma,' Orestina replies as though to a child. 'We flew in last night.'

'Last night?'

'That's right, signor a,' Immacolata Higgins chips in. "I picked them up personally and escorted them to the Sole Mio. Do you know it? Lovely place, very homely, spotlessly clean, never a hint of trouble.'

'Not to mention a fat finder's fee for Immacolata which turns up on the bill as "City Residence Tax"/ Pasquale murmurs to no one in particular.

'Why didn't you come home?' Valeria asks Orestina.

'Not that I particularly want to be seen associating with a person looking like that, but when all's said and done you're still my daughter and I can't turn you away.'

'That's what I wanted to do!' Filomena wails. "I just wanted to go home, but she wouldn't let me!'

All eyes turn to Orestina, who in turn looks at Gesualdo and Sabatino.

'The whole idea was to test our lovers' faithfulness, right?' she says. 'What better way to do it than by turning up completely unexpectedly?'

She smiles coolly.

'They don't seem very happy to see us, do they?'

Filomena confronts Sabatino with a pout.

'Why don't you say anything?' she demands. 'And why are you looking at me like that?' "I expect it's just the shock,' Zen suggests in a tone of fake bonhomie. 'And of course your mother being here makes it all a bit awkward.'

He bends down and picks up a red patent leather shoe with a long spiked heel.

"I wonder who this belongs to.'

'It's Libera's,' Dario De Spino replies. 'Genuine Gucci, marked down as factory flawed but you'd never spot the difference. Eighty to a hundred thousand, depending on the model. Also a full range of men's sizes available.'

There is a brief silence.

'And who might Libera be?' asks Orestina.

'A friend,' Zen replies with a fatuous smile.

'Whose friend?'

'Everybody's! Libera by name and libera by nature.'

Orestina's smile hardens perceptibly.

'And may one meet this fascinating person?'

'Certainly!' Valeria replies with an air of triumph.

'She's in the bedroom downstairs. The one where Gesualdo and Sabatino have been spending their nights since you left town.'

'That's not true!' shouts Filomena, backing away from her mother.

Aurelio Zen shakes his head as though in embarrassment.

'It's only too true, I'm afraid. But you don't need to take my word for it. Why don't you go in and see for yourselves?'

Gesualdo steps forward, as if to intervene, but Sabatino holds him back. With a long lingering look at them, Orestina turns and marches inside the house. Filomena follows at her heels.

'That's that, then,' sighs Sabatino.

Gesualdo shakes his head vigorously.

'It won't make any difference. She knows how much I love her.'

'Yeah, right,' Sabatino replies sarcastically. 'Don't let that punk make-over fool you, Gesua. Like she told her mother, she's still the same person inside. Face it, we're finished.'

Gesualdo looks at him in amazement.

"I wasn't talking about Orestina!'

They both turn to the doorway as the two girls reappear.

Judging by their expressions, they are absolutely furious.

'How could you?' demands Orestina.

'What a cruel, nasty trick!' adds her sister.

'You ought to be ashamed of yourselves.' "I could just have died of embarrassment! Walking in on two complete strangers in the middle of a passionate kiss!'

Zen looks at Valeria, then back at the girls.

'Eh?' he says.

Before he has a chance to express himself more coherently, two more figures appear from inside the house.

One is Libera, limping in a rather fetching way because of the missing shoe. Her companion is a man of about the same age, smooth-shaven and with short dark hair, looking svelte and handsome in an old-fashioned suit cut stylishly large.

'How pleasant to know that one has been missed!' he says in a low, insinuating voice. 'Libera and I felt the need to be alone for a moment, and it never occurred to us that our absence would be remarked upon. But lo and behold, emissaries were sent to track us down and drag us back to the party of which we had presumably been the life and soul. Most gratifying!'

Valeria marches up to him.

'You're not a man!' she shouts. 'You're that other bitch dressed up! You just changed into some of Alfonso's clothes. You can't fool me! I'll expose you!'

The person thus addressed smiles languidly.

'That sounds rather fun. But since there are ladies present, we should perhaps be discreet. If you care to step inside with me, signora, I shall be pleased to offer you irrefutable proof — even tangible proof, if you so desire that I am indeed what I appear to be.'

For just a moment Valeria hesitates. Then she squares her shoulders.

'Very well!'

The moment Signora Squillace is out of sight, Sabatino rushes up to Filomena and starts kissing and hugging her with an abandon which causes Libera to toss her head sulkily and mutter something incomprehensible. Orestina seems to be waiting for Gesualdo to do the same, but there is no response. Indeed, he hardly appears to be aware of her, or of anything else. He just stands staring at the doorway through which Valeria Squillace and the subject of the examination disappeared. Orestina starts towards him, then stops, gazing at him as though across a distance even greater than before.

When Valeria returns, all her anger and determination have dissipated. She looks old, tired and bewildered.

'He is,' she says, shaking her head. 'He really is/ The object of this endorsement now emerges in turn, doing up his belt. But although he has proved his point, it has evidently been at some cost. His whole bearing is lumpen and lifeless, his features are drained of all expression, his air of urbane swagger has quite evaporated. His eyes dart here and there, fixing on nothing, until at length they meet those of Gesualdo. The two men stare at each other as though across a space unpeopled and silent.

In reality the place is in an uproar. 'Ma so' femmenielli, duttb!' exclaims Pasquale. 'You mean to say you didn't know?'

Zen gives an embarrassed shrug.

'They were out there on the street with the other whores.. / 'And why didn't you choose those others?' Pasquale interrupts. 'Because they weren't pretty, right? They were puttane were, the genuine feminine article all right, but hardly the women of your dreams. Otherwise they wouldn't be on the street. The good-looking ones are all chicks with dicks, everybody knows that!' "I suppose I'm a bit out of touch with these things/ Pasquale laughs.

'You're as innocent as a babe in arms, duttb\ You should have consulted me instead of trying to do this on your own/ 'It makes no difference!' Valeria declares in a determined voice. 'If those two… whatever they may be… fooled us, they also fooled that pair of hoodlums who have the nerve to think that I'll let them marry my daughters.

Now we know them for what they are! The fact that these other creatures are not what they seem doesn't change a thing/ The vehemence of her tone shakes Gesualdo out of his reverie. He produces a laminated card which he hands to Valeria Squillace.

'They're not the only ones who aren't quite what they seem, signora,' he retorts with a cutting edge.

Valeria squints at the card. It is hard for her to read without her glasses these days, and even harder to admit the fact.

'What's all this?' she says, handing the card to Zen.

'Some sort of official document, it looks like…'

Zen stares at it for some time. Then he nods slowly "I see,' he says.

'Well, I don't!' said Valeria. 'What's going on? Who are these people?'

'This card identifies your younger daughter's suitor as Inspector Nino Rocco of the Direzione Investigativa Antimafia.' Gesualdo takes a second card from his wallet.

'And this one,' he continues in the same edgy tone, 'identifies your tenant as Dottor Aurelio Zen of the Polizia Statale.'

'Then who's Alfonso Zembla?' exclaims Valeria, completely bewildered.

Pasquale grabs Zen's identity card from Gesualdo's fingers.

'A cheap fake!' he exclaims. I'm surprised you were taken in for a moment.'

He palms the card and simultaneously produces another, at first sight identical, which he holds up like a priest displaying the consecrated host.

'Here is the genuine article which the duttb was unlucky enough to have stolen from him yesterday, and which I was able to trace thanks to my extensive network of contacts. As you see, it identifies him beyond any doubt as Dottor Alfonso Zembla/ Valeria jerks her thumb at Gesualdo and Sabatino.

'Are you trying to tell me that these two are actually policemen!' she demands.

'We were/ Sabatino replies laconically.

Dario De Spino finally understands the reason for the premonitions of disaster which have been plaguing him recently. Fortunately everyone's attention is directed to his former associates, the two engaging young men he befriended and trusted and boasted to, and who now probably have enough material to send him away to Poggioreale until well into the next century. Grabbing a fistful of sandwiches and pastries for the road, Dario sidles over to the door and leaves without ceremony.

'But you told me that they have a record of associating with known criminals!' Valeria protests to Aurelio Zen.

'You said they were linked to some of the worst elements intheCamorra.. / 'They wouldn't be much use as anti-mafia undercover agents if they didn't/ He turns to the two young men.

'What I still don't understand is why you have chosen to reveal the truth now. For months you refused to tell anyone, even your sweethearts, yet now you have broken cover in front of people you don't know and have no reason to trust/ 'It's all thanks to you, dottore,' Gesualdo returns, with a bow of mock formality.

'To me? How?'

'You didn't hear what I said a moment ago/ Sabatino replies. 'We were with the DIA. We no longer are.'

'We resigned today, with immediate effect.'

Zen stares at them.

'But what has that got to do with me?'

Gesualdo smiles.

'Tell me, dottore, why do you think you're still alive, instead of having being crushed by the ram of that garbage truck?'

Zen shrugs.

"I don't really understand the details, but apparently the whole thing was part of a long-term sting operation designed to trap the terrorists. The Questore said that his men had been following me 'We know what the Questore said/ Sabatino says bitterly 'We saw the show on TV. You gave a very good performance.'

Zen looks from one to the other.

'Are you saying it's not true?'

'You know perfectly well it isn't true!' retorts Gesualdo.

'All that stuff about you being brought down specially from Rome to infiltrate Strade Pulite…'

'That was just window-dressing to make the Questore look good,' Zen protests. 'The fact remains, if the police didn't save me last night, who did?'

'We did."

'You? But.. "

'We had our own reasons for being interested in you, Dottor Zen,' says Gesualdo. 'First we hear that someone of that name has tried to do a record search on our undercover aliases. Then we turn up a police identity card bearing that name but the photograph of someone we know as Alfonso Zembla, who has recently taken a personal interest in our activities. So we had a tap put on your phone, and were able to listen in to that intriguing call you received last night. As a result, we were in time to save your life.'

'Thank you,' mutters Zen.

Sabatino smiles sarcastically.

'Our real thanks has been the destruction of everything we've worked toward for months, laying our lives on the line every day, knowing that one slip or piece of bad luck and we'd end up like that poor bastard Marotta whom they tortured to death, not that he didn't have it coming/ "I told you he was in hell!' Professor Esposito puts in. "i was sure of it. The reception was faint, but quite clear/ 'For almost a year now, we at the DIA had been compiling a detailed study of the various factions and alliances within the Camorra clans/ Gesualdo explains in a flat tone.

'We were particularly interested in the internal fissures resulting from the massive quantities of money generated by the drug trade, and also the external pressures exerted by the political transition to the so-called New Italy/ 'But what has all this to do with those terrorists?' demands Zen.

"The terrorists never existed. The group calling itself Strade Pulite was simply one element in a classic power struggle between opposing wings of the Vallifuoco clan, cleverly disguised as a political movement. The young guard wanted to purge the old leadership, as well as various of their associates and clients who knew too much and could prove an embarrassment in the new judicial climate/ 'And just when we were on the point of putting together a case which might stand up in court,' Sabatino continues, 'you come along and offer yourself as living proof that this was an act of fanatical ideologues who have been thwarted by the brilliant efforts of the Naples police department! If those bastards at the Questura had done their job properly in the first place, there would have been no need to set up the DIA. So as soon as it was set up, the Questore tried to undermine its authority, and, thanks to you, he's just achieved a major victory. Well, enough is enough. What's the point in Gesualdo and me risking our lives and losing the women we love, all to no purpose? So we've requested to be transferred back to normal duties/ He turns to Valeria.

'I also request the hand of your daughter Filomena in marriage. My character is impeccable, I have a secure job and good career prospects. I don't suppose it matters to you, but we are also madly in love/ 'Allafollial' echoes Filomena.

Valeria Squillace heaves a heavy sigh.

'Clearly I have misjudged the situation. This I regret, although the fault is not mine but that of Signor Zen, or whatever his real name may be, who provided me with information which now turns out to be completely false.

Needless to say, I withdraw all my former objections.'

She raises her glass.

'Here's to my daughter Filomena and Signor Nino…'

'Rocco, signora.' '… and to Orestina and, er…'

She looks enquiringly at Gesualdo, who looks at Orestina.

"I can't. I'm sorry, but I can't.'

A smile appears and vanishes on Orestina's lips.

'That's all right.'

Valeria Squillace looks from one of them to the other.

'Would someone kindly tell me what's going on? All I want to know is who he really is.' "I think he's only just found out himself,' her daughter replies with the same fugitive smile.

Gesualdo walks over to where the two ex-Albanians have been standing, on the fringes of these ceremonies from which they are excluded. He takes Iolanda's hand.

'You look great. There's something very sexy about a woman in male clothing/ 'But he is a man!' exclaims Valeria. "I saw his…'

Orestina covers her face with her hands.

'For the love of God, mamma!'

'Old people are so gross,' comments her sister, clutching Sabatino protectively.

'Who are you calling old?' her mother shouts furiously.

Aurelio Zen holds up his hands.

'Perhaps we should try and concern ourselves less with which body parts those present may or may not possess as with what they choose to do with them.'

'That's not the point!' insists Valeria. 'Whatever those two may do — and one shudders to think — the whole thing is unnatural! It's just based on sexual thrills. It can't last.. / 'Aurelio!'

'… like real love between men and women coming together for life.. / 'Aurelio!' '… to marry and have children as God intended!'

'Aurelio!'

The hollow wailing seems to well up from somewhere deep inside the house. Professor Esposito hurriedly crosses himself.

'The Furies!' he mutters. 'This, too, I foresaw/ When the uninvited guests finally appear, Professor Esposito's prediction is seemingly borne out. Not only are they three females, but they are quite clearly furious.

'What do you think you're doing leaving your front door lying open like that?' screeches the central figure, who is squat and elderly. 'And in a city full of blacks! You'll be murdered in your bed!'

'Well, I see you're doing very nicely for yourself,' comments her tall companion on the left, taking in the silver salvers of appetizers and the open bottles of bubbly. 'Still as irresponsible and selfish as ever, eh?'

'Your poor mother's been half out of mind with worry!' the third cuts in. 'The least you could have done was to call home once in a while, but oh, no, you're far too busy and important to bother with things like that. Just who do you think you are, anyway?'

'His name's Aurelio Zen,' a chorus of voices recites helpfully. 'He's a policeman/ Zen turns to the assembled company with the fixed grin of someone who has just glimpsed madness, and discovered that it has its attractions.

'Allow me to introduce my mother Giustiniana, my ex wife Luisella, and Tania Biacis, a friend from Rome/ 'You never told me you were married!' remarks Valeria.

'Signora Valeria Squillace/ Zen explains automatically to the newcomers. 'Ferrarese by birth, widow of Manlio Squillace of this city and mother of Filomena, newly betrothed to Signor Nino Rossi, and of her legitimate sister Orestina, recently unbetrothed to lizio or Sempronio, the latter having taken up with an individual of whom the only thing we know for certain is that he or she is not Albanian.'

He turns to Gesualdo and Sabatino.

'There's still one thing I don't understand…'

'Only one?' exclaims the chorus. 'You're lucky!'

'If these Clean Streets people were just a bunch of local gangsters, why did they try and kill me?'

'You see?' barks Signora Zen, grabbing a glass of spurn ante from a passing waiter. "I said he'd be murdered in his bed! But does he ever listen to what his mother tells him?'

'It was just the same with me,' Luisella murmurs sympathetically.

'He had to be right all the time.'

'The problem is that he's afraid to discuss his feelings,' adds Tania. "I tried to put him in touch with his inner child, but it was no use.'

Gesualdo pushes his way through them.

'The answer to your question, dottore,' he tells Zen, 'is that they mistook you for someone else, a very powerful figure in the clans named Orlando Pagano who has been in hiding for some time. You look quite alike, and since you have been spending the night at the Squillace house.. / 'Mamma!'

This from Orestina, who looks horrified.

'Don Orlando was a close associate of Manlio Squillace,'

Gesualdo continues with a certain malicious pride.

'Indeed, the connection dates back even further, according to our research, to Signora Valeria's father, the founder of the Caselli textile group. Shortly after the war, Pagano put him in touch with a chain of clothing manufacturers here in Naples who…'

He breaks off as Signora Zen grabs his arm.

'Caselli, did you say?'

'That's right, signora.' 'In Ferrara?'

'Exactly." The old lady curls up like an autumn leaf and falls to the ground without a word. Everyone rushes around offering advice, first-aid hints and traditional herbal remedies. For the best part of a minute, Signora Zen is relentlessly slapped, pummelled and shaken. Brandy is forced between her clenched lips, while Pasquale presses the miracle-working silver casket into her bosom. Which of these ministrations proves effective is unclear, but eventually her eyes open.

'A priest! I must make confession."

The guests look at one other in dismay.

'At this hour?'

'Not a chance/ Professor Esposito grabs Pasquale by the arm and pulls him aside. The two confer in low tones for a moment, then disappear inside the house.

'She's not really going to die, is she?' Zen cries in a voice of panic. "I can't manage without you, mamma.

Please don't die. I need you, I love you.'

'Typical,' comments Tania caustically. 'She should stay alive because you need her. What about her? Don't you think she might want to live for herself?' "Men are such bastards/ agrees Luisella.

Pasquale rushes in with an air of great importance.

'I've summoned Father… er, Beccavivi! He'll be here in a moment!'

Sure enough, a tall, thin figure swathed in black appears in the doorway. He hurries over to the stricken woman and kneels beside her.

'In the name of the Father, the Son and the Holy Ghost,' he intones in a nasal voice. 'Make your confession, my child/ Signora Zen wipes her pallid lips with her tongue.

"I have many sins on my conscience/ she says, 'but the one troubling me most concerns Aurelio, my son.'

'Go on, figlia.' "I had sworn never to reveal the truth, but now I feel the approach of death I feel I must. It all happened one week while my husband Angelo was away. He was an inspector for the railways, and often had to travel for days at a time. On one such occasion, may God forgive me, I went part of the way with him, taking advantage of the cheap ticket to visit my relatives in Verona.'

She gives a rattling gasp and signals for water, which is brought.

'On the way back, I was all alone. The journey seemed to take hours, and I fell to chatting with someone else in my compartment. He was a businessman, from Ferrara.

I'd never met anyone like him before. Angelo was a good man, but he never took much interest in me.'

'I know the feeling/ comments Tania.

"Men are all the same,' adds Luisella.

'Not Lorenzo!' insists the penitent. 'He was different.

He made me feel special and beautiful and exciting. I'm not trying to excuse myself, but 'Did you have carnal relations with this man, my child?' the priestly figure enquires.

Signora Zen smiles gently.

'Oh, yes.'

'More than once, figlia mia?'

'Many, many times!'

The smile fades gradually.

'When my son was born, I tried to pretend it was Angelo's. He never gave me any reason to suppose that he didn't believe me. To tell you the truth, he never seemed particularly interested.'

Tania and Luisella exchange a significant glance.

'And when Angelo went off to war and never came back, it was too late to tell anyone. How could I break it to my boy that his father was not a heroic victim who had fallen fighting for his country, but the owner of a textile mill who abandoned me as soon as I got pregnant even though he went on to make a fortune through a contract to supply uniforms to the local Blackshirts in return for a kickback to the local Fascist chief…'

'Those charges were never proved!' Valeria breaks in.

'Certainly Papa made a lot of money quite quickly, but life was a struggle for everyone back then, and.. / Signora Zen tugs at the black sleeve.

'Father.. "

'Do you wish me to administer extreme unction, my child?'

The penitent shakes her head.

'Is there…' she breathes faintly.

'Yes?'

'Is there any more of that brandy?'

At this point a mosquito lands on Orestina's left ear, which has already been pierced twice to accommodate the silver rings which form part of the new image to which Signora Squillace took exception. Subliminally sensing this additional puncture, she swats at the aggressor.

A rhinestone ring she is sporting on her marriage finger becomes entangled with the twin loops of silver, tearing the delicate flesh of the lobe and causing Orestina to utter various terms of which her mother had fondly believed her to be ignorant.

Assuming that this attractive young woman, who has so courageously asserted her independence in the face of patriarchal tyranny and gender stereotyping, has been the victim of harassment by one of the rogue males present, Tania Biacis springs to her defence, colliding with the elderly waiter who is bringing Signora Zen the beverage she requested. The bottle goes flying, and in his attempt to save it Gesualdo pushes over Immacolata Higgins, who in turn stumbles into Valeria, who tries to keep her balance by grabbing at her neighbour, Luisella Catallani in Zen. The resulting disturbance ripples through the gathering like a breeze through long grass, affecting each of the guests in turn, until Filomena accidentally jogs Pasquale's funny-bone, causing him to jerk his arm convulsively and thereby knock off Father Beccavivi's large, black (although on closer inspection not strictly clerical) hat, revealing the bald dome and impressive eyebrows of Professor Esposito.

Aurelio Zen clears his throat with the air of someone about to give a speech.

'A famous philosopher once remarked that everything happens twice. A later philosopher — even more famous in my youth, but now almost forgotten — commented that his predecessor should have added, "the first time as tragedy, the second as farce". I am no philosopher, and cannot say whether this is true of events in general, but my recent experiences have convinced me that it holds good for my own life. And, if I may be permitted to add my own modest footnote on the subject, better like that than the other way round/ He looks about him at the circle of family, friends and lovers, their equilibrium now completely restored.

'But as I say, this applies only to my own life. Yours, I hope, will be free from tragedy and farce alike. Filomena and Sabatino will make a faithful and happy couple, and their children will be numerous, beautiful and charming.

Gesualdo and Iolanda will be equally happy in their different but no less admirable way, while Luisella and Tania will continue to be comfortably miserable in theirs.

Orestina will go back to London and Libera to the streets, each with a mingled sense of relief and excitement.

Pasquale, the professor and Signora Higgins will continue to provide the range of unique and priceless services for which they are justly famous.

'My mother will make a full recovery, and never fail to give me the kindly illusion that she will be there for ever, although only when I need her. Finally there is Valeria, with whom a watchful providence appears in retrospect to have spared me from committing the only sin from which I had always believed myself to be immune. For this I am truly grateful, since it enables me to say without any fear of misunderstanding that I will always love her as the sister I never knew I had.

'Which brings me to myself, and my vision of the future I see very clearly unfolding before me. It will be.. / But his voice, which has been increasingly difficult to make out for some time now, is finally lost beneath the ambient harmony of car horns and birdsong, televisions and yapping dogs, children yelling and motorbikes revving, laughter and raised voices, sea-gulls and sirens, as though the whole city were joining in a final chorus expressing the conventional banalities: always look on the bright side, let reason be your guide, every cloud has a silver lining, laughter is the best medicine…

Only for some reason — the intoxicated dusk, the musky air, the good company, the wine — they don't seem at all banal, but resound like eternal verities, a profound reverberation of all the horrors and miseries which have taken place here, and which might yet teach us, if we cared to learn, how to live.