Everyone in Their Place

XLIV

Apparently, regulations required that any woman sitting alone at a café must and should be besieged. Livia actually found it amusing, as she sat at a sidewalk table outside Gambrinus, waiting for Ricciardi to pass by on the Via Chiaia, according to what she had learned at police headquarters.

A euphoric and deeply obsequious Garzo informed her that the investigation had been closed. When she happened to run into the deputy police chief at the main entrance to headquarters, she’d made it very clear to him that she was there to confer with the commissario; but Garzo made sure not to miss this opportunity to chat up the former Signora Vezzi who enjoyed, as he knew very well, highly placed friends in Rome. And so he unreeled a succession of phrases-“why how lovely you look” and “what a pleasure to see you again in Naples” and “the salt air must be agreeing with you” and “what’s the latest news from our beloved national capital?”-but also, once he sensed the signora’s interest in the commissario and the possible favorable implications that that might have for him, he unfurled a daisy chain of generous compliments for his subordinate’s skills and achievements.

By the time she managed to wriggle out of the conversation, Livia had obtained the information that Ricciardi would in any case be back in his office that evening and that, in accordance with a route that had almost become a ritual with him, he’d be stopping at Gambrinus for a quick cup of coffee; if the signora wished to see him, then that was the best place for her to wait. Otherwise, Garzo concluded, he’d be pleased to send Ricciardi to see her, posthaste.

In a way, she found that man to be a much more asphyxiating presence than the men who, taking turns in a minuet of glances, sighs, and broad winks, were now vying for her attention at the café. And for that matter, the woman’s beauty, elegance, and solitude were irresistible elements of attraction to the dandies and gagà who killed time there, smoking and drinking. A light veil dangled from her hat, covering her eyes and leaving only a view of fleshy, sensual lips painted bright red; her body was tightly wrapped in a narrow-waisted dark-blue dress with a white-leather belt: her shoes, handbag, and elbow-length gloves were likewise in white leather. Her generous bosom and long legs were also unmistakable, even if they were technically covered.

She’d chosen an outdoor table, lest she miss the commissario as he passed, and she was watching the world go by with feigned interest as at least ten men devoured her with their eyes.

Ten men and a woman, to be exact.

The first shadows of evening were stretching out into Giulio Colombo’s hat shop, but he didn’t even notice them; nor did he hear the customer standing across the counter from him when she asked for a discount, and in fact she was forced to repeat the request in an even more doleful tone of voice. Giulio Colombo was focused on something else: he was staring at his daughter who in turn stood, motionless, looking out the plateglass window like a tiger downwind, laying in ambush for an unsuspecting gazelle.

That girl was starting to worry him. She’d never spoken to him explicitly about her state of mind, but it wasn’t hard to guess, knowing her character as he did, knowing how similar she was to him; for some time now he’d been catching her with reddened eyes, as if she’d been crying, or else with a suddenly truculent expression. She was clearly being tormented by unusual thoughts, but she seemed unwilling to talk about it; nor did her father, reserved and discreet as he was, feel able to ask prying questions. As for the girl’s mother, she hadn’t noticed a thing. She was dismissive when Giulio shared his worries with her: she’s probably finally starting to fall in love with Sebastiano, she had replied, that’s all. These are the little bumps in the road of love, she’ll get over it.

But that’s not the way it seemed to Giulio. As far as he could tell, the situation was steadily worsening, day after day; and it was obvious to him that the Fiore boy wasn’t even slightly in tune with his daughter’s state of mind. For the past few days, Enrica had been coming into the store systematically every afternoon, and she stayed for an hour, gazing out the window, coolly dismissing the young man whenever he came in on some pretext to talk with her.

Deep inside, he had already dismissed the idea of this engagement ever working out, ever since the night he’d caught the look on Enrica’s face as the young man was just about to sip his espresso with the disgusting slurping noise that he always made; it was a ferocious glare, and he could hardly blame her for it: it annoyed Giulio, and no one was pushing him to marry the boy. Just then, as Enrica stood peering out throught the plateglass window, he saw that same ferocious glare in her eyes.

There she is now, Enrica was thinking. Sitting all by herself, smoking cigarettes in a public location. But where does she get it, this bottomless pool of gall and sheer nerve? And at the exact time that he comes by for his daily cup of coffee: I know it very well, since I come to the store just to see him, now that I can no longer see him from my window every night. I have to admit: she is beautiful and elegant, not a bit vulgar, even though I told the hairdresser she was, to make sure she’d convey that information to his housekeeper.

What do I have that she lacks? Why on earth should he choose me, if he can have a woman like her? Even if I were to dress the way she does, if I weren’t ashamed of going out alone and having men look at me, I’d never be as attractive as her. But I love him, I love him with every fiber of my being, and I can’t stand living without his gaze, the sight of his eyes, even from a distance. She’s waiting for him, I know that; and he’ll stop to talk with her, he might even kiss her the way he did the other time. And it will break my heart, just like the other time. But I need to be strong, strong enough to wait and see.

You can’t turn your back on love.

You can’t turn your back on love, thought Ricciardi as he walked up Via Toledo: that’s what Ettore Musso had said. And Achille Pivani had said the same thing. And Don Pierino had said that you have to take the initiative, at least once in your life.

Now that a complete atlas of the passions that had surrounded and destroyed the Duchess of Camparino had been sketched out, the commissario was left face to face with himself, and he had nowhere to turn, no refuge from his own thoughts. You can’t turn your back on love: you have to take the initiative. But what initiative should he take? Should he inflict on the person he loved the same cross he himself had to bear, the same torture he suffered? So that he could tell her, as they strolled out arm in arm some summer afternoon, forgive me, my dear, I missed what you were saying just now because, of course, dearest, though you can’t see him, in that corner, right next to the florist shop, there’s a little boy who fell and broke his neck, and he’s screaming for his mamma and it just distracted me for a moment. Is that what a man should offer the woman he adores?

All the same, he could no longer lie to himself: the picture of Enrica with that well dressed young man was becoming an obsession, far worse than the faded images of corpses that lined every street he walked down. He couldn’t live with her, and he couldn’t live without her. He sighed and looked up: Libreria Treves, he read on the sign. He shook his head and walked into the bookstore.

Livia saw him coming, his eyes on the pavement and a book in his hand. She decided that she’d recognize him anywhere, with that air of lovable loneliness that surrounded him, as if he were walking down other streets, streets that no one else could share with him. A mysterious man; in fact, a mystery made human. She couldn’t remember ever having been so fascinated with a person in her life. Without realizing it, she had tensed up in her chair, like a wild animal scenting prey.

At first he didn’t notice Livia at all and simply walked straight to the counter. Then she stood up and caught his attention with a wave of her hand. On the other side of the street, Enrica’s heart was pounding furiously in her ears. Ill at ease, darting a fleeting glance at the envious occupants of the other tables in the café, Ricciardi took a seat next to the elegant woman from out of town. She had in the meanwhile lifted her veil, revealing a pair of dark eyes, with a luminous gaze.

“At last! And yet I was told that you couldn’t hold out very long without your daily espresso. I’ve been here for hours, waiting for you.”

Ricciardi was clearly uncomfortable, as he was every time that Livia explicitly referred to the attraction she felt for him.

“I had gone. . I had to question a person. I had no idea that you’d be here. And in any case, you understand, my work. .”

She interrupted him, laughing:

“Don’t talk to me about your work. Believe me, I know everything, all about your investigation and the brilliant way you wrapped it all up. I had to listen to that insufferable colleague of yours, you know the one I mean, Garzo, who buttonholed me and wouldn’t stop talking about your achievements. But I told him that I was well aware of what a hero you are. My hero, to be exact.”

Ricciardi furrowed his brow.

“First of all, Garzo is my boss, not my colleague. And I certainly don’t confide in him. Last of all, I’m no hero: the murderer confessed, that’s all.”

Livia dismissed his explanations with a gesture of annoyance.

“Anyway, that’s not why I’m here. I wanted to give you some important news. First: I’ve decided to stay on for a while in your magnificent city. I called an old friend of mine, a theatrical impresario, to ask him to arrange to find an apartment for me.”

Ricciardi stood openmouthed.

“What, an apartment? But why?”

The woman smiled.

“You wouldn’t want me to be stuck in a hotel, would you? I’ll be much more comfortable in an apartment. And then I could hire a maid and finally be able to entertain. Don’t you think that a little company would do me good?”

Ricciardi shrugged, and she went on talking, carefully enunciating like a schoolteacher addressing a slightly dim pupil:

“Second: I’ve decided that our friendship should evolve. Since you keep pretending not to notice, I’m going to tell you clearly: I’m interested in you, Commissario Ricciardi. I’m very interested in you. I don’t remember when a man has caught my fancy the way that you have, and I intend to get to know you much better.”

Ricciardi wished he could have been anywhere but there. Above all, he had the disagreeable sensation that, at least at the four tables closest to them, all conversation had ceased as the customers listened to the two of them. But there were certain things that needed to be said, and so he said them.

Now he’s stopped and he’s sitting down, the girl on the other side of the street thought to herself. He doesn’t look comfortable, but he’s sitting down. She called him, she even stood up, he hadn’t noticed her at all. How can you miss a woman who looks like her? And now what are they saying to each other? She’s counting something on her fingers, first, second. What could she be counting? And now, what is he answering? She felt her head start to spin, and she leaned her forehead against the plateglass window. Enrica, do you feel all right? her father asked. Yes, of course, she replied, as her eyes welled up with tears.

Never been better.

“I’m not sure that’s really a very good idea, you know. This isn’t an easy city to live in, and the climate can be harmful for someone who isn’t used to it. And then there’s the fact that you don’t really know anyone. You’d have to build up a network of friends, and that wouldn’t be easy for a single woman. And just where would this apartment be? In what quarter? You’d need help, you’d want to have someone you could rely upon. And I’m not sure I’d be the right person. In fact, I’m quite certain that I wouldn’t. I have no time to spare, I have no friends of my own, it certainly wouldn’t be. .”

Livia interrupted with a loud laugh; she wanted to act cheerful, but there was sadness in her eyes.

“Why, what eloquence, and so unexpected! Do you know that I’ve never heard you talk this much? And just to get rid of me, think of that. Well, my dear man, do you know what I say to that? I say that Livia Lucani is not about to retreat. And that the more you tell me I ought to leave, the firmer my decision to stay. Actually, though, there is one thing you could say, if you want to get rid of me. Tell me the truth: do you have a girlfriend?”

Time ground to a halt around Ricciardi. The four men sitting at nearby tables all held their breath, as anxious to hear his reply as Livia herself. He opened and shut his mouth, once and then twice. If he answered in the affirmative he’d be lying, but he’d also get himself out of this sticky situation, possibly once and for all. But was that what he wanted? Livia was beautiful, cheerful, and passionate. He liked her and being around her gave him an odd, unsettled feeling that was more than just simple queasiness. In good conscience, however, he couldn’t say that his heart was entirely unfettered.

“No. I don’t have a girlfriend. But. . I do have feelings for a person, yes. She doesn’t know it, but I have feelings for her.”

As he whispered such a profound and personal thing, in the crowded café, his head spun: he felt as if he had a fever. It was as if a cloud passed over Livia’s face, and her eyes were tinged with pain. Ricciardi felt as if he’d just beaten her. But it was over in an instant: she immediately got to her feet with a smile on her face.

“Well, then, my dear man, I’ll go on fighting. It seems to me that I still deserve a little happiness, and that you have this happiness tucked away somewhere. I intend to seek it out, find it, and seize it for myself. Tell your would-be girlfriend, deep in your heart, to pack her bags and get ready to move. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get going: I have some apartment-hunting to do.”

And she left, her progress followed by dozens of eyes.