CB14 Blood From A Stone (2005) (33 page)

Two single-column articles, each of about fifteen centimetres, stood among the ads at the bottom of the page. The first carried the headline,
UBS LAYS OFF SIX HUNDRED EMPLOYEES IN RESTRUCTURING
: Brunetti did not bother to read any further.

The second read,
MILAN CONSORTIUM SIGNS AFRICAN MINERAL RIGHTS AGREEMENT
. Brunetti set down his coffee and pulled the paper closer. The article reported that a group of Milanese mineral and oil exploration companies had signed a ten-year contract with the government of Angola, which granted them exclusive rights to all exploration and future mining of ‘extractive materials and products’ in the eastern part of the former Portuguese colony. This agreement was made possible, the article explained, by the recent sweeping victories of government forces in the decades-old civil war against insurgents of the Lunda and Chokwe tribes. It was hoped that the disappearance of the leader of the rebel movement, presumably in recent fighting, would contribute to the restoration of peace in the region, which had for more than a decade been the scene of rebel massacres.

Giorgio Mufatti, senior Vice-President of the conglomerate, said in an interview that the contract would create at least five hundred jobs for European employees of the contract-winning companies and at least twice that many for the local population. ‘These jobs will help restore peace to this war-ravaged nation,’ said Mufatti.

Dottor Mufatti praised the aid and encouragement given the project by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, whose ‘assistance to and close ties with the legitimate government of Angola have been instrumental in winning this contract for an Italian company’.

Details of the terms of the deal were not yet available, but it was hoped that exploration would begin with the end of the spring rains.

He looked up as Paola came into the kitchen, still drugged with sleep. She wiped her face with both hands and looked across the room at him. ‘Did the phone ring earlier?’ she asked, moving to the sink to make fresh coffee.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Who was it?’ she asked.

‘Oh, nothing,’ he answered. ‘A wrong number.’

She moved much in the manner of a robot, filling the pot with water, spooning in the coffee, screwing the top back on. While she moved about, he closed the newspaper and set it aside, then opened the
Gazzettino
. She came and stood behind him, resting her elbows on his shoulders. ‘Why are you up so early?’

‘I don’t know. Couldn’t sleep.’

She saw the package on the counter and went over and opened it. ‘Guido,’ she said, ‘you are a saint.’

The coffee boiled up, and she poured it into a cup, then added some of the hot milk he had left on the back of the stove. She came and sat beside him.

She sipped at her coffee, sipped again, then asked, ‘Who was it that called?’

‘Your father,’ he answered, wondering why he was, after all these years, still such a transparent liar.

‘What for, so early?’

‘To give me some information about the black man.’

‘Ah. Did it help?’

‘I think so, yes.’

‘How?’

‘It showed me who he might have been and why he was killed.’

She sipped again. ‘And?’ she asked.

‘And Patta was right: there’s nothing to be done about it.’

‘Nothing?’ she asked in honest surprise.

He shook his head.

After a long time, Paola asked, ‘What about the diamonds?’

Her question startled Brunetti, who had forgotten about them entirely. ‘They’re in a bank,’ he said.

‘I should hope so. But what will you do with them?’

He picked up his cup and found it empty, but he didn’t want to go to the bother of making more coffee. The man who had had the stones was dead, and it seemed the cause they were perhaps meant to aid was lost. They lay in a bank, inert, without real value until someone placed it on them. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted.

‘What do you want to do?’ Paola asked.

‘About the diamonds?’

‘No, about today.’

When she spoke, Brunetti realized that, though he had walked down to Sant’ Aponal an hour ago, he had paid no attention to the day. He looked out of the window, towards the mountains, and when he saw them in the distance, he realized the day was clear. ‘I’d like to walk down to Sant’Elena and then go out to Lido and take a walk on the beach,’ he said.

‘A purification ritual?’ she asked with her first smile.

He shrugged. They remained silent for some time until Brunetti said, ‘If Claudio sold them, Don Alvise could see that the money got to people who need help.’

‘It’s better than keeping them in the bank,’ Paola said.

‘And it’s better than what the money was supposed to be used for,’ Brunetti said, but instantly added, ‘I think.’

His mood suddenly lightened and he got to his feet to make more coffee. He paused and looked out of the window again, at the distant mountains, covered with snow now: pure, aloof,
eternally unconcerned with the lusts and desires of men. ‘I’ll wait for you to get dressed,’ he said. ‘And then we’ll go for a walk.’

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