The Thief of Venice (24 page)

It was only three pages long. They were the same three fragile handwritten pages that she had found fluttering across the floor in the room from which Henchard had so frantically removed his treasure.

She read them aloud, translating the Italian into English, pausing sometimes for the right word, then going inexorably on. Homer put down his glass and stared gravely at his knees. Mary looked soberly at the floor. Sam gazed grimly at the pattern in the rug. It was a harrowing document. Lucia read it slowly, her voice clear and without expression.

"CODICIL TO MY LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT

"On this day, December 6, 1943, I bequeath to the named beneficiaries the following things:

"I. To my synagogue, the Scuola Spagnola, these ritual vessels and scrolls, which I have hidden in this place from capture by the invading forces of the German army—two Torah scrolls with crowns of gold, one Esther scroll for Purim, three Seder plates of gold, three gold Seder cups, two silver cups for Friday services, two menorahs, and three incense burners of silver gilt. These must of course be returned to the congregation for whose sake they are now to be hidden away.

"II. The illuminated manuscripts listed below, from the collection of Cardinal Bessarion, and the folio volume from the Aldine press are all to be donated to the Biblioteca Marciana. All three were acquired by me at public auction in Rome. They are as follows:

1.
    
"1. from the library of Cardinal Bessarion, a trilingual Pentateuch or Torah in Greek, Latin, and Hebrew, assembled in our fashion with Genesis at the back and Deuteronomy at the front. I note that the good cardinal proclaimed his Christianity by adding the words 'ave M(ari)a' at the top of every page.

2.
    
"2. Also from the library of Cardinal Bessarion, a Latin codex,
Caesar's Commentaries
.

3.
    
"3. From the press of Aldus Manutius, Venice, 1499, a folio volume with printed text accompanied by woodcuts of obelisks, elephants, and mystic symbols, the
Hypnerotomachia Poliphili
, or
The Dream of Poliphilius
.

"III. Painting by Raphael,
Portrait of a Young Man
. Because I stole this painting from the Nazi Oberkommandant who had himself taken it from the collection of the Czartoryski Museum in Cracow, the painting is not mine. The museum's stamp is on the back. I can only suggest that if the Polish museum continues to exist after this brutal war is over, the painting should be returned to their collection. Otherwise perhaps it might become the property of the Gallerie dell'Accademia. It is not for me to say.

"Signatures of witnesses:
Baruch Basevi
Beatrice Basevi

"Signature of testator: Armando Levi, December 6, 1943"

"Armando Levi!" Sam jumped up and leaned over Lucia's shoulder to look.

Homer was mystified. "Who was Armando Levi? "

"Who was Armando Levi? My God." Sam took a moment to collect himself. "Armando Levi was a highly respected doctor who committed suicide in 1943 rather than submit to being shipped off by the Nazis to a death camp." Sam's voice was shaking. He sat down again. "I've seen his grave in the Hebrew cemetery on the Lido."

Lucia said quietly, "There's more."

"Read on," said Sam.

"I must explain how the Raphael portrait has come into my possession.

"Two days after the German army began occupying this city, I was invited to an evening meeting in the headquarters of Nazi Oberkommandant Helmut Greetz. I suppose I was chosen for this honor because of my position as president of the Jewish community.

"In accepting the invitation I was of course on my guard, but the evening began cordially enough. The Oberkommandant has settled himself comfortably in a house in Castello, long since confiscated by the Fascisti because the owners were Jews. He offered me wine, which I refused, and then talked proudly about the paintings on the wall. These works of art, he said, had accompanied him throughout the war.

"Among them was the Raphael portrait. The Oberkommandant bragged that it had fallen his way when the collection of a museum in Cracow was looted in 1940. He asked me, 'Do you not think it a masterpiece?' I said that I did. I did not express my disgust that this great Italian work should be the toy of an animal like Greetz.

"After these friendly overtures, the real business of the evening began. The Oberkommandant gave me writing materials and asked me to put down the location of every Venetian synagogue and make a list of all my fellow Jews. The implication was that I, too, might benefit in some material way from this simple secretarial act.

"When I refused, the threats began, and it became clear to me at once how grim and terrible are the times that have come upon us. I have lost all hope that we Jews may be spared. Man, woman, and child are to be rounded up from every neighborhood in the city, from every hole and corner and hiding place, and herded away to the town of Fossoli. From there they will be taken north into Germany and Poland to be interned in concentration camps and put to death.

"I listened in dumb despair, wanting to ask how such inhumanity could exist, how he could speak of it without revulsion. And then the phone rang in another part of the house, and to my surprise he went out of the room to answer it. At once I snatched the painting off the wall and ran out into the street.

"Of course I was pursued, and there was a hue and cry. But having grown up in this city, I know every twist and turn. I took off my coat to cover the painting and made my way to this place, where I have now hidden the ritual vessels of my synagogue as well as my own beloved books. Here I have deposited the Raphael. Only my friends Signor and Signora Basevi know where they are."

Sam interrupted, murmuring,
"Sei stanca, cara?"

She shook her head. "No, no, I'm not tired. There's only a little more."

"The end of my life is near. I will not live to see the day in which my beloved country will be free and master of itself again, when there will at last be an end to the folly that has created such iniquity in the world and broken my heart.

"Armando Levi."

*53*

At the carabinieri station on Campo San Zaccaria, Richard Henchard sat in a chair facing the capitano of the investigative branch of the service, the Nucleo Operative. Surrounding Henchard, looking down at him with expressionless faces, were other officers, including several from the Questura. In an obscure corner sat Mary Kelly, somber and reluctant.

Doctor Henchard was accompanied by a celebrated legal adviser from Bologna. Henchard was indignant. "What have you got against me? I found those things. I didn't steal them. All right, I've read Armando Levi's so-called will, but it makes no claim on the Titian. The Titian is mine. I found it. The will admits the fact that he stole it in the first place."

The celebrated legal adviser muttered something, and Henchard fell silent.

"It's not a Titian," corrected the capitano softly. "It's a Raphael." Everyone glanced at the picture, which hung on the wall above a table on which lay Armando Levi's five-hundred-year-old books and all his synagogue treasures.

The young man in the Raphael portrait looked at Henchard with a knowing smile. The gold of the plates and cups glittered and gleamed.

There was gold too on the hat of the capitano, a sparkling insignia with thirteen flames, each having stalwart significance—
Loyalty! Readiness! Courage!

"These things," said the capitano, waving his hand at the table,
"non sono important!"
He stood up and offered his chair to a distinguished-looking broad-shouldered man with four gold stars on the shoulders of his uniform. "Generale Palma of the polizia has issued a report. Generale?"

From her corner Mary listened to the general's report. It was interrupted again and again by the sharp objections of the expensive legal adviser from the law courts of Bologna, but his complaints were ignored. With extreme courtesy the general recited an itemized list of devastating conclusions.

"Item 1: The firearm that was at first thought to have killed Signor Lorenzo Costanza, the handgun bearing the fingerprints of his wife Lucia, was not, after all, the weapon that fired the fatal shot. The cartridge extracted from Costanza's skull is indeed the right size, but the scratches do not match those inside the barrel of the gun in question, which, in fact, shows few signs of having been fired at all. They match instead the scratches in the barrel of the weapon found on the person of Doctor Henchard at the time of his arrest by Brigadiere Capo Cardoso in the drained canal of Rio di Ca' Widman.

"Item 2: The firing scratches in the barrel of Henchard's firearm also match the marks on the cartridge removed from the wall of a house on Calle de la Madonna, corroborating the story of Signora Kelly.

"Item 3: They also match the cartridge found on the floor of a room in the same house, supporting the testimony of Dottoressa Lucia Costanza.

"Item 4: The blood on the cartridge, as well as other blood samples taken from that room, match that of the dottoressa."

Mary wanted to go home. Surely this was enough. But there was more. The general and his colleagues had been even more thorough.

"Item 5: In a search of the entire premises of the apartment rented by Doctor Henchard on the Rio della Sensa, the storage room on the ground floor was closely examined. This chamber is commonly occupied by the carts used by the local spazzini to collect the rubbish of the neighborhood. Vice Brigadiere Gozzoli remembered the recent disappearance of a young man employed by the Nettezza Urbana. In an interview with other spazzini he learned that the young man worked in this part of Cannaregio, and that this was the same storage room from which he set out every morning to clear the streets.

"Item 6: It was evident that the room had been subjected to a thorough cleaning, using a caustic substance and a brand of disinfectant employed exclusively in hospitals. Of course no purification of that kind could eliminate evidence in the fissures and cracks examined by our team of forensic pathologists. They found blood and tissue and fragments of bone. We are convinced that they come from the body of the missing spazzino."

At this point, Henchard's Bolognese counsel erupted out of his chair in a burst of wrath.

Mary was tired of turning Italian into English in her head. Instant translation required the keenest attention. It was coming at her too fast. She gave up, and let the deep basso phrases of the general roll over her. It was like listening to Dante's
Inferno
. The details of the young
spazzino
's death were obviously abominable.

At last it was over. The capitano maggiore took off his hat, breathed on the flames of his gold insignia, and polished them with his sleeve. Generale Palma gathered up his papers. Richard Henchard was conducted out of the room in the company of his attorney. Mary looked at Henchard bravely, but she dreaded meeting his eye. He walked proudly past her, staring straight ahead.

She stood up to leave. At once Palma came forward to thank her for leading the Nucleo Natanti to the place where Henchard had been taken. The stars on the general's shoulders glittered, his mustachioed face was awe-inspiring.
"Ah,"
said Generale Palma,
"l'intuizione delle donne!"

"Women's intuition?" Mary shook her head. "No, no, it's nothing like that. My husband is the one with intuition, only his comes from—what? The Oversoul, I guess."

"The Oversoul?" The general looked puzzled. "You mean, from God?"

"Well, no, not exactly
God
..."

He beamed at her again, his mustachios quivering. "And you,
cara mia
, from what source does your inspiration come?"

"Well, I don't know. I guess I just think."

"Think?" There was a burst of laughter. With an old-fashioned gesture the general took her hand and kissed it.

She didn't know whether to be complimented or insulted.
 

Afterward she told Homer as much as she could remember.

"When they explained how he got rid of the body of the poor street cleaner I lost track. I gather it was pretty gruesome."

"What did he do, saw up the poor kid and dispose of the dismembered bits and pieces?"

Mary shuddered. "I'm afraid so."

"My poor darling." Homer put his arms around her and held her close, refraining from rubbing it in—
And this is the guy you went to bed with?

She pulled away. "You should have heard the violent objections of Henchard's attorney."

"They won't give up easily, I guess. They'll fight all the way. Mary, dear, I hope you don't have to testify. We're supposed to go home in a couple of weeks."

"Oh, Homer, that's right." She gave him a worried look. "Homer, dear, I hope you won't mind too much. After all, you're not really a Renaissance scholar, you know you're not. Henry Thoreau and the transcendentalists, that's your bailiwick. We've got to go back to Concord, Massachusetts, and the river and the woods and the pond. It's too bad, but you'll have to face it."

"It's all right." Homer smiled a little sadly. "This has been like looking through a door from one room into another, and the other room is magnificent and full of fascination, but then you close the door and turn back to the warm fire on your own hearth. It's all right. I don't mind. I'm ready to go home."