The Salamander, page 33
‘I came back here to Pedognana. One evening, I walked down to the chapel and sat a long time looking at the slab which covered Marie Claire’s grave. I tried to talk to her. There was no answer; because that is the nature of the Divine riddle: the eloquence of those who do not understand it, the silence of those who have solved it at last. I wept then, the last tears I have ever shed. Old Don Egidio came in. You’ve met him. He’s the typical peasant priest, not very learned, slipshod and cross-grained, something of a tippler too, but, with it all, very shrewd.
‘He did not try to comfort me. He knew me too well for that. He knew that I should have rejected him as a man too ignorant to understand the complexity of my condition. He sat down beside me, and told me the tale of the puppy with the straw tail… You have never heard it? It’s very simple. There was once a puppy who was born with a short tail. He was very ashamed of this defect, so he made himself a long and beautiful tail of golden straw. He was proud of himself then. He wagged his tail twice as vigorously as any dog in the village. He strutted and preened himself and was courted by all the bitches. Then, one day, as he lay by the fire in his master’s cottage, his tail caught fire… He couldn’t get rid of it, of course. He ran around yelping until his master tossed him in the pond to put out the flames.
After that, he had another problem. His real tail was still shorter and now his rump was scarred and all the other dogs laughed at him. What did he do? He had been very happy with his straw tail, so he made himself another one; but ever afterwards he was careful to stay away from the fire… He could, of course, have made another choice. He could have shed his false tail, and worn his scars and slept comfortably through the winter, close as he wanted, to the fire.
‘… The moral, you would think, was obvious. Not to Don Egidio. His conclusion was quite different: man is not a puppy dog; he embraces all elements and is embraced by all and can survive them all: he can write his own bargain with life; the only thing he cannot haggle over is the final price: death and solitude… You will be lonely tonight, my Dante. You will be lonely afterwards; because there is no credit for anyone in the company of the public executioner. The ring I have given you is a symbol, not a talisman. The only magical thing about it, is the love that goes with the giving. Remember that, when I leave you, as I shall, as I must….’
I had a long wait ahead of me. The guests would not arrive until eight-thirty. They would not sit down to dinner until nine-thirty, when I would go down to the control room and follow the proceedings on closed circuit with Milo and his crew. The moment Manzini finished his speech, the lights would be extinguished and the television screens illuminated. I would move immediately to the ballroom, take up my post inside and lock the door. If anyone tried to leave, unless it were a woman, I would detain them until the end of the screening. It still lacked twenty minutes to six. I went to my room, set the alarm for eight, read a few pages of Guicciardini and lapsed into a deep and dreamless sleep.
I woke refreshed and strangely calm. I shaved, carefully, bathed and put on my new uniform. When I looked at myself in the mirror, I saw a man I hardly recognized: a serving officer of a Corps whose oath still had a ring of royalty about it, whose tradition of service, however besmirched by individuals, still carried a blazon of honour. The badges of rank I had earned myself. I, the son of a political exile, could claim some service to the country for which he, in his own way, had sacrificed himself. For all the sordid shifts of my trade, I could still feel some pride, and a small, hesitant affection for the man inside my skin. Enough! It was time to go.
As I walked down the stairs into the empty foyer, the major-domo opened the front door and let in Captain Carpi. For a moment, he did not recognize me; and when he did, he was non-plussed. He told me that he had been sent from Sardinia with urgent despatches to be delivered personally into the hands of Major-General Leporello. His plane had been delayed at Cagliari, and he had been forced to hire a car to bring him out to Pedognana. I told him the General was at dinner, but that I would take him in as soon as the function was over. He asked me what I was doing. I told him I was on special duty. That seemed to satisfy him. He was quite in the dark about the whole affair. All he knew was that his commanding officer had called him, told him he was to act as courier on a special mission and sent him on his puzzled way. I wondered what devious staff work had gone into that manoeuvre. I took him into the control room, fed him a glass of champagne and a canapé and drew Milo aside to warn him not to make any indiscreet comment. Then we settled down to watch the show, while I tried frantically to figure how I should make use of this very untimely arrival. By the time Manzini stood up to announce the Presidential toast, I had made my decision.
The Minister of Tourism made an elegant and witty speech, a little long, perhaps, but then he had important people to impress: his colleague, the Minister for the Interior among them. He noted the variety and the magnitude of Manzini’s enterprises. He praised the boldness of his vision, which he said made a lot of people blink, and others close their eyes and wait for the thunderclap. He complimented the bankers on their foresight and their confidence in the economy of the country, and its political stability. He was grateful for the lavish welcome extended by the Cavaliere to his guests. He saw it as the symbol of the welcome extended by Italy to the millions who came visiting each year. He wished the project well, assured all the participants of the benevolence of the Government, added a flourish or two of metaphor and sat down to polite applause.
Then Bruno Manzini stood up and began his own speech.
‘I thank the Minister for his kind words. I thank him for his confidence in our enterprise, which is, itself, an act of faith in the future of this beloved country of ours. This act of faith is the more sincere, because my colleagues and I have committed huge sums of money to Italian development at a time when, despite the optimism of my good friend, the country is divided on many issues. I can say this here, in this gathering, because there are no Press to report my remarks, and you are intelligent men and women concerned as I am for the future of this country and its children. The divisions of which I speak, are very deep. Some of them are historic; some of them are political; some are social. We are one people under one flag, but we are also many peoples with many different histories. We have too many parties and too little consensus to achieve easily a government for the people and by the people. Too much wealth is concentrated in too few hands, my own among them. However, to attempt to reconcile these differences, as some seek to do, by violent and sinister means, is a dangerous folly; so dangerous, indeed, that it could negate at one stroke all that we have achieved since the war, all that we hope to build in the coming years….’
They applauded him then. It was a proposition they could all accept; because they didn’t have to examine it too closely. Divisions they knew, and violence they knew; and they all had sinister symbolic scapegoats to carry their sins into the wilderness of forgetting. Manzini hushed them, slowly, with a smile and a gesture. His manner changed. He was happy now, and teasing.
‘… Have you ever thought of this, my friends: right through our history, dinners have been important occasions. That’s strange, because we are not gross feeders, like the Germans, nor big drinkers like the French. We enjoy the food and we enjoy the wine and we enjoy the company of beautiful women, of whom there are so many here tonight. But the fact is, we do make history at meal-times. There was Trimalchio’s supper. You all remember that: very gross, very disgusting, even when dignified by the art of the great Petronius. Then, there was the fatal supper of the Tolomei and the Salimbeni, which those of you here who are privileged to be Tuscans will remember. That one ended in murder. But I assure you all, dear friends, there will be no murder here, tonight. Then, there were the canacoli of the Blessed Catherine of Siena, where souls were elevated by spiritual discourse and bodies were mortified by a very restricted diet. Saving the reverence of Monsignor Frantisek, who is here with us tonight as unofficial representative of the Holy Father, I regret we have not attained to this degree of spiritual perfection. However, I dare to think that this is an historic occasion.
‘… In the silver buckets at the end of each table, you will find a number of packages. If the gentlemen will pass them round the tables, please … No, no, don’t open them yet. They will make no sense until you have seen the film – which is not, I must tell you, the one promised on your programme… This one is a privileged document. The Press does not know of its existence. The public will never see it – only you, my friends and compatriots. You will find it a strange experience. Some of you, especially the ladies, may be discomfited and embarrassed. I beg you to be patient and tolerant until the film justifies itself… Now, if you will turn your chairs a little you should all have a comfortable view of the television screens at the end of each table.’
This was the cue. In the movement that followed, two of my pretorians stood up and leaned casually against the wall, so that a single pace would bring them to Leporello and Baldassare. The other men did the same, so that the whole thing had the air of a casual and comfortable reshuffle. Manzini went on:
‘If anyone of you hesitates to share this experience with us, I beg him or her to leave now… You are all resolved? Good! In a moment the television screens will light up: and this room will be plunged into darkness. I think you will agree with me that secrets should be told in the dark and enjoyed in the light.’
That was my signal. I hurried Carpi out of the control room and we reached the dining-room just as the lights went down and the television screens lit up. I locked the door, put the key in my breast pocket and focused on the nearest screen.
Milo de Salis had settled on a film method that was as simple as a child’s primer and as devastating as a death sentence. It consisted of a series of direct and unqualified statements, in image and commentary. The image was too distant for comfort, but I knew the commentary by heart.
‘… This is a photograph of Major-General Massimo Pantaleone, who died in Rome this year, on Carnival night.
‘This is the death certificate which states that he died of natural causes… In fact, he died of an injection of air into his femoral artery. He was murdered….’
There was a gasp of surprise, a rustle of movement, a flurry of whispers, then silence, as the commentary began again.
‘This is a photograph of the later autopsy report, signed by three very reputable physicians.
‘This is a photograph of an office block in the Via Sicilia, where the General’s papers were stored after his death. The papers were stolen and two men were murdered – Avvocato Bandinelli and Agent Calvi of the Service of Defence Information…
‘This is the identity card of the man who murdered them: Giuseppe Balbo, a criminal who used a number of aliases.
‘Among the General’s papers were these maps: Turin… Milan … Rome … Naples … Taranto … These are military maps which have since been altered in detail but not in substance. They show how, on the thirty-first of October of this year, a military junta plan to overthrow the legitimate Government of Italy and establish a government by dictation.
‘The moving arrows illustrate how the plan would operate.
‘The maps and plans you have just seen are in the possession of this next man, Major-General Leporello, who is a guest here tonight.’
Once again there was a stir as all heads were turned to identify Leporello. They could not see him in the dim light, so once again the image and the commentary commanded their attention.
‘This is a recent photograph of General Leporello’s aide, Captain Matteo Roditi. He is at present under psychiatric care because he was tortured into insanity to prevent his giving testimony in court.
‘This is another photograph of Giuseppe Balbo, murderer, who was shot down while resisting arrest by General Leporello’s men.
‘This is the Club Alcibiade, a resort of deviates, where Captain Roditi met often with Giuseppe Balbo, who was, strange to say, an enlisted member of the Carabinieri, under General Leporello’s own command.
‘This woman, shopping with her children in Milan, is the wife of the Major-General Leporello.
‘This is a love-letter, one of thirty, which she wrote to Captain Roditi, her husband’s aide and true father of her children. Their love-affair was condoned by the General, for good reason.’
This was the crisis point which Mueller had predicted. Leporello could not defend himself, he would and must defend his wife. Instantly he was on his feet, his tall frame monstrous in the half-dark. He shouted: ‘This is an outrage against an innocent woman. I demand….’
He demanded nothing. My pretorian was at his side with a pistol rammed into his ribs. Manzini’s voice rang like a trumpet blast from the rostrum:
‘Sit down, General. Ladies and Gentlemen, I beg that you control yourselves. We are not here to insult a woman, but to prevent an imminent bloodshed.’
There was a gasp of horror which I could feel physically. They did not settle immediately. They watched and waited until Leporello subsided into his chair then, lost and leaderless, they submitted in silence to the last brutal revelations.
‘These next photographs will distress you, but I beg you to look at them carefully. This one shows Major-General Leporello engaged in a sexual act with Giuseppe Balbo, murderer.
‘This one shows him in another act with the man identified as the personal aide, and probable murderer, of the late Major-General Pantaleone. His name is Captain Girolamo Carpi.
‘This man, Major-General Leporello, ladies and gentlemen, was chosen to lead the colpo di stato. He, himself, however, would never have assumed power. There was another man behind him…
‘… This man – Prince Filippo Baldassare,, Director of the Service of the Defence Information. This man plotted the death of Pantaleone, hired Carpi to kill him, and then arranged for Leporello to replace him.’
Again the audience slewed round in the darkness to identify Baldassare. I was one of the few who could see him. He sat calm and unmoved, sipping brandy from a crystal goblet.
‘Who am I? I am Colonel Dante Alighieri Matucci of the same service. I collected this information. I too was imprisoned and submitted to psychological torture to prevent my revealing it. I take full responsibility for the substance and presentation of this film. I depose it as true and I shall offer to the appropriate authorities documents in support.’
The screens went dark. The lights went up and a hundred and fifty people sat there, dumb and ashamed to look at each other. I moved forward into the silent room with Carpi, like a sleepwalker, at my side. I had one moment of blind panic. Then I found the words.
‘The officers present will place the General and Prince Baldassare under arrest.’
I did pray then. I said, ‘Dear Christ, please make them move, please!’… They moved. They placed their hands on the shoulders of the two men. The act was final and complete. Now I had to speak again. I heard myself say:
‘Cavaliere, Ladies and Gentlemen, I have with me, under arrest, Captain Girolamo Carpi who will testify in the proper place to his part in this affair.’
Then, from his own table, Bruno Manzini took command:
‘My countrymen! You have been insulted tonight. You have been shocked and shamed. You may choose never to pardon me for the pain I have inflicted upon you. I will not apologize. I tell you only that it is a small price to pay to prevent the bloodshed and the misery of a civil uprising and the oppression of a new tyranny… Now, may I ask you to retire to the salon where coffee and liqueurs will be served.’
They got up, slowly, and moved away blank-faced, like automatons, each carrying the supper gift, a dossier of the damned, with a complimentary card from the Salamander. Elena Leporello left too, and she passed me without a glance of recognition. Finally, there was no-one left but the pretorians and the accused and Manzini and the Minister for the Interior and myself.
Manzini and the Minister stepped from the high table and walked slowly down the room towards me. They stopped. They faced me, bleak and expressionless. The Minister said:
‘Thank you, Colonel. You will do what has to be done with these gentlemen. I shall wait here. You will report to me before you leave.’
Bruno Manzini said nothing. He did exactly as he had promised. He walked away.
It was an eerie moment. Three prisoners, three gaolers, silent among the debris of a rich man’s feast. We were like actors, frozen on an empty stage, waiting for the Director to move us. Then, I understood that I was the Director and that, without me, the play would neither continue nor conclude. I must move. I must speak. I must decide. I heard the words as if they issued from the mouth of another man.
‘Prince Baldassare, General Leporello, will you please remain seated. You other gentlemen, will you please conduct Captain Carpi to the monitor room and wait there till I call you.’
Two pretorians linked arms with Captain Carpi and led him mute and unprotesting from the room. Those standing guard over the Director and Leporello left their posts and walked out. If I read their looks aright they were very glad to be gone. When the door closed behind them I was, at last, alone with my enemies. I felt no triumph, only a strange sense of disillusion and of loss, and a vague humiliation as though my best-told joke had fallen flat. Both men sat bolt-upright in their chairs, hands flat upon the tables, their faces averted from me. They were so far apart that unless I stood far away like a ring-master or a theatrical tyrant I could not address them together, nor even compass them with a single glance. I had to confront them, one by one, face to human face. I went to Leporello first. I straddled a chair in front of him and found myself staring into a death mask. I told him:
