A Dark Song of Blood Read Online Free PDF Page B

nell’arida terra del Tigrè
                  nel tramonto del gran sole d’or,
                  solitario, il forte Macallè
                  pieno di ricordi sorge ancor!
    Ever since meeting Magda Reiner at a party during the 28 October anniversary of the March on Rome, they’d been inseparable, or nearly so, until her death on 29 December. “Driven by jealousy”, as the report indicated without other comments, he was known to have roughed her up before witnesses occasionally. And now the provincial policeman was expected to find out whether he’d pushed her over the windowsill.
    For the rest, the data were scanty: the death had occurred after a year’s end party, at around seven forty-five in the evening, on the sidewalk below the deceased woman’s premises on Via Tolemaide. She’d engaged in sexual intercourse at least once in the hours preceding her death, and though her bedroom and apartment doors were locked, delaying the entrance of the authorities, no keys had been found.
    *
    A few streets away, Bora left Ott’s party at one in the morning, under a drizzle that fell askew and began to be weighed down by snow. He often drove himself, especially after hours, taking different routes through the darkened city. He had to face the fact that he was angry with Dollmann, whose loquacity he had repaid to excess by receiving a burden of intrigue with it.
    Though that wasn’t all of it, either. Melancholy and loneliness, so well laid away for the past year, had been stirred up from their places and looked ugly now. He did not wish to recognize them as his own, did not wish to forsake invulnerability. Still, the heartless gossip made him sick at actors and scenario. Kappler’s affairs, Magda Reiner’s affairs. What could Westphal want to hear out of this? It felt like mud in his mouth.
    Talk of his wife had come closest to undoing him. The thought of her caused him pain – beyond desire, soreness of love, anguish that made him bristle and kept him awake many nights. She was inside him beyond herself, even. He was defensive about his feelings for her, and Dollmann had asked entirely too many questions after Maelzer’s crude words.
    “Why, Major, you’re in love!” The amused comment had come when both of them had grown less reticent. “I’d even call you passionate! ”
    The suggestion embarrassed him. “I’m a disciplined man,” he had pointed out.
    “Yes, and passions are what discipline is for, aren’t they?”
    16 JANUARY 1944
    On Sunday, Cardinal Borromeo, in a three-piece suit under his tan coat, was punctually to be found in the Evangelical Church, where ‘All Praise Be To You, Jesus Christ’ was sung by a bespectacled alto. Seated in the first pew, he gave no sign of recognizing Bora and kept him in suspense until the end of the concert. At that time he informed him that the HolySee was sympathetic to General Westphal’s position. Bora was visibly relieved. He thanked the cardinal and began to leave, when the other unceremoniously retained him in the seat.
    “On the other hand, Major, I am shocked to hear that your office is even now collaborating with the Italian police.”
    Bora denied it was so. “My commander would have informed me were we to be embarrassed before His Holiness by accepting a cooperation we specifically decline.”
    “Check your sources, dear friend.”
    Only on Monday Bora found out the truth, in a memo from General Maelzer. “I know nothing about this,” Westphal said. “Do you?”
    “It’s the first time I see it, General.”
    “Well, Maelzer must have his reasons for involving you in a girl’s broken head. But you’ll have to deal with the Italian police in your spare time.”
    “There isn’t much that can be done after hours,” Bora observed. “Not with the Italians.”
    “Well, meet this Guidi fellow now and then and listen to his reports.” Westphal handed him Maelzer’s message. “I don’t like it any more than you