limited - in where they're allowed to work and what they're allowed to do. Maybe what you have to do is imagine what it would be like here if the only power were in the hands of the Mafia. If there were no government, no police, no army, nothing except roving bands of thugs who thought that having a gun gave them the right to take anything, or anyone, they wanted.'
'And that's how you lived?' Brunetti asked.
'Not at the beginning, no; it got worse towards the end. Before that, we had some protection. And then for a year or so, we had the UN nearby, and they kept things relatively quiet. But then they left.'
'And then you left?' Brunetti asked.
The priest took in a deep breath, as though someone had punched him. 'Yes, then I left ’ he said. 'And now I have to busy myself with the problems of luxury.'
'You sound as though you don't like it ’ Brunetti observed.
'It's not a question of liking or not liking, Guido. It's a question of seeing the difference and trying to believe that the effects on people are the same and that rich, comfortable people suffer as much as those poor devils who have nothing, and who then have that nothing taken away from them ’
'Without believing that it is the same?'
Antonin smiled and gave an elegant shrug. 'Faith can achieve all things, my son.'
4
Faith or no faith, Brunetti realized he was no closer to knowing what had brought the priest to his office than he had been when the man arrived. He did know, however, that he was being set up by the priest to view him in a sympathetic light because of the way he had just spoken of the plight of the Congolese. But a stone would pity those afflicted people: indeed, Brunetti was curious about a man who seemed to believe that he was displaying some special sensibility by saying such things.
Brunetti made no response. The priest remained motionless and silent, perhaps thinking his last remark - which had sounded like the worst sort of pious platitude to Brunetti - was sufficiently profound to merit only unspoken congratulation.
Brunetti let the silence expand. He had no favours to ask of the priest, and so he let him sit. Finally Antonin said, 'As I told you, I'd like to ask you about my friend's son.'
'Of course,' Brunetti answered neutrally, then, when Antonin did not continue, he asked, 'What has he done?'
The priest pulled his lips together at this and shook his head, as if Brunetti had asked a question too difficult, or impossible, to answer. Finally he said, 'It's not that he's done anything. It's more that he's thinking of doing something.'
Brunetti began to consider possibilities: the young man - he assumed he was young - could be considering a crime of some sort. Or he was involved with people it was dangerous to know. Perhaps he was caught up with drugs or the traffic in drugs.
'What is it he's thinking of doing?' Brunetti finally asked.
'Selling his apartment.'
Brunetti knew his fellow Venetians were considered a house-proud people, but he was not aware that it had been made a crime to sell one. Well, not unless it did not belong to you, that is.
He decided to interrupt Antonin here, or this back and forth could continue for more time than he would have patience for. 'Before we go on with this, perhaps you could tell me if this sale or anything to do with it is aiminal?'
Antonin gave this some thought before he answered, 'Not strictly, no.'
'I've no idea what that means.'
'Of course, of course. It's his apartment, so he has the legal right to sell it ’
'Legal?' Brunetti asked, picking up on the priest's emphasis of the word.
'He inherited it from his uncle eight years ago, when he was twenty. He lives there with his companion and their daughter.' 'Is it his or theirs?'
'His. She moved in with him six years ago, but the apartment is in his name.'
'But they're not married?' Brunetti assumed they were not, but it would be better to get this clear.
'No.'
'Does she have residence at the address where they're
'And that's how you lived?' Brunetti asked.
'Not at the beginning, no; it got worse towards the end. Before that, we had some protection. And then for a year or so, we had the UN nearby, and they kept things relatively quiet. But then they left.'
'And then you left?' Brunetti asked.
The priest took in a deep breath, as though someone had punched him. 'Yes, then I left ’ he said. 'And now I have to busy myself with the problems of luxury.'
'You sound as though you don't like it ’ Brunetti observed.
'It's not a question of liking or not liking, Guido. It's a question of seeing the difference and trying to believe that the effects on people are the same and that rich, comfortable people suffer as much as those poor devils who have nothing, and who then have that nothing taken away from them ’
'Without believing that it is the same?'
Antonin smiled and gave an elegant shrug. 'Faith can achieve all things, my son.'
4
Faith or no faith, Brunetti realized he was no closer to knowing what had brought the priest to his office than he had been when the man arrived. He did know, however, that he was being set up by the priest to view him in a sympathetic light because of the way he had just spoken of the plight of the Congolese. But a stone would pity those afflicted people: indeed, Brunetti was curious about a man who seemed to believe that he was displaying some special sensibility by saying such things.
Brunetti made no response. The priest remained motionless and silent, perhaps thinking his last remark - which had sounded like the worst sort of pious platitude to Brunetti - was sufficiently profound to merit only unspoken congratulation.
Brunetti let the silence expand. He had no favours to ask of the priest, and so he let him sit. Finally Antonin said, 'As I told you, I'd like to ask you about my friend's son.'
'Of course,' Brunetti answered neutrally, then, when Antonin did not continue, he asked, 'What has he done?'
The priest pulled his lips together at this and shook his head, as if Brunetti had asked a question too difficult, or impossible, to answer. Finally he said, 'It's not that he's done anything. It's more that he's thinking of doing something.'
Brunetti began to consider possibilities: the young man - he assumed he was young - could be considering a crime of some sort. Or he was involved with people it was dangerous to know. Perhaps he was caught up with drugs or the traffic in drugs.
'What is it he's thinking of doing?' Brunetti finally asked.
'Selling his apartment.'
Brunetti knew his fellow Venetians were considered a house-proud people, but he was not aware that it had been made a crime to sell one. Well, not unless it did not belong to you, that is.
He decided to interrupt Antonin here, or this back and forth could continue for more time than he would have patience for. 'Before we go on with this, perhaps you could tell me if this sale or anything to do with it is aiminal?'
Antonin gave this some thought before he answered, 'Not strictly, no.'
'I've no idea what that means.'
'Of course, of course. It's his apartment, so he has the legal right to sell it ’
'Legal?' Brunetti asked, picking up on the priest's emphasis of the word.
'He inherited it from his uncle eight years ago, when he was twenty. He lives there with his companion and their daughter.' 'Is it his or theirs?'
'His. She moved in with him six years ago, but the apartment is in his name.'
'But they're not married?' Brunetti assumed they were not, but it would be better to get this clear.
'No.'
'Does she have residence at the address where they're
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