Valerio Manfredi - The Ancient Curse

‘There’s got to be an explanation.’

‘The only possible thing I can think of is that…’

‘What?’ Fabrizio urged her.

‘It’s a chimera.’

‘Come on, Sonia.’

‘No, you don’t understand. I’m not talking about a mythological creature. In biological terms, chimera means the product of genetic mutation, a fusion of two distinct sets of genes. It happens entirely by chance and cannot be replicated. It can occur in any species, animal or vegetable.’

‘Like a white tiger, for instance?’

‘No, that’s just a lack of pigmentation, what we commonly refer to as an albino. I’m talking about a deep mutation of the genes that results in distinctive physical characteristics, particularly in terms of shape and size. Veterinarians in the eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries came up with the term to describe a calf with two heads or a goat born with one horn instead of two. Today we can get similar results through genetic manipulation, but sometimes the same thing occurs by chance, spontaneously.’

Fabrizio fell silent for a few moments as he looked out of the window. The weather was overcast and humid, and the light filtered in dimly through the window. Inside the cafe-goers came and went, took a look at the paper, even stopped to play a hand of cards. Everything seemed normal and yet the people around him seemed suspended in a false, temporary dimension: like extras in a film that he didn’t know the beginning or the end of. He saw their lips moving but he couldn’t hear what they were saying. They seemed to be hampered in their actions, to be moving in slow motion, as if the atmosphere of the cafe and the city itself had become as dense as water.

‘Are you listening to me?’ asked Sonia, placing a hand on his arm.

‘Yes, of course. It’s the coincidence that’s not explicable. The live animal is identical to your virtual reconstruction. If you had seen it, I would have thought it had conditioned your work.’

‘Chance events,’ said Sonia in a less than convinced tone, ‘can really surprise you at times.’

You could see that she didn’t believe what she was saying, but Fabrizio pretended to agree. He paid the bill and they left to walk over to the museum. They parted at the entrance, Sonia heading downstairs and Fabrizio climbing the stairs to his second-floor office. He ran into Francesca as she left the restoration lab and raised his eyebrows as if to ask, ‘Anything new?’

The girl shrugged and shook her head.

Fabrizio entered his office, gathered his notes and returned to the library. He’d had an idea he wanted to check out, so he headed straight for the museum catalogue and turned to the section about excavations to search for details on how the statue of the boy had been discovered. He began to read avidly, taking hurried notes now and then. When he finished, he realized that it was lunchtime and that he was alone in the library.

He looked over his notes and consulted the description of the excavation site. The brief report referred to a property owned by the Ghirardini counts, reminding Fabrizio of Signora Pina’s story about the palace in town, but did not give a specific location. Strange, this lack of precision in such a serious scholarly publication.

He went to the catalogue of topographical maps, picked one out and photocopied it. He placed it in his briefcase and walked towards the exit, stopping on the way to pick up his messages. It was almost two o’clock and he walked over to Pina’s trattoria, after stopping to buy a couple of newspapers.

‘What will you have to eat, Doctor?’ asked the signora solicitously.

‘Some vegetables will be fine, with a little prosciutto. And mineral water.’

‘I’ll bring you a nice light lunch,’ Pina said approvingly.

Fabrizio took the newspapers he’d bought from his briefcase: a national daily and a local paper. In the former all he found was a short piece in the middle somewhere with the headline ‘Mysterious deaths in the Volterra countryside – police investigations turn up no leads’. About twenty lines followed, containing very little information; the victims were identified by their initials.

Nearly half a page was dedicated to the case in the local rag, although it spoke of two, not three, deaths. Reggiani must have managed to keep the reporters away for the time being. The article reported the two murders at length, but it was evident that whoever had written it didn’t know the details and that he’d been fed a line about a settling of accounts among Sardinian shepherds who frequented the area. People without family ties to the locals whose passing would not be a strong blow to the community.

Although the authorities had succeeded in keeping the situation quiet, holding back on the truth, with all its traumatic implications, the fear hovering through the city streets was palpable. People gathered in small clusters, speaking in low tones. The news would soon be out; there was no way to keep it under wraps for much longer.

He felt guilty about Francesca. He had asked her for such a huge favour but had hardly spoken to her since. He hated to think he’d involved her in such a dangerous situation and realized it was best that the two of them not be seen together too frequently. He promised himself to call her as soon as he could.

‘Here you are, Doctor. Vegetables and prosciutto,’ said Signora Pina, putting two plates on the table along with a bottle of mineral water.

‘Won’t you join me?’ asked Fabrizio.

She plonked her considerable derriere on a chair and leaned two large breasts on the table. At twenty she must have had the whole male population of Volterra turning as she passed.

‘There’s no life in this town once the tourists have gone!’ she complained. ‘At the weekend, if you’re lucky, a few stragglers from Pisa or Colle Val d’Elsa, but otherwise this place is dead. Will you be staying in Volterra long, Doctor?’

‘At least a few more days. Maybe a week or so. It depends on my work.’

‘I understand… but we certainly could use more young blood like you around here. You’re such a nice young man and you know so many things.’

‘Listen, Signora Pina, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Do you remember telling me about the lights?’

‘Ah, you’re making fun of me now, but I assure you-’

‘No, no,’ he said. ‘I’m serious, really. I was wondering whether you’ve seen them again. Last night, for instance.’

‘Good Lord! How did you guess?’

‘Guess what?’

‘That I saw them again last night. Quite late at night.’

‘I see. What time was it, if I may ask?’

‘It must have been… Look, I was about to close. And so it was well after midnight, it must have been about one, I’d say. That’s right. About one.’

‘And what did you see exactly?’

‘I told you. I saw lights blinking through the grating that covers the air vents over the cellar. Not very bright or anything. You could barely see them, actually. But, thank the Lord, my eyes are still good.’

‘Did you notice anything else? I don’t know, suspicious noises or anyone coming or going?’

‘No, I don’t think so… Wait, I did hear the sound of an engine, like a delivery truck or something of the sort. But there’s always one of those around.’

Fabrizio remembered he’d heard the sound of a car engine the evening that he left the Rovaio site and that he’d heard the same thing last night as well, before he spotted the bicycle heading down the road towards his house. Nothing but a meaningless coincidence, naturally.

‘May I ask you a favour, Signora Pina?’ said Fabrizio. ‘If it happens again, could you call me? I’ll leave you my mobile number.’