Wu Ming - 54

Recently the two subjects have been responsible for an act of sabotage against the Foreign Legion in Marseille, selling a consignment of tins of contaminated beans to a military transport ship leaving for Saigon. Dysentery decimated the crew, forcing the vessel to disembark many of the troops in Suez to allow them to recover in hospital.

There can be no doubt that these are two ambiguous figures, parasites without any ethical principles. Nonetheless, it should be stressed that for this very reason they are perfect for the task that they are to perform. This is proved by the extreme ease with which they managed to infiltrate the entourage of Emperor Bao Dai. Furthermore, the personal experience of the two subjects should guarantee their operational ability and allow us to keep the Emperor under constant and total observation, at least until the work at the conference is finished.

J.A. (in subsequent communications ‘Vladimir’) and L.M. (in subsequent communications ‘Estragon’) will follow Bao Dai’s every move and report to the undersigned on a weekly basis. Payments will be made to an anonymous account in a Geneva bank (see Appendix 1).

Chapter 16

Bologna, Bar Aurora, 23 May

‘Come on then, let’s get going.’ The spoon rings out against the bottle and Capponi’s rough voice grates out its comments. Hungary 7, England 1, straight from the radio. Hard to think about anything else.

‘I spoke to Benassi this morning, and this is his suggestion: he pays the subscription, we pay for the set and the aerial.’ He quickly raises a hand and stifles everyone’s protests. ‘Silence! We’re not in the marketplace! Listen: as comrade Bortolotti suggests, on important occasions the price of drinks will be upped. Benassi suggests that this money be used to cover the subscription, until each of us has paid his quota.’

Sunday. Extraordinary opening. Absent without justification: no one. No one can remember more than two such meetings at the Bar Aurora. The first one in 1945, to decide whether the bar was going to return to its glorious old name or find another, more modern one. And the second during the days of the attack on Togliatti, on a more delicate matter.

The café strike, proclaimed by Garibaldi and observed by more or less everyone, provided the first results. Plenary session of the regulars and first conciliatory offer from comrade Benassi.

But Melega refuses to be charmed. ‘Sorry, Capponi, but can you run that past me again? We pay for the television out of our own pockets. When we come to see it, we pay a surtax on the coffee, and with that surtax, which is still our money, Benassi covers his costs? It sounds like a swindle to me, I can’t speak for everyone else.’

About ten heads nod, convinced. ‘Melega is right!’

‘It’s a swindle!’

‘Who does this guy Benassi think he’s trying to kid?’

Excited by this consensus, Melega spreads his legs in the pose of Pecos Bill. ‘One of the two: either he pays, and then we hike the price to get his expenses back, or we pay, and the prices don’t get hiked.’

Capponi strikes the bottle as though it were an anvil. Bottone’s counter-suggestion is quick to come. ‘I say: fine. We pay. But,’ he counts on his fingers, ‘no surtax for anyone who’s contributed to the collection, and all the extra revenue to be placed in a communal kitty for at least three years, because if our income exceeds our outgoings, I don’t know, either we lease out the table football or we buy a ticket for the stadium.’

Convinced looks are exchanged.

Someone insists on paying in instalments. ‘Listen, lad, if you ask me for the 5,000 now, all at once, I’ll have to sit this one out, because in August I’m going on holiday with my family, ten days in Torre Pedrera and that’s 40,000 in a third-rate B&B. Can you tell me where I’m going to find the money for the collection? I’ve barely got two coins to rub together.’

‘Come off it, Marmiroli,’ someone else comments acidly, ‘do you tighten your belt all year to go to the Riviera? Give your kids more to eat, they’ll starve to death, they’re like dry twigs already.’

Nicola has done enough shouting, and lets his brother reply: ‘The instalment idea isn’t too bad, but it might be better to accept Gas’s suggestion: a single payment, and a saving of almost 80,000 lire on a luxury model.’

Gas’s scalp, freshly shaven, is shinier than ever. But most eyes turn towards Garibaldi, who spreads his arms dolefully and takes a sip to control himself.

‘Ok, ok, what are you all staring at?’ Then, with a burst of pride, he jumps to his feet and points his finger at the bald man. ‘But be careful, ok?’

He must be sure of himself, our entrepreneur. He doesn’t say a word. He takes a long draw on his cigar and arrogantly blows away the smoke. He has accepted the challenge.

‘Ok, then,’ Pierre goes on. ‘The approximate figure is 250,000. The collection will raise 200,000 at the most. We’ll have to work out what comes out of the other initiatives. Not least because time’s marching on, and the World Cup starts in mid-June. Bottone, what about your tarocchino tournament?’

‘We’ll win, easy. First prize: a nice Langhirano ham, we’ve already found a buyer for it, and it’ll make us about seven or eight thousand lire. Let’s hear what Benfenati has to tell us about the contribution from the Section.’

Silence falls, even with the bottle untapped. First, because what’s at stake is a share in at least 20,000 lire; second, because everyone knows that the problem has been hotly debated, above all for ideological reasons, and we’re all expecting a definitive political judgement; third, because Benfenati is one of those people who can wet the bed and say it was sweat, and people will discuss his intervention, turn it around however you like, in the days to come.

‘It gave me a lot of pleasure to hear that Benassi in person is going to pay the subscription charge. We would have refused straight away.’ The voice rises over the buzz of surprise. ‘You know what we’ve discovered, with the other comrades, reading the text of the convention carefully? Listen to this. ’ He rummages in his shirt pocket and takes out a piece of paper: ‘“Clause 16: In case of financial or economic information of special importance, and information of general interest, the concessionary body will follow the instructions of the Chairman.” Pretty, isn’t it? Just so we know who we’re dealing with.’

This surprise reading prompts comments. In the midst of ‘what bollocks’, ‘did you hear that?’, ‘fascists!’, Walterún’s voice addresses his neighbour.

‘Garibaldi, I don’t get it: are they paying, or are they not?’

Benfenati, like a good primary school teacher, has radar in his ears and continues without missing a beat: ‘Comrade Santagata rightly wonders whether we’re paying. Let’s get to the nub, then. Today we don’t know much about television, but like any technical innovation, we know it will be useful if used judiciously, and damaging otherwise. Take the radio. Very useful, everyone agrees. But have you ever listened on a Tuesday evening? Have you heard that yankee fop who answers to the name of Mike Bongiorno? “How old are you? Are you married? What do you do for a living? Fine, Signor Grimaldi, tell us, for 450,000 lire, which liquid are they talking about in this advertisement?”’

‘Hey, good idea!’ Gaggia explodes. ‘If he rang us up we’d have solved the problem.’

‘Comrade, what are you on about! That’s exactly what they’re trying to tell you: that nothing involves any effort now, that life is one big joke, provided you know what’s really important, like learning the words of ‘Vola colomba’ off by heart, devoting an in-depth study to the life of some princess or other, or taking an interest in the fantastic properties of Colgate toothpaste. If he phoned me up, I’d ask the questions, you bet: “Tell me, Signor Bongiorno, for 400,000 lire, how come my brother broke his back in the field and now he lives on a basic pension of 4,000 lire? In your opinion, how does he do it?’ Those are the questions that need asking. However, to cut a long story short, specifically given the ambiguity of the new machine, we have not reached a common position, and we have decided to pay according to our consciences. Each man for himself, each one his own share.’