Malcolm Bradbury - Doctor Criminale

‘Well, even so, every assistance was offered,’ said Codicil, rather hastily, ‘Witness coffee and cakes at a first-rank Viennese café, for which incidentally I coughed up the tab. For two days I sacrificed to him the services of my invaluable servant Gerstenbacker, to make sure his each want and whim was satisfied.’ ‘Aren’t you good?’ said Mrs Magno. ‘However from the start I was uneasy,’ Codicil went on, ‘I could not accept the project was, well, correct.’ ‘Not kosher?’ asked Mrs Magno. ‘It stank a little somewhere, to speak frankly,’ said Codicil, ‘Happily I have friends worldwide. I called a good old mate colleague in London who asked some enquiries. Within hours the whole pathetic deception was exposed. This was not some great TV company, as the lout had said. It was a front only, run by women and children. It made programmes for speculation, like some street-corner tout. It kept a postal address in a bad part of Soho, the most degenerate part of London. Perhaps you know it, though I hope not.’ ‘Only by reputation, honey, I’m afraid,’ said Mrs Magno, ‘So you mean the whole thing is some kind of scam?’ ‘I fear so,’ said Codicil, ‘And worse was to come.’

‘Do you mind if I say something?’ I asked. ‘You’ll get your turn, honey,’ said Mrs Magno, ‘I want to hear what the professor knows.’ ‘I discovered this smut-hound had hired some professional seductress to corrupt my young assistant, a youth of blameless virtue, and force him to speak calumnies about me. Well, naturally in the interests of justice and decency I attempted to stop this television adventure. I forbade it, even with the British Ambassador. All this was made totally clear. Now I come to Barolo; by the way, I am so sorry to be late, but a professor in my shoes has many demanding duties, examining students and so on . . .’ ‘Don’t worry, we weren’t expecting you,’ said Mrs Magno. ‘I come, and find that by some new imposture he has settled his backside here and is working with impunity on this forbidden business.’ ‘Can I ask a question?’ I said, ‘I’d just like to know why Professor Codicil thinks he has the authority to try to ban a serious television programme.’

‘Just a minute, kid,’ said Mrs Magno, ‘Massimo, how did this guy get here?’ ‘I fear an unfortunate error was committeda,’ said Monza, looking at me furiously, ‘I received a cable from Budapesta, from our visita here, saying he wished to write about the congressa in an importanta London newspapa. Now we find that papa does not even exista.’ ‘The paper doesn’t exista?’ said Mrs Magno, turning to me, ‘Oh, honey, looks like you’re really in the shit. So what are you doing here?’ Before I could reply, Monza interrupted. ‘In my opiniona,’ he said, ‘he is exploiting the famed wonders of Barolo to take a holiday with his foreign mistressa.’ ‘I don’t believe it, a bimbo in the story too,’ said Mrs Magno, looking at me with growing interest, ‘Okay, shall we let him talk?’ ‘Personally I would boot him away from here without a further word,’ said Codicil, ‘In the modern world there is far too much of this contempt for our privacies, I think.’

‘Okay, prof, just let me handle it,’ said Mrs Magno, look­ing me over, ‘Is it true you lied your way into here?’ ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I admit my paper folded. It went bankrupt a couple of weeks ago. I still thought I could publish an article.’ ‘And the TV?’ ‘The television project is perfectly real. It’s a serious arts programme in the British television series “Great Thinkers of the Age of Glasnost”,’ I said. ‘Love the title,’ said Mrs Magno, ‘And I thought Brideshead was terrific, by the way. But why lie to get here?’ ‘It seemed the best way to get close to Doctor Criminale,’ I said. ‘You see!’ cried Codicil. ‘What I’d like to know is why Professor Codicil is so opposed to this programme,’ I said, ‘Doctor Criminale is our leading philosopher. Why shouldn’t television make a good serious programme about him?’ ‘What do you say to that, prof?’ asked Mrs Magno, turning to Codicil. ‘I think the answer stands plainly before you,’ said Codicil, ‘This tout and doorstep-hopper you see there, a hack posing under the guise of gentleman, do you think he would make such a good programme? Has Bazlo given his permission for this programme? I think that is the first courtesy, no?’ ‘Well, has he?’ asked Mrs Magno.

‘Not exactly,’ I had to admit, ‘First of all we had to explore whether there really was a programme there.’ ‘You see, a backshop operation,’ said Codicil. ‘But why don’t we ask him?’ I suggested, ‘I think Bazlo Criminale might be delighted to see his work and his wisdom brought to a much wider audience.’ At this Monza coughed and straightened his tie uncomfortably. ‘Unfortunately this is a little difficulta,’ he said to Mrs Magno after a moment, ‘I regret that Dottore Criminale has not been seena since the concerta last nighta.’ ‘You’re kidding, Massimo,’ said Mrs Magno, ‘You don’t mean you’ve lost him? You’ve lost Bazlo Criminale?’ ‘Perhaps not quite losta,’ said Monza, looking even more uncomfortable, ‘He disappears quite often, and one of my assistants could be looking after him. You remember Miss Belli?’ Mrs Magno laughed. ‘Great, I love it,’ she said, ‘You’ve lost Bazlo and the beautiful Belli?’ ‘We are doing everything to finda them,’ said Monza, ‘The policia, everything.’ ‘I think you’d better get your ass unshackled, Massimo,’ said Mrs Magno, ‘Or you won’t have too much congress left. These people only come for him.’ ‘Meanwhile may I ask what you intend to do with our arrant doorstep-hopper here?’ demanded Codicil. ‘Oh, him,’ said Mrs Magno, turning to me with with the managerial decisiveness for which she was famous, ‘You, punk, you’re out, pronto. And just don’t let me see you ever again anywhere near Barolo, okay?’ The butler reappeared beside me; in the corner Codicil smiled grimly.

The padrona was as good as her word, and, even before the morning session of the congress had started, Ildiko and I were outside the gates of the Villa Barolo. ‘They heard, and were abasht, and up they sprang’ was how John Milton put it, I remember, when he was telling a somewhat similar tale. Our luggage too had been dumped in a careless and undistinguished pile outside the well-locked villa gates; we picked it up and walked disconsolately down into the village. This was how we found ourselves, before lunchtime, unpacking in a dusty back-room at the Gran Hotel Barolo, the only hotel on the island open out of season. ‘Why why why?’ I demanded bitterly, as I unloaded my socks and knickers yet again, ‘What’s wrong with making a programme about Bazlo Criminale?’ ‘Maybe you should have explained to Monza what you were making,’ said Ildiko. ‘You were the one who told me to be a little Hungarian,’ I said. ‘I hope you do not blame me,’ said Ildiko, ‘Sometimes you can be a bit too much Hungarian.’

‘You realize we’ve been expelled, booted out, no more villa,’ I said, ‘The padrona has forbidden us ever to set foot in it again. And all because of that bastard Codicil.’ The professor?’ asked Ildiko, ‘He seemed quite a nice man.’ ‘He’s not a nice man,’ I said, ‘That man has decided he wants to destroy me. My comfort, my programme, my career.’ ‘Why do you think you are so important?’ asked Ildiko. ‘I’m not,’ I said, ‘He’s a professorial elephant and I’m just a flea. He ought to be not seeing his students in Vienna. So why come all this way just to get us thrown out of Barolo?’ ‘Perhaps he did not come for you at all,’ said Ildiko, ‘By the way, I do not think this is such a nice room as the other.’ ‘Why did he come, then?’ I asked, ‘Did he say anything to you last night?’ ‘Last night?’ asked Ildiko, ‘What about last night?’ ‘You were with him last night, chatting him up in the lounge when I came in, remember?’ ‘Oh, when I came back from the shopping,’ said Ildiko, ‘You want to see my shopping?’ ‘No, not really,’ I said, ‘I want to know all about Codicil.’ ‘No, you do not?’ said Ildiko, standing there with an expression of deep disappointment, ‘Pig!’ ‘All right, I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘Go ahead, show me your shopping.’