Ilja Pfeijffer - La Superba

“When you came in, did you see the copper nameplates of all the people with offices in this palazzo? Do you have any idea of my network? You might stand a chance in Strasbourg, Brussels, or at the international court in The Hague — if you had enough money for substantive proceedings against our legal team. But in Genoa you don’t stand the slightest chance. Not against me. I seldom lose cases, and I’ve never lost a case when my good name was at stake.”

“What do you want from us?” I asked.

“Two forty.”

“We’d already reached two twenty with your son.”

“My son’s an idiot and I’ve already initiated proceedings to impound all of your possessions.”

“Why should I be afraid of you, Mr. Parodi?”

“I don’t want to insult you. You’re undoubtedly a respected person in your home country. You’re a writer, aren’t you? A poet even, look at that. Has your poetry been translated into Italian? I’d like to peruse some of your verses sometime, when I have nothing better to do. No? There you go, we’re back to that. It’s exactly what I’m trying to make clear to you. You are in Genoa, where my friends and friends of my friends have been calling the shots for centuries, and although I’d like to compliment you once again on the way you attempted to adopt our way of thinking, you will always remain an outsider to us. Worse still, a foreigner. We can tolerate your presence in our city up to a certain degree, and even welcome it as long as you stick to your own business. But as soon as you start stepping into our territory, you’re worth little more than your average Moroccan or Senegalese fellow — an irritating but relatively minor problem we can easily rid the world of — we have plenty of experience in that.

“That leaves me to thank you for a fruitful discussion. If you’ll allow me to summarize the conclusion we have mutually reached, I’ll look forward to your transfer of two hundred and forty thousand euros within, let’s say, a fortnight. Is that reasonable enough for you? And if you fail to fulfill the obligation, which naturally seems highly unlikely to me, I will, in accordance with our mutual understanding, be charging you for breaches you never even dreamed existed.”

30.

Although I understood that the situation was worse than I’d thought, I wasn’t worried. I had my magical contact after all. Harry Potter himself was on my side. I called him immediately. He didn’t pick up. The next day I tried again and a few more times the day after.

The day after, I bumped into him by chance on Via Canneto Il Lungo. He was walking his dog and tried to ignore me. I invited him for a coffee. He couldn’t refuse.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“Are we friends or not?”

He stared ahead, silently.

“Alright, I get you, Alfonso. We’re quits. You don’t owe me anything. But I need your advice again.”

“On the Parodi matter?”

“Have you already heard about it?”

“Of course.”

“And what do you think?”

He shrugged and looked away.

“But can you help me, Alfonso?”

“Do you know what, Leonardo? You screwed up.”

“I know, Alfonso. That’s exactly why I sought out your illustrious presence, if you’ll forgive me the expression.”

He didn’t smile.

“I’m a foreigner, after all.”

He still didn’t smile.

“I’ll make you an offer, Alfonso, by way of a return service for the favor I’m asking you now. Parodi threatened me, but together we are stronger than he. Listen, Alfonso. I’m offering you a partnership.”

“What does that mean?”

“Whatever you want it to mean, Alfonso. We’ll figure something out. We’ll get rich, you and me, with Walter. But first you have to help me neutralize this old family. You and all your contacts, Alfonso. Are you listening?”

Alfonso wasn’t listening.

“Show me your hand, Alfonso.”

“Funny joke.”

“What’s the matter? Tell me, please.”

“You made a mistake, Leonardo, a big mistake.”

“I know. But I’ve already admitted it. I never should have shown that contract to Il Varese. But I’ve learned my lesson.”

“That’s not the problem.”

“What is then?”

“You’re a foreigner, Leonardo. You don’t understand where the power lies.”

“I’ll admit to that, too. But that’s why I’m talking to you. I want to learn. Tell me what you think.”

He stared at me thoughtfully. His dog started barking at another dog going by. He had to get up to calm the situation. After that he sat down again.

“Do you remember what I told you during our last conversation about the root of my own power?”

“The Freemasons?”

“She’s the second highest in the organization, after me.”

“Who?”

“She’s exceptionally well-connected. She’s the personal advisor and a friend of the mayor. The mayor doesn’t do anything without consulting with her first.”

“Who are you talking about, Alfonso?”

“And you insulted her. She’s a personal friend of mine. I still owe her a few favors. And you insulted her to the core. You emptied a bucket of ice over her head quite publicly.”

I had to laugh at the recollection.

“Don’t laugh, Leonardo. You’ve made an enemy of one of the most powerful women in Genoa. And you’ve made an enemy of one of my most faithful political allies and one of my very dearest friends. I can no longer help you. More than that, you are now my enemy. This isn’t Amsterdam or Berlin. This is Genoa. Good luck living the dream.”

31.

I met up with Walter in La Lepre for a crisis meeting. His triumphant optimism had evaporated. He was afraid. He loved Genoa like I did but could no longer see a future for himself in the city. The only thing he could see were damage claims.

“But don’t leave me here on my own, Walter. The fight has only just begun.”

“I’ll never leave you alone,” he said. But his eyes told a different story.

“One day we’ll conquer this city. The city needs us.”

“Do you have your credit card on you, Ilja?”

“Yes, why?”

“Maybe we can go to the Piazza delle Erbe. You can have another drink on the terrace and I’ll pop into the Internet café for a sec. I’ll pay you back, don’t worry.”

After half an hour he came back out. He gave me back my credit card.

“I owe you eighty euros.”

“Come and sit down. We’ll have another drink and chat some more.”

“I don’t have time right now. I’ll see you later.”

“What did you actually do in the Internet café?”

“I had to book something.” He kissed me on the cheek. “See you soon.” It looked like he had tears in his eyes.

That evening he sent me a text message. “Pisa. Airport. Sorry.” And the next day another from a foreign number. “Good luck living the dream. Genoa will always be in my heart.”

1.

I met Djiby the first time in Via di Pré, where else? In the daytime, it is possibly Genoa’s most beautiful street. “Daytime” is a rather vague word that I only use as a contrast to the night. Via di Pré is at its prettiest in the early evening on a summer’s day, when balmy twilight descends on the dark alleyway. This is the hour when everyone has just woken up from their siesta and goes to have a look on the street corner, yawning, at how others are getting on with their work. And others are getting on with their work. Halal butchers work with a great racket under the arches. Next door, loud squabbling as the Afro hair of hurricane-proof black women is straightened — women who gossip in Africa’s great multitude of languages about the people who had their hair straightened the day before, joking about how fat the asses in question were and how lazy their husbands. Fruit swells in the shops. Here, just about everything is for sale for nearly nothing. This is Africa.