The Garden of Angels by David Hewson

Author:David Hewson [Hewson, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Severn House Publishers
Published: 2020-10-11T23:00:00+00:00

PART FOUR

For once my father was there at the table when I came down to breakfast. It was nearly nine, early for me when there was no school, late for him. He looked up from his coffee and a plate filled with the crumbs of a cornetto from his favourite place, Tonello.

‘When do you go back to class, Nico?’

‘I think … Monday. Sorry about all this, Dad.’

‘Not me you need to say sorry to, is it? The poor kid you beat up.’

‘I didn’t beat him up. That was Scamozzi. I know I should have tried to stop him. It won’t happen again.’

He scowled.

‘Scamozzi. I can’t believe you hang around with scum like that. You know his family were Fascists during the war?’ He grimaced, as if a bad memory had returned. ‘Given half the chance they’d go that way again.’

‘Someone said we were Fascists once.’

His face lit up with fury and that was rare.

‘Who said that?’

‘Some kid. I don’t remember. Not Grandpa. His father.’

‘Tell them not to be so stupid.’

‘What did we do?’

‘I wasn’t even born. Why ask me?’

‘I know. But—’

‘We survived. That’s enough, isn’t it? Plenty didn’t.’

I tried the line about writing a school project and explained I’d wanted to talk to Chiara about what happened back then but she wasn’t interested. He listened, eyes wide, clearly amazed I was even considering such a thing. When I stuttered to a halt he asked, ‘Why on earth would you want to do that?’

‘I thought it might be interesting.’

‘No one wants to talk about it.’

‘That’s why I thought it might be interesting.’

Then came the short lecture. Italy had swallowed the lies of the tyrant Mussolini. Il Duce had become the toy of Hitler. The country was divided and stayed like that in a way long after the war was over while different political factions fought for control.

‘When I was your age people were thinking maybe the Russians would come and we’d go commie. We had the Years of Lead and terrorism, idiots on both sides, bombs in the street. That’s all over, thank goodness. People don’t want to talk about the past. What’s the point? It’s nearly a new century, for pity’s sake.’

‘Don’t we learn? Isn’t that what history’s for?’

‘Not that history. You don’t learn anything from insanity. Now …’ He got up from the table and checked his watch. ‘We’re both going to visit your grandfather. I’ve got a plane to catch afterwards. Won’t be back for a few days. Don’t get into trouble.’

This time it wasn’t a girlfriend but a meeting in London. Something to do with banks. I’d been planning on going round to the camera shop to see if my films were back from the day before. It seemed that would have to wait. All the same when we arrived at the hospital he wanted to talk to Nonno Paolo on his own for a while.

I sat outside the room staring at the lagoon and the walls of San Michele, unable to stop myself wondering how long

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