Winter Swallows by Maurizio de Giovanni

Author:Maurizio de Giovanni
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Europa Editions
Published: 2022-11-23T00:00:00+00:00

Si duorme o si nun duorme, bella mia,

siente pe’ ’nu mumento chesta voce:

chi te vo’ bene assaje sta mmiez’a via

pe’ te canta’ ’na canzuncella doce . . .

(Whether you sleep or don’t sleep, my lovely,

Listen to this voice for a moment!

The one who loves you so much stands here in the street

To sing a beautiful song for you.)

The refrain was nicely modulated by a fine tenor voice, and Maione, with a smile, felt himself once again the master of his city.

Once he reached his destination, he became suddenly aware of the early hour and wondered whether the person he was going to see would be up and about, resigning himself to the likelihood of a wait; but as he reached the top of the stairs, panting as usual and slightly dizzy as the blood rushed to his head, he found the door left ajar. The song that he’d heard coming from who knew what obscure corner of the neighborhood came to a halt, and a familiar voice spoke: “Brigadie’, come right in! Make yourself comfortable!”

Maione made his way inside through the myriad items of Chinese furniture and bric-a-brac that furnished the small apartment and found himself in a small room whose existence he had never suspected. The room looked out upon a narrow balcony.

“Bambine’, what is this place? I didn’t know you actually had a terrace.”

The muffled atmosphere gave the personage seated out on the tiny balcony in a small armchair an even more surreal appearance than usual. She looked like a ghost of indeterminate gender in the midst of the Amazonian jungle. Her long hair was bound up in a high bun, with just two curls dangling over her ears; her earrings dangled alongside them, undulating back and forth, accompanying every small movement of her head; her long, slightly equine profile; her large, liquid eyes, which accentuated the resemblance to a purebred horse; all of this bundled up in a red satin robe with embroidered flowers, tone on tone, from which extended a pair of hairy, skinny, gracefully crossed legs.

Maione sighed, wondering to himself as he always did what crime he had committed to deserve having to put up with that sight.

“Eh, Brigadie’,” said Bambinella, “there are many things you don’t know about this girl, and let me assure you, many of them are things that yours truly would gladly make available to you, if you wished to find out more; I’m quite sure that they’d make you a happy man. I never let anyone see this room; I come here when I want to spend some time alone, and I’m happy to tell you that that’s not a common occurrence.”

The policeman looked around. The furnishings here were different from the rest of the apartment. Sober, almost spartan. A table, two chairs; a photograph on the wall depicting a smiling priest surrounded by several children dressed in smocks with bows at the collar. Then the little balcony, which looked out from the back of the building.

“Why are you sitting out here? And how did you know I was climbing the stairs?”

Bambinella sighed theatrically.

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