The Girl with the Crystal Eyes by Barbara Baraldi

Author:Barbara Baraldi [Baraldi, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2011-02-25T00:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The fridge is empty, as always.

He runs down the stairs and orders the usual Chinese takeaway from the place downstairs: Cantonese rice and spicy prawns.

He pays five hundred Euros a month in rent for a shoebox that constantly stinks of grease and yet he still eats it, that fried food.

Supper by the light of the street lamps, sitting in the armchair by the window. He likes to eat in the semi- darkness, without laying the table, while sipping a beer. There's always beer in the house.

Then he has a steaming hot shower. It's one of the few pleasures he allows himself every day.

He hasn't shaved for a week. His beard is now tough. He always means to wait for the shaving foam to soften it so as not to risk cutting himself, but he never does. Just takes time to rinse his hands, then shave and, every time, he cuts himself. As he does now.

Hanging on the wall is an old theatre bill. He found it once in an attic when he was carrying out a search, and he took it away with him. It was left there, covered in dust, dating from 1976, with yellowing marks from the Sellotape and one corner almost torn off. Brutal Justice. What a film.

What a film, fuck, and then the ending - it was wild!

He remembers when he saw it the first time. He was just a boy. Sitting on the sofa, his feet didn't touch the ground. He was being good, sitting quietly and watching the television. It was Sunday afternoon and he had been swallowed up by the television screen as he watched a car chase. But what a car chase! Filmed with that workman like, high-speed shooting that cut across curves like the sharp scalpel of a surgeon.

He had leant to the right or the left, according to the bends, almost as if he himself were part of the chase.

He was on the side of the police. He was a cool guy, that Merli, with icy, fearless eyes; rough methods. One of those who see that justice is truly done.

And then the grand finale, when everyone might lose everything. Just one mistake, and it would all be over.

He has often watched that film again, but whenever he thinks about it, he only remembers that first time, on that Sunday afternoon when he decided that he would be like that, like the blond policeman with the moustache, without fear and without pity.

He does feel fear, however. He tried to grow a moustache but it didn't really suit his face, and as for pity… he doesn't exactly know what it is, pity. Occasionally he feels a tightening in his chest, but he doesn't know if you can call that pity. The only thing he is sure of is that when he sees certain things he feels an anger growing inside him, and if he got hold of…

The intercom sounds. It's Tommasi; he is waiting for him downstairs. Marconi dries his face and splashes on aftershave.

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