Juggling the Stars by Tim Parks Read Free Book Online

grab the thing.
    â€˜Be there in a minute!’ He had to dash over to his grandparents in the next block, from where the family was setting off to Cortina for the weekend. So nobody, Morris thought, with a lucidity quite fatally cool, would be back in the house again till Monday. And already he had decided. He was going to steal something.
    â€˜I’ll show myself out,’ he shouted to Gregorio, who was hurrying up to his room now for his skiing outfit.
    â€˜Bene, arrivederci a martedi.’
    â€˜Arrivederci.’
    With one calm look about the room and particularly at the windows, Morris lifted the little bronze statue from its pedestal and jammed the thing to the very bottom of his document case, nearly splitting the leather seams. The bulge was obscenely obvious. Should he unlatch the window to give an explanation of the crime? Morris started in that direction, but Gregorio’s quick feet were already padding down the stairs, Morris turned sharply to the door, then changed his mind and stopped still. Was there time to put the thing back before the boy appeared? Was there? No.
    â€˜Look, do you need any help down the stairs with your bags?’
    Gregorio had appeared at the bottom of spiral steps, laden with gear. The absence of the statuette from its little pedestal seemed horribly, glaringly obvious. And likewise the huge bulge in his document case. What a fool! Morris deliberately looked at the pedestal, inviting the worst. But Gregorio was already gliding down the snowy slopes above Cortina with his ‘friend’, twisting and turning through gulleys, slithering round beginners. And perhaps he had never really noticed the statuette anyway. Morris felt prickled all over with sweat and excitement. His buttocks were tight together in his trousers.
    â€˜Here, let me take the poles at least.’
    â€˜Bene, grazie.'
    They were out of the apartment on the stone stairs that led down to the courtyard. Morris watched Gregorio turn the key over two, three times in the lock, then use another tiny key which must be to activate the alarm. A small green light glowed out beside the door. Then they went down to where the fountain played over the faun’s flanks in the twilight and out into Via Emilei. Gregorio’s father had the Mercedes packed up and ready at the corner of Via Fama.
    â€œBuona sera, Signore, Signora.’
    â€˜Buona sera, Morees! Come sta? Tutto bene, il lavoro?'
    â€˜Grazie, grazie,’
Gregorio was saying as Morris laid the poles alongside others on the roof-rack.
    â€˜You must come with us - one time,’ the signora said and smiled indulgently at their boy’s teacher. Her face, under a thatch of peroxide blonde, was absurdly young, all powders and creams most probably, Morris thought, and glancing down at his case he caught a faint, tell-tale gleam of bronze from the bottom. Anybody could see it.
    â€˜I don’t ski, I'm afraid.’
    â€˜Gregorio will teach you.’
    â€˜Si, si,’ the boy agreed. He was taller than Morris and smiled down with long teeth.
    â€˜Gregorio likes you very much,’ the father said, as if this was some kind of terrific compliment. ‘We’d like you to come.’
    â€˜I’ll look forward to that very much,’ Morris said.
    They would never invite him in a million years.

5
    Late the following evening, Morris walked quickly down Via Portone Borsari, Via Fama, Via Emilei, and found the great oaken doors of the palazzo which Gregorio’s family owned and in part of which they lived. It was near midnight. He hit a bell at random,
Famiglia Zone
.
    After a few moments the intercom crackled, ‘Chi è?' The distortions of the thing would cover any voice characteristics,
    â€˜Sono Gregorio, Signora. I can’t find my outside doorkey, I hope ! didn’t wake you.’
    â€˜Va bene,’ the woman was clearly annoyed, but after just a second the gate buzzed open and Morris passed through,