The Sense of an Elephant by Marco Missiroli Read Free Book Online Page B

looking at the concierge. ‘I’ll go and make coffee.’
    The radiographer remained on the threshold. ‘Wait for me. I’ve got something for Pietro and then I’ll come with you.’
    She left on her own.
    Riccardo moved aside to let her pass and watched her out of the corner of his eye, then came all the way in.
    â€˜The Martinis have invited me to breakfast,’ he said in a lowered voice and laid the backpack on the chair. A man of sharp angles, his thinness was belied by the slowness of hisgestures. The tendons on his neck stood out and his eyes were bigger than they ought to have been. They sparkled in a face of rough edges.
    Pietro went to the letterboxes, pushed in a letter that was sticking out. He turned.
    Riccardo was standing immobile in the middle of the room.
    â€˜I know that you met Lorenzo …’ He appeared lost in thought. ‘You know, I did the ultrasound on his mother, an odd woman.’ He opened the backpack and drew out a heavy chain as long as his leg. Then a padlock with the key in. ‘Here, for your soon-to-be red Bianchi.’
    â€˜Thank you, but there’s no need.’
    â€˜They steal everything in Milan.’ Riccardo put down the chain and made to leave. ‘I forgot, you haven’t by any chance found a leather bracelet?’
    â€˜I haven’t found anything, sorry.’
    â€˜I must have lost it playing football.’ He went out.
    The concierge waited for him to climb the stairs then went into his flat. Rummaged around in the night-table drawer. Drew out the bracelet he had found in the courtyard and looked closely at the date etched on the back:
14-9-2008
. Closed it in his fist.
    When Nicolini the magician arrived, the Bianchi was in several pieces. Pietro had taken it apart and placed the frame on some old newspapers. He saw him enter as he was stirring the red paint in its tin.
    â€˜Why do you need to get a look at the courtyard?’
    â€˜Magic needs its own space.’
    He accompanied him into the courtyard and as soon as Nicolini began to stroll about, the second floor began to empty. Viola came down with the little girl. Pietro did not greet her and returned to painting the Bianchi. It was the fifth time in forty years that he had shed its skin and given it a new one, and he had yet to learn how to do it properly. He painted in all directions and failed to remove the excess paint from the bristles. Rivulets ran together and clotted, studding the frame with pustules. He tried to burst them by rubbing a rag along the surface. His hands became spattered and he tossed the brush down. Fernando and his mother and the lawyer appeared immediately after. They greeted him, Poppi with a wink, and went out.
    Martini came down with the radiographer when there remained just a tiny bit of painting to finish the Bianchi. As soon as he went to speak with the magician, Riccardo went over to Pietro.
    â€˜Faster. If the colour dries on you, you’ll be able to see signs on the frame.’
    â€˜Do you want to do it?’
    â€˜I wouldn’t dare.’
    The concierge hastily finished the painting then moved newspapers and frame into the courtyard where a shred of sunshine shone. The magician approached him after Martini and the radiographer left.
    â€˜A perfect courtyard for spells.’ He mimicked the flick of a wand. ‘I’ll be happy to set up the day before. I’ll turn you all into toads.’
    The concierge accompanied him to the street door. Nicolini made a half bow in farewell and left the building.
    That was when Pietro saw Snow White. The woman who had let Dr Martini into the house of the pomegranates. She was standing transfixed in front of the intercom grid.
    â€˜Pardon me …’ Snow White came toward him, her raven hair strangled by a red ribbon. ‘Pardon me, does Dr Martini live here?’ She was very young and had a foreign accent.
    The concierge nodded.
    â€˜So the