‘Why ever not?’
‘I was told this morning that the council had set aside non-smoking areas in all public places.’
Tommaso burst out laughing.
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake! That’s just for the tourists. There’s no such nonsense in genuine Venetian bars like this, where real Venetians go to drink good Veneto wine. Anyway, that bunch of crooks and incompetents on the council will be out on their collective ears in a couple of weeks, once the people get a chance to express their contempt for them. And as soon as we get in we’ll repeal all their stupid by-laws.’
Zen offered his friend a cigarette.
‘“We”?’ he queried.
Tommaso declined the cigarette with a waggle of his finger.
‘I mean the movement. Nuova Repubblica Veneta. What are they saying about us in Rome?’
Zen lit his cigarette, gazing at Saoner.
‘I have no idea.’
‘But you said…’
‘I’ve heard about Dal Maschio, but not in Rome. It was here. From his wife, Cristiana Morosini. Her mother is a neighbour of ours.’
Tommaso’s elation vanished as quickly as it had appeared.
‘Don’t take any notice of what she told you,’ he retorted. ‘It’s all a load of scurrilous nonsense. Believe me, the things Ferdinando has had to put up from that whore, she’s lucky he didn’t leave long ago — and give her a damn good thrashing first!’
Zen considered his friend through a cloud of smoke.
‘No doubt he deemed that such a course would have been politically inadvisable.’
Missing the irony in Zen’s voice, Tommaso merely nodded earnestly.
‘But she deserved it, believe you me. Most women would be proud to have a husband who has single-handedly transformed politics in the Veneto, broken the mould and offered a new and inspiring vision of a twenty-first century Venice, independent and revitalized!’
Tommaso’s eyes were shining with enthusiasm. Zen poured them both more of the light, prickly wine.
‘But not Cristiana,’ Saoner went on bitterly. ‘Instead, she did everything possible to undermine him, first ridiculing him to his face and in public, and then cuckolding him with a reporter from the mainland. Is it any wonder he sought solace in the arms of some of his admirers?’
He tossed off his wine and made a visible effort to change the subject.
‘Anyway, that’s enough politics. What happy wind brings you home, Aurelio?’
Zen emitted a self-pitying sigh.
‘Mamma heard from Rosalba that Ada Zulian had been complaining about some sort of harassment. It’s all in her head, of course, but to my mother Ada is still la contessa and nothing would do but I had to put in for a temporary transfer and come up to look into it personally.’
As he retailed this latest pack of lies, Zen marvelled at the way his cover story was changing and developing, growing ever more detailed and plausible with every telling. If he wasn’t careful, he would start believing it himself pretty soon.
Tommaso nodded seriously.
‘Funnily enough, we were discussing the Zulian family at a meeting just the other day. The contessa has been under a lot of pressure to sell that old factory they own, but like a true Venetian she’s refused. “Chi vende, scende.” The question we were discussing is what use to put such sites to when we come to power. Ferdinando used the Zulian case as an example. An international consortium has reportedly offered a fortune to turn the Sant’Alvise site into a hotel complex. That’s out of the question, of course, but the problem we face is whether to develop such vacant land for housing or for light industry. Ferdinando’s view is that…’
As Tommaso Saoner launched into a detailed analysis of the issue, Zen nodded and tried not to yawn. He hadn’t much appetite for politics at the best of times, and none at all for the lunatic-fringe, single-issue variety. No wonder Cristiana had lost patience with her husband if this was the kind of thing she had to put up with at home. As the image of her plump, sensuous features floated into his mind, Zen found himself thinking over what Tommaso had said about her, and wondering idly just how much of a whore she really was. Shaking off these fantasies with a stab of guilt, he reminded himself to ring Tania.
‘… within the context of a viable long-term development strategy,’ concluded Saoner, eyeing Zen in a manner which suggested that a reply was expected.
‘Absolutely!’ said Zen. ‘I totally agree.’
Tommaso frowned.
‘You do?’
‘In principle,’ Zen added quickly.
‘What principle? The only principle involved is whether Venice is to belong to us Venetians or to a bunch of foreigners who buy up property at inflated prices which our own people can’t afford, so that our young folk have to emigrate to the mainland while half the houses in the city stand empty.’
Zen stubbed out his cigarette.
‘I’m pretty much a foreigner myself these days, Tommaso. And my house is standing empty.’
Tommaso looked startled. He barked a rather aggressive laugh.
‘Don’t be silly, Aurelio! You don’t have to account for your actions. You’re one of us, a true Venetian born and bred. What you do with your property is no one’s business but your own.’
He clasped Zen’s hand and looked him in the eye.
‘Why don’t you join us? The movement needs men like you.’
Zen gave an embarrassed shrug.
‘I don’t know anything about it,’ he said, withdrawing his hand.
‘You know everything about it,’ Tommaso replied fervently. ‘You know it in your bones.’
He continued to scrutinize Zen with a child-like candour and intensity which made Zen feel acutely uncomfortable. He shrugged again.
‘I’ve never joined a political party in my life.’
‘We’re a movement, not a party! And the people who’re flocking to join us are precisely those who’ve never had anything to do with the established parties, who are fed up with the old corrupt gang and the empty slogans. You’ve had plenty of experience of that, I’ll be bound. Why, I was hearing a year or two ago about the way you were used by those bastards propping up this rotten government! That murder in Sardinia. Palazzo Sisti were up to their necks in that, weren’t they? But in the end the whole thing got blamed on some local girl who had very conveniently got herself killed. Typical! But things are changing, thanks to movements like ours.’
He clutched Zen’s arm again.
‘There’s a rally tomorrow evening, Aurelio. Why don’t you come along? Meet the people who are making things happen here and then make up your own mind!’
‘I’ll see,’ said Zen vaguely. ‘I think I may be doing something.’