Transient Desires (Commissario Brunetti #30)(54)

Nieddu looked at him, smiled, and went on. ‘So I told her what I did for a living and, believe me, I had the same fear.’

‘And?’ Brunetti asked.

‘She laughed. She laughed so hard I had to hit her on the back to try to help her stop coughing.’ Another sip, head lowered to hide her smile. The waitress brought a dish of potato chips. Nieddu took one and nibbled at it as though she were a rabbit with a piece of carrot. ‘After we had that conversation, about our jobs, we both agreed – but it was a silent agreement – not to discuss them. Fine with me. The only time they let her be alone is on Sunday morning, when she can go to church. That’s where we talk.’

‘Does she speak more Italian now?’ Brunetti asked.

Nieddu nodded. ‘Well, sort of: it’s got better in the months we’ve known one another. She understands what I say.’ As if adding the bitter punch line of an old joke, Nieddu added, ‘As well as she can understand anything.’

Reacting to her tone as much as her words, Brunetti asked, ‘What do you mean?’

Nieddu used her drink as a prop: she picked it up slowly, took a very small sip, and placed it carefully back on the table. Brunetti waited. Finally she asked, ‘You’ve heard the saying, “Driven out of her mind,” haven’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s what’s happened to her. I think. That is, too much happened to her, and she’s . . . well, some people would say she’s mad.’

‘Would you?’ Brunetti asked.

Her answer took a long time in coming. ‘If I didn’t know her, probably. Sometimes she talks to herself or talks to people who aren’t there. Sometimes she says strange things.’

‘And when she talks to you?’ Brunetti thought to ask.

‘Usually, no. She’s not mad, not in the least.’ Nieddu paused for a moment and then added, almost reluctantly, ‘Confused, maybe, and sometimes difficult to follow, but that’s usually because of language. Once I figure out what she’s using a word to mean, I understand. And I’d never say she’s mad, at least not then.’

Brunetti saw that Nieddu needed to be encouraged to speak and asked, ‘What has she told you?’

Nieddu sighed and continued. ‘Usual story: her mother was a teacher in Benin City. Making about fifty dollars a month. When she was killed,’ she continued, not pausing to explain this, ‘there were four children and no money. So Blessing’s aunt spoke to an agent, and Blessing signed the contract, did the juju ceremony and vowed to pay off the debt for her transport to Europe after she got there.’ She reached idly for another chip but pulled her hand back and continued. ‘They know who her family is and where they live, so if she ever tries to escape, they’ll go and burn their house down, probably kill them, too.’

Nieddu shrugged and took a chip and ate it. ‘She says she’s eighteen.’ The way she said it, Brunetti suspected Nieddu didn’t believe it.

‘After she signed the contract, they told her how much to pay the agent and the usual story about the job she’d have as an au pair in Milan: live with the family, take care of their two children, one day off a week.’ Her voice grew angrier with each false promise. ‘And now, a year later, she’s one of the girls who work the beach at Bibione during the summer.’

‘Um hum,’ Brunetti muttered.

There was a long wait before she started speaking again. ‘You’ve heard it before, Guido,’

‘We’ve all heard it, Laura.’

Nieddu nodded and ate another potato chip. ‘She told me she traveled by minibus, packed in with ten or twelve other girls. For days. They never knew where they were, and they were treated badly. So by the third day they all knew what the truth was.’ Nieddu paused and lifted her drink. Instead of drinking, she rolled it back and forth between her palms and finally set it down on the table, untasted.

‘They got to a beach – she has no idea where it was – men took them out and put them on a big boat. They were pushed down a metal staircase and locked in a room with about twenty other girls. She said there were big boxes in the room, so they were probably with the cargo.

‘She doesn’t know how long they were there, but she could hear the motors, and the boat rocked, so they knew they were moving. The lights were on all the time, but no one had a watch: no one had anything except the clothes they wore. Some of them were sick; she was, too. Then the boat stopped, and the men came down and pushed them up the steps and outside on to the deck, then down a ladder to a smaller boat.’ Nieddu stopped and took a deep breath, as though she, too, were being forced on to that boat. ‘She told me all of the girls were handcuffed in pairs when they got into the other boat.’

Brunetti had not heard this before.

Nieddu looked across at him, pulled her lips together nervously, and said, ‘She told me it was a golden boat.’

‘What?’

‘She said the boat was made out of gold,’ Nieddu repeated. Seeing Brunetti’s response, Nieddu added, ‘I told you. Sometimes she says strange things.’

‘Did you ask her about that?’ Brunetti asked.

‘No,’ Nieddu replied. ‘She believed it, so I didn’t insist. I needed to hear the rest of her story.’ Nieddu folded her hands on the table and stared at them for almost a minute, then returned her gaze to Brunetti. ‘Sorry, Guido,’ she said. ‘I got carried away. There are only so many of these stories I can stand to hear.’