I Hadn't Understood (9781609458980) by Diego De Silva Page A

implausible, they are the plain truth. And the Italian tax authorities, it’s well known, make a fundamental presumption of falsehood; in fact the burden of proof is reversed in tax cases.
    But that doesn’t mean you can crack funny. Especially not when you’re the one who called me out of fear that I’d snatch the client off your plate, for that matter.
    â€œWell, you know what I say?” I reply, flaring my nostrils. “Now that I’ve had a chance to think it over, it’s a case that intrigues me. I think I’ll take it.”
    The wretch says nothing.
    â€œWell, all right then, listen,” he says resignedly after a while. “We should probably meet to plan out our strategy.”
    I consider the proposal.
    â€œActually, the first thing I need to do is go see Fantasia.”
    Pause.
    â€œThere’s no need for that, you can talk to me.”
    I stare intensely at the Edward Hopper poster on the facing wall as if it could understand me. I step into it, I have a sudden thirst for a beer. I sit down alongside the other late-night customers there at Phillie’s bar, I rest an elbow on the counter. The girl in red doesn’t even dignify me with a glance.
    Does this guy take me for a complete idiot?
    â€œExcuse me, can I ask you a question?” I ask.
    â€œOf course.”
    â€œIs this phone call your idea, or did Fantasia tell you to call me?”
    He stalls for time, hamster that he is.
    â€œAre you there, Counselor . . . ?” I ask, enunciating carefully.
    â€œPicciafuoco. Nino Picciafuoco.”
    Oh, right, James Bond in person.
    â€œDid you hear the question, Counselor Picciafuoco?”
    Another guilty pause.
    â€œYes. No. Well, anyway, don’t worry about it.”
    â€œDon’t worry about what?”
    Now he’s treading water.
    â€œNo, I was just saying there was no need, because anyway I’m very well acquainted with Fantasia’s situation, and after all, as you can imagine, I’ve been his lawyer for years, all I was asking was if you accept, and if so, we can work out terms, it was mainly just to spare you the time and the bother of going all the way out to the prison to talk with Fantasia, that’s all.”
    I let a few seconds go by.
    â€œWell, yes, in fact, I do have a lot of work. But not so much that I can’t take the time to meet a client who’s asking me to take on his defense.”
    â€œAh,” he says.
    It sounds like: “Ah, how painful!”
    â€œAnyway, thanks for calling,” I cut the conversation short.
    â€œSure. My pleasure. No. Shall we talk again?”
    â€œIf we have something to talk about.”
    He hesitates. He says nothing.
    And then we hang up.
    Â 
    I interlace the fingers of both hands, cradling the back of my head, while I lean against the backrest of my Skruvsta and review the situation. I have no intention of defending that corpsemonger Burzone, but I am enjoying the idea that Pic­ciafuoco thinks I will.
    I take a deep breath and smile, but my sense of satisfaction begins to crumble almost immediately. Like a seismic tremor stirring beneath my thoughts, a sneaking suspicion becomes increasingly credible as I manage to get it into focus. Like one of those faint, distant earthquakes that you’re not even sure you heard, but your eyes go straight up to the chandelier.
    What an idiot you are, I say to myself, are you thinking of turning down the appointment? Who do you think you are, Alfredo De Marsico?
    No, it’s precisely because I
don’t
think that I’m Alfredo De Marsico that I don’t want to take the case, I weakly retort.
    What a lovely answer, I tell myself. What should I do, just admit you’re right, and we can close the debate right now?
    I lower my head.
    Ah, okay. Let’s see, maybe we should try to sum up: first of all, it’s not clear why you should do Picciafuoco this favor (did you hear him say, “I can imagine