by Donna Leon
'I'm preparing a pepsin mixture for a patient,' he explained in answer to no question from Pedrolli, hoping the doctor noticed the way he declined to use the patient's name. With a gesture towards the bottles ranked up against the wall, he said, 'I didn't want to risk taking a bottle out from the back of the cabinet while the others were still there, in front of it, so I took them all out. For safety.' A doctor would appreciate this kind of caution, he was sure.
Pedrolli nodded, seemingly uninterested. 'I'm also a patient here, aren't I?' he surprised the pharmacist by asking.
‘Yes. Of course,' he agreed. He took it as a compliment that a doctor, a fellow professional but nevertheless senior to him, had chosen him as his pharmacist, though it was really the doctor's wife who was his client. And the child, of course, though no longer.
"That's why I came,' Dottor Pedrolli said, again confusing the pharmacist.
‘I still don't understand,' Franchi said. Could the loss have upset the balance of this man's mind? Ah, poor man, but perhaps understandable after so much trouble.
'You have my records, then?' Pedrolli surprised him by asking.
'Of course, Dottore,' he answered. 'I have records for all of my clients’ He liked to think of them as his patients, but he knew he had to refer to them as clients, to show that he knew his proper place in the order of things.
'Could you tell me how it is you come to have them, Dottore?' Pedrolli asked.
'Have them?' Franchi repeated stupidly.
'My medical records’
But he had said only 'records', surely, not 'medical records’ The other man had not understood. ‘I don't mean to correct you, Dottore,' he began, though he did, ‘But I have your records for this pharmacy', he said, choosing his words very carefully. 'It would not be proper for me to have your medical records’ That was true enough, thus to say so was not to lie.
Pedrolli smiled, but it was not a reassuring thing to see. ‘I’m afraid that's not what I heard’
'From whom?' asked an indignant Franchi. Was he, a professional, a man who had lawyers, judges, engineers, and doctors among his patients, was he to be subject to such an accusation?
‘From someone who knows’
Franchi's face grew hot. 'You can't come in here and make that sort of accusation’ Then, remembering the status of the person to whom he spoke, he forced his voice to a more accommodating tone. 'That's completely inappropriate. And unjust.'
Pedrolli took a short step back; strangely, the distance seemed to increase the difference in height between them: the doctor now loomed above the pharmacist. 'If you'd like to talk about inappropriate and unjust accusations, Dottor Franchi,' the other man began in a reasonable voice, one that spoke of patience, 'perhaps we could talk about Romina Salvi.'
Franchi took some time to prepare his face and his voice. 'Romina Salvi? She's a client of mine, but I don't know what you're talking about’
'Who has been taking lithium for six years, I believe,' Pedrolli said with a small smile, the kind that encouraged confidence in a patient.
‘I'd have to check her records to be sure of that,' Franchi said.
'That she's taking lithium or that it's been six years?'
'Either. Both.' 'I see.'
'I don't understand what all this is about, Dottore,' Franchi said fussily. 'And if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to what I was doing. I don't like to keep my clients waiting.'
'She was going to marry Gino Pivetti, one of the lab technicians at the hospital. But somehow his mother learned about the lithium and about her depression, and she told her son. He didn't know: Romina had never told him. She was afraid he would leave her.'
'I don't see how any of this concerns me,' Franchi interrupted. He reached for another pair of plastic gloves, hoping that his desire to return to work would both impress the other man and suggest that there was no purpose in continuing this conversation, and that it was time for him to leave. But Dottor Franchi could hardly ask a medical doctor to leave, could he?
'And that's what did happen: he left. So there will be no children who might disrupt God's plan of perfection by developing manic depression like their mother.'
Politeness kept Franchi from answering that this was a very good thing: God's creatures should emulate His many perfections, not pass on an illness that distorted the divine plan. He uncapped the empty glass bottle and set the cap carefully upside down so as to eliminate any chance of contamination from the counter, unlikely as that was.
'I've been thinking about this for some time.
Dottor Franchi’ Pedrolli said, his voice more animated now. 'Ever since I learned that my medical file was here and began to think about the information that was in it’
Hoping to demonstrate how close he was to losing his patience, Franchi moved the mixing bowl a few centimetres closer to him, as if he were about to begin preparing the solution, and said, ‘I’m afraid none of this makes any sense to me, Dottore’ He reached up and opened one of the cabinets, took down the bottle of pepsin, the suspension solution that formed the next part of the preparation. He unscrewed the cap and placed it in a separate glass dish.
'And Romina Salvi? Does it make any sense to you that someone made a phone call that destroyed her life?' Pedrolli asked.
'Her life has not been destroyed’ Franchi said, now making no attempt to disguise his exasperation at what Pedrolli was saying. He reached for the syringe and moved it carefully out of the way. He said, 'Her engagement has perhaps been broken off: that has hardly destroyed her life’
'Why not?' Pedrolli asked with sudden anger, 'Because it's only emotions? Because no one's in hospital, and no one's dead?'
Franchi had suddenly had enough of this, enough of this talk of emotions and destroyed lives. A life lived in the shadow of the Lord could not be destroyed.
He turned to Pedrolli. 'I told you some time ago, Dottore, that I don't understand what you're talking about. What I do understand is that Signorina Salvi suffers from a disease that could be transmitted to any children she might have, so it is perhaps better that this engagement has been broken off’
'With your help, Dottore?' Pedrolli asked.
'Why do you say that?' Franchi asked with what sounded almost like indignation.
'According to Gino's mother, someone asked her if she weren't concerned for grandchildren. They live in Campo Manin, don't they? So this must be their pharmacy. And where else was she likely to hear such an expression of concern?'
I do not gossip about my clients,' Franchi said in the absolute tones of a man who would neither lie nor gossip.
Pedrolli looked at him for a long time, studying his face, looked for so long that Franchi, to escape his gaze, turned back to his work. He took out another syringe and ripped open the package, the noise an echo of his anger. He tested the syringe, then inserted the tip into the smaller bottle. Slowly, he began to draw up the liquid.
"You wouldn't, would you?' Pedrolli asked, astonished to have so lately realized this. "You wouldn't lie and you wouldn't gossip about a client. You really wouldn't, would you?'
This was barely worthy of comment, but Franchi looked aside long enough to say, not without disgust at the other man's opacity, 'Of course not.'
'But you would make a phone call if you thought a client of yours was doing something you judged immoral, wouldn't you?' Pedrolli spoke slowly, working it out word by word as he spoke. ‘You really would, just as you'd warn Gino's mother. You wouldn't actually say anything, would you? But after they heard of your concern and the reasons for it, they'd know just what was going on, wouldn't they?' He stopped, and contemplated the man in front of him, as if seeing him for the first time in all these years.
Franchi shifted his grip on the syringe and wrapped his fingers round it, as though it were the handle of a knife. He pointed it in the general direction of the other man, all patience exhausted. What was all this about, and why was Dottor Pedrolli so concerned about this woman? Surely she wasn't one of his patients.
'Of course I would’ he finally said, forced to speech by anger. 'Don't you think I have a moral obligation to do that? Don't we all, when we see evil and sin and deceit and we can do something that will prevent it?'
If he had slashed at Pedrolli with the syringe, the other man could have been no more stunned. He raised one hand, the palm towards Franchi, and in a tight voice, asked, 'Only prevent it? And if it's too late to prevent it, do you think if s right to punish it?'
'Of course,' Franchi said, as if explaining a matter of exquisite simplicity. 'Sinners should be punished. Sin must be punished.'
'So long as no one's in the hospital and no one's dead?'
'Exactly,' Franchi said with his usual fussi-ness. 'If it's only emotions, it doesn't matter.'
He turned back to his work. He was calm, competent, a man busy with his professional duties.
Who knows what Pedrolli saw then? A little boy in duck-patterned pyjamas touching his Own nose? And who knows what he heard? A small voice saying Papa? What matters is what he did. He stepped forward and with an angry swing of his arm pushed the pharmacist aside. Franchi, concentrating on the syringe and avoiding injuring himself with it, tangled his left foot with his right and fell to one knee, breathing a sigh of relief at having managed'to keep the syringe away from his body.
He looked up at Pedrolli, but what he saw was the large glass bottle in the doctor's hands moving towards him, and then he saw the liquid splash from it, his own outstretched hand, and then darkness and pain.
26
‘Dottore, I'm afraid our conversation this time has to be different from the others’
‘I understand that’
'The first time I spoke to you, I was in the hospital to speak to you as the victim of a crime, and the second time it was to question you about someone I suspected of committing one. But this time I must tell you that you are being questioned in relation to a crime you are accused of committing and that our conversation is being recorded and videotaped. My colleague. Inspector Vianello, is here with me as an observer, and at the end of our conversation, a written record will be presented to you for signature ... Do you understand this, Dottore?... I'm afraid you have to speak, Dottore. For the tape’
‘Oh, I'm sorry. I'm afraid I wasn't paying attention.'
'Would you like me to repeat what I've just said?'
'No, that's not necessary. I understand what you said.'
'Before we begin, Dottore, would you like anything to drink? A glass of water? A coffee?' 'No, thank you.'
If you'd like to smoke, there's an ashtray there.'
Thank you, Cornmissario, but I don't smoke. But of course if either of you would like ...'
'Thank you, Dottbre. May we begin?'
'Of course.' -
'On me morning of the sixteenth, did you visit the pharmacy of Dottor Mauro Franchi in Campo Sant'Angelo?'
‘Yes, I did.'
'Could you tell me why you went there?'
‘I wanted to speak to Dottor Franchi.'
'Was this for medical reasons, about a patient of yours, perhaps?'
'No. It was a personal matter.'
'Would you ... Excuse me, Dottore?'
‘I suppose in a way, yes, it was about a patient, but one of his, not mine. And while I was there, we also discussed a woman who was a customer of his, but not my patient.'
'Would you tell me who this woman was, Dottore?'
'I'd rather not. She really doesn't have anything to do with any of this.'
I'd prefer to be the judge of that, if I might, Dottore’
‘Yes, I'm sure you would, Comrnissario. But I'm afraid that, in this case, I believe I'm a better judge. So I'd prefer not to tell you her name’
'Would you tell me, then, why you wanted to speak to Dottor Franchi about her?'
'Hmm, I suppose there's no harm in that. I know her fidanzato, well, the man who was once her fidanzato. He's a friend of mine’
'What else can you tell me about her?'
'I was thinking how to put it. They were engaged, these two young people. But the mother of my friend somehow learned that the girl, the woman, had an illness that might be transmitted to their children. They wanted to have children, you see.'
'Excuse me, Dottore, but I'm not sure I understand why you would want to talk to Dottor Franchi about this.'
'Oh, didn't I tell you? Sorry, sorry. You see, they live, the young man and his mother, quite near to Campo Sant'Angelo.'
'And?'
'Don't you see, Commissario? Don't you see what happened?'
‘I’m afraid I can only ask questions, Dottore, not supply answers. I need the information from you, you see.'
'Of course. Then this isn't really a conversation, is it?'
'No, not really, Dottore’
‘It's easy to forget.'
‘Yes, I suppose it is’
'Where were we, Commissario?'
'You were telling me about where your friend and his mother live’
'Yes, of course. Just behind Campo Sant' Angelo. So Dottor Franchi would be their pharmacist. It was Dottor Franchi who told my friend's mother about the disease.'
'Do you have any certain knowledge of that, Dottore?'
'No, I suppose I don't, not certain knowledge. But during my conversation with Dottor Franchi, he said he thought he had a moral right to prevent evil, and help punish it. And that led me to believe that he did tell her, that he let my friend's mother know, and he knew how she would respond’
'Did he tell you that he did it, Dottore?'
'No, not directly. He did not. But any thinking person would understand what he was saying. Or, rather, the significance of what he said’
Is it correct to say that what Dottor Franchi said led you to believe that he revealed this information to the mother of the man this woman was going to marry?'
'Yes’
'What was your reaction to this, Dottore?'
'It angered me. The young woman has been ... has been very unwell as a result of the breakup with her fidanzato.'
'And the young man?'
'Ah, that's a different story.'
'What does that mean?' .
Tie's already engaged to another woman, and his new fidanzata is pregnant’
'Does the other woman, his former fidanzata, know this?'
‘I don't mean to be impolite, Commissario, but do you think it would be possible, in this city, for her not to know?'
'Of course. I understand what you mean. And what was her reaction to this news, do you know, Dottore?'
'She has grown more ... more unwell’ 'Anything else?'
'I think that's enough. I'd prefer not to say anything more’
'Of course, Dottore. You said that you were there to discuss a patient of Dottor Franchi's. Would you tell me who this patient is?'
'Was.'
‘I beg your pardon’
'Was, not is. He is no longer a patient of Dottor Franchi’
Has he moved?' Tn a sense, yes’
‘I’m afraid I don't follow you, Dottore.'
'My son, Commissario. My son Alfredo. He was a patient at Dottor Franchi's pharmacy. But he is no longer a patient there because he no longer lives with me.'
‘I see. Thank you, Dottore. Would you tell me why you went to speak to Dottor Franchi. about your son?'
'I'm afraid the answer is complicated, Commissario.'
Then take your time, if you need to’
‘Yes. Yes. Thank you. I'll try to do that. I could begin by saying I've worked at the Ospedale Civile for nine years. Paediatrics. But why am I telling you that? Of course you know that already. Twice in the past, that is, before this incident with the mother of my friend, I'd heard people say things about Dottor Franchi. That he gave certain information to people that they should not have ... well, that they had no right to have. It was medical information, things Dottor Franchi was said to have learned in the course of his work: about people's illnesses or weaknesses or diseases. At any rate, in some
way that was never made clear or explained - and I must admit for the sake of honesty, was never confirmed - this information was said to come to the knowledge of certain other people’
'Are you talking about blackmail, Dottore?'
'Heavens, no. Nothing like that. He could no more commit blackmail, Dottor Franchi, than he could overcharge a client. He's an honest man, you see. And that's what's wrong with him. He's decided what good is, and what sin is, and when someone does something he believes to be sinful, he thinks that they should be punished for it. No, Commissario, I'm not speaking about specific things I know for a fact that he's done: I told you all I know is rumours and suggestions, the way people always say things. It's more that I know the sort of man he is, the way he thinks, and what he believes his obligations are - to maintain public morality. As I told you,
I'd heard this about him twice, but it was always that sort of vague rumour - something someone heard from someone else - that cannot be proven. Or disproven. And so, when I learned that the mother of my friend, who must be a client at the pharmacy, had become aware of medical information, it seemed obvious that the source must have been Dottor Franchi’
'Did you realize this at the time?'
'What time?'
'The time your friend's mother received the information.'
'No, not then. Only later.' 'And when was that?'
'Later. When I started to think about things.'
'But you had no proof? Did your friend's mother say something to you?'
'No, nothing like that I had no proof. Besides, if I might add, without offence, Commissario: proof is more your line of work than mine. I was sure, and I suppose that's the same thing.'
'Ah’
'You don't agree, Commissario?' 'It's not my place here to agree or disagree, Dottore: only to ask you to explain.' ‘I see.'
'You were telling me why you went to speak to Dottor Franchi about your son, Dottore’
'Yes, I was, wasn't I? It's hard to remember what I've been talking about, I suppose. There are so many things to say and to think about'
‘I’m here to listen.'