The Waters of Eternal Youth (25 page)

Brunetti, although he knew where they were going, had no idea that they had arrived, so careful had Griffoni been to leave the autostrada well before Preganziol and arrive by a web of small roads well to the ­north-­west of the town, the opposite direction from which one would normally arrive from Venice. Griffoni, who was driving a friend's car, made sure not to be seen from the house and pulled up on the other side of the property, the main building hidden by the new growth on the trees.

She stopped the car a hundred metres from the fence, turned off the engine, and the three people in it sat and listened to the creaks and cracks as the engine cooled and the metal parts contracted. It was springtime, the leaves were on their way back, but still the day was brisk; even the clouds were busy, scuttling to the north.

Brunetti got out first. He looked around for the dog, but there was no sign of Hector, who was probably assigned to sleep duty that day. Without thinking, he was careful to close the door of the car quietly.

Griffoni was leaning into the front seat to help Manuela unlatch her seat belt, after which the younger woman had no trouble opening the door and getting out. ‘Oh, how pretty,' she said, looking around at the fresh green leaves that surrounded them on three sides. ‘Everything's new.'

Griffoni turned from her study of the fields and linked her arm in Manuela's. ‘Yes, springtime's lovely, isn't it,' she chirped in that voice Brunetti had heard her use with Manuela. It was happy and upbeat and spoke of endless opportunity; it was the voice he had used with his own children but never used any more.

Then, in her real voice, Griffoni said to Brunetti, ‘Springtime always makes me think life's decided to give us another chance.'

Manuela turned to look at her. ‘I don't understand,' she said.

‘It doesn't matter,
Tesoro
. In spingtime, it's green ­everywhere, and we get to hear the birds. We're in the countryside.' She flung her arms out and spun around, and Manuela imitated her, turning and turning until Griffoni had to take her arm to stop her, pulling her close and holding her until her excitement quietened.

Griffoni turned to Brunetti and asked, ‘Shall we take a walk?'

‘Yes,' he said. ‘Which way?'

‘Oh, let's follow that fence and see where it leads,' Griffoni said casually. ‘Is that all right with you, Manuela?' she asked, careful not to ask her to decide between more complicated alternatives.

‘Yes, yes,' Manuela said and hooked her arm through Griffoni's.

Keeping the wooden fence on their left, they began to walk. Horizontal rails had collapsed here and there along the way: some were propped back in place and held together with twisted lengths of wire. One fence post was entirely covered with the fierce green leaves of a clematis, too early for it to show buds.

Manuela stopped suddenly and Griffoni banged against her side. ‘What is it?' Griffoni asked.

‘I hear a noise,' Manuela said.

Griffoni stood stock still; so did Brunetti. It took them a few moments to adjust to the silence, but when he did, Brunetti heard the noise, coming from somewhere amidst the trees to their right. Again it came: high low, high low, and then again.

‘Is that the noise?' Griffoni asked.

Manuela nodded.

Griffoni released her arm and searched in the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a ­five-­euro note. Brunetti was busy searching in his trouser pockets.

‘What are you doing?' Manuela asked, but, perhaps because she was with Griffoni, she sounded curious, not fearful.

‘Do you have any money in your pockets?' Griffoni asked her.

‘I don't know,' Manuela said and put her hands in the pockets of her jacket. Her right hand emerged with a few coins. ‘I have these,' she said, showing them to Griffoni.

The older woman bent down and used her forefinger to separate the coins on Manuela's extended palm. ‘Six euros, ­twenty-­seven,' she said, turning to Brunetti.

‘Very good,' Brunetti said and held out his handful of change. ‘I've got four euros, twelve.'

Manuela's face showed only confusion. ‘I don't understand. I don't understand. Tell me, tell me, tell me.'

‘It's a cuckoo,' Griffoni said in her calming voice. ‘The first time you hear a cuckoo in springtime, you have to see how much money you have in your pockets. And the more you have, the more money you'll get during the year.'

Manuela looked down at her palm. ‘Do I have a lot?'

‘Yes, you have more than I do and more than Signor Brunetti.'

‘Is that good?'

‘Oh yes,' Griffoni said. She folded Manuela's hand around the money, and told her she should put it back in her pocket so she didn't lose it.

‘What can I do with it?' Manuela insisted.

‘Oh, you could buy yourself ice cream, if you like.'

Manuela thought about this, then asked, ‘Is there enough for me to buy some for you and for Signor Brunetti, too?'

Griffoni leaned to her side and kissed Manuela's cheek. ‘Of course there is,
Stella
,' she said in an unsteady voice.

‘We can stop on the way back to the city,' Brunetti interrupted to say.

Manuela nodded in delight at this thought, then asked, ‘Where are we going?'

‘Oh, just along the fence a little bit,' Griffoni said.

The cuckoo commented on this, as did a few other birds. They continued to walk, following the fence. At a point where it angled away to the left, Griffoni stopped and turned to look over the fence, putting her right foot up on the first rail.

She put her index fingers under her tongue and gave a piercing whistle, then again. Manuela giggled, and Brunetti looked at Griffoni and then at a flash of motion on the far side of the field.

Something large had started to move in their direction. It seemed to slow, and Griffoni gave another whistle, at the sound of which the motion increased.

It was a horse, catapulting towards them. He knew the names of the different speeds of a horse: walk, trot, canter, gallop. But this was something different: ­jet-­propelled.

As Brunetti watched, the horse thundered towards them, leaping over obstacles the humans couldn't see from where they were, aimed right at them, relentless.

Fifteen metres from them, the horse, began to slow, then slowed again, until it stopped only a metre away and reared up on its back legs. While still in the air, just like a horse in some phony American Western, it threw back its head and let out a ­high-­pitched whinny, then thudded back down on its front hooves and moved up to the railing, head moving up and down, up and down in a frenzy.

During all of this, Manuela had been at first afraid, then quiet, then stunned. Brunetti turned and watched her, saw her face, for the first time, washed clean of the uncertainty that too often veiled it.

Moving as if spurred by some stronger force, she stood on the bottom rung of the fence and then the second. She leaned forward, arms spread wide.

‘Petunia,' she said and wrapped her arms around the horse's neck. ‘Petunia.'