“Of course, Commendator Pazzi.”
“Are his personal effects still at the Palazzo?”
“Packed in two suitcases, with an inventory.”
“I’ll send—I’ll come by and pick them up.”
“Would you call me first, Commendatore? I can disarm the security system before you arrive, and save you time.”
The man is too calm. Properly, he should fear me a little. He asks me to call him before coming by.
The committee had ru
ffled Pazzi’s feathers. He could do nothing about that. Now he was piqued by this man’s presumption. He piqued back.
“Dr. Fell, may I ask you a personal question?”
“If your duty requires it, Commendatore.”
“You have a relatively new scar on the back of your left hand.”
“And you have a new wedding ring on yours: La Vita Nuova?” Dr. Fell smiled. He has small teeth, very white. In Pazzi’s instant of surprise, before he could decide to be offended, Dr. Fell held up his scarred hand and went on: “Carpal tunnel syndrome, Commendatore. History is a hazardous profession.”
“Why didn’t you declare carpal tunnel syndrome on your National Health forms when you came to work here?”
“My impression was, Commendatore, that injuries are relevant only if one is receiving disability payments; I am not. Nor am I disabled.”
“The surgery was in Brazil, then, your country of origin.”
“It was not in Italy, I received nothing from the Italian government,” Dr. Fell said, as though he believed he had answered completely.
They were the last to leave the council room. Pazzi had reached the door when Dr. Fell called to him.
“Commendator Pazzi?”
Dr. Fell was a black silhouette against the tall windows. Behind him in the distance rose the Duomo.
“Yes?”
“I think you are a Pazzi of the Pazzi, am I correct?”
“Yes. How did you know that?” Pazzi would consider a reference to recent newspaper coverage rude in the extreme.
“You resemble a figure from the Della Robbia rondels in your family’s chapel at Santa Croce.”
“Ah, that was Andrea de’ Pazzi depicted as John the Baptist,” Pazzi said, a small slick of pleasure on his acid heart.
When Rinaldo Pazzi left the slender figure standing in the council room, his lasting impression was of Dr. Fell’s extraordinary stillness.
He would add to that impression very soon.
CHAPTER
20
NOW THAT ceaseless exposure has calloused us to the lewd and the vulgar, it is instructive to see what still seems wicked to us. What still slaps the clammy flab of our submissive consciousness hard enough to get our attention?
In Florence it was the exposition called Atrocious Torture Instruments, and it was here that Rinaldo Pazzi next encountered Dr. Fell.