Cold Tuscan Stone David Wagner (acx book reading .txt) 📖

“Just coffee thank you, but let me get—”

“No, no, it is my pleasure. Just coffee then?” He hurried to the bar and put in the order while Rick’s eyes followed him with mild surprise. This was not the same man he met at the museum. Zerbino returned to their table. Rick shed his overcoat and draped it over a chair next to Zerbino’s.

“The day you came to the museum I was involved in some rather delicate issues. I’m sure you know how bureaucracies can be. Sometimes the smallest of conflicts between employees can turn into major battles. It was that way in the university too. So I did not give you the attention you deserved. You must forgive me.”

“I understand completely, dottore, I remember my days as a graduate student,” said Rick. “At American universities we say that faculty politics are vicious because the stakes are so low.” It was an old joke, but perhaps new to this guy.

“Oh that’s good, that’s very good. I must remember it.” His head bobbed, and he took out a white handkerchief to wipe perspiration from his bald head. The barman arrived and placed two small cups on the table, along with a bowl of sugar. “So tell me, how is your visit to Volterra progressing? Are you finding the city interesting?”

“A beautiful city, worthy of serious exploring, but as yet I have not had time to see much. I just work.”

“Yes, yes, what was it you were involved with? Purchasing art, if I remember correctly? Tell me more about it. Being a museum curator, I suppose we are involved in a similar business, are we not?” He grinned, not sure if he was making a joke or not.

“Our commercial gallery is hardly in the same category as your institution.” Rick sipped his coffee. “I’m doing some preliminary market studies on the possibility of future purchases—local art, including alabaster. The gallery owners think that such items could greatly interest their clientele.” Rick was almost starting to believe his own BS.

“What clientele do you have at this gallery?”

“It varies, of course, but something exotic, such as art from Tuscany, could appeal to both middle and high end buyers. We have some very affluent clients. Many visit during their traveling seasons.” This was not the man to hint about the specialty items he was really seeking. As he spoke, Zerbino studied him carefully.

“Very interesting. I don’t know anything about business, of course, my only experience has been with either universities or museums. Our institutions don’t concern themselves with profit and loss, but I have always been fascinated by commerce.” He surveyed the room and then lowered his voice to continue. “The only commerce that I have been involved with, if you can describe it that way, is with stolen artifacts.” Rick tried not to react, and Zerbino continued. “By that I mean keeping our collection from being stolen, of course.” He laughed out loud this time, the light from the ceiling lamps casting patterns on his bald head. He returned to his conspiratorial tone. “You may not know this, but art theft is a major problem in this country.”

“Naturally I’ve heard something about that.” Rick coughed into his napkin.

“You cannot imagine what museums in Italy have to spend on security devices and guards. It eats up an enormous amount of our budget. I wish I had even half of what we spend on security to improve the collection or renovate the building. And then, after all the expense and time-consuming installation, it doesn’t always work. I hope the thieves don’t find out about the alarm problems before we can fix them.” He stirred his coffee, still without tasting it. “But I don’t suppose thievery will go away anytime soon. Certainly not in my lifetime. Another coffee?”

“Not for me.” Rick was anxious to change the subject. “Dottore, I have been reading a book on the Etruscans to help me appreciate your area, and one of the aspects of their lives which has fascinated me is their reliance on seers to predict the future.”

It worked, and Zerbino jumped in quickly. “That is not exactly correct, Signor—” He stopped and smiled at Rick “Can we dispense with the formality of last names? Please call me Arnolfo.”

Rick accepted the offer cordially. “Of course.”

“As I was saying, Riccardo, to describe the Etruscans as reading entrails or studying lightning in order to see the future is not quite accurate. What they were constantly trying to discover was the will of the gods and what they believed were other mysterious forces in their lives. Overwhelming forces. That is how one famous scholar has described what the Etruscans believed influenced their everyday lives.”

“Isn’t that the same thing?”

“Not necessarily. If you know your boss’ general view of things that doesn’t mean you will know exactly how he is going to react to every situation in the future.” He chuckled. “There I go talking about bureaucracies again.”

“I see your point,” said Rick. “The more information one has, the better, whether it’s Etruscan, Volterra, or modern Volterra.”

Zerbino nodded in agreement. “True…true.” He looked down at his coffee as if deciding whether to drink it or not. Something is going on here, Rick thought.

“Riccardo, that business with the man falling to his death.” He was searching for the right words. “It was terrible, but how unfortunate of you to be found in the middle of it.” He looked up to see Rick’s reaction, and quickly added, “Well, not in the middle of it as if you were involved, but being there just before he fell, I mean—”

“I understand, Arnolfo. Thank you for your concern.” But no thanks for the morbid curiosity.

“What do you think happened? I suppose the police talked to you.”

“Of course they did.” Zerbino waited for Rick to say more, and he eventually obliged. “I had barely met the man, so I leave the investigation to the police. But I suppose that you, like everyone, believe that it was