Boredom - Alberto Moravia [97]
“In other words,” I asked, in order to gain time, “you are able to discover the truth?”
“Always. A case of uncertainty is extremely rare, in fact almost non-existent. Our detectives are honest and trustworthy, all of them ex-carabinieri or ex-policemen, and it is practically impossible for them not to obtain some information.”
“And how long does the investigation take?”
The major made a typical office worker’s gesture: he replaced a pencil which was not out of place, rested his chin on his hand and fixed me with his little black, lusterless eyes. “I might say two or three weeks,” he said. “I might say even longer. But I don’t want to run off with your money. By the end of a week we shall know everything. When a woman is in love with a man, she doesn’t see him once a week; she sees him every day, even several times a day. Now, if we can prove that the woman we are watching sees a man every day, or indeed more than once a day, our client is in possession of all the proofs he requires. Of course, if our client is not convinced, we can make further investigations, going even more deeply into the matter, if need be.”
“What do you mean—going more deeply into the matter?”
“Forgive me, but these are not things that can be stated beforehand. One has to know the case. However, don’t worry, a week will be enough. Yours, if I may be allowed to say so, is an ordinary case.”
“Why ordinary?”
“It is the simplest kind of case. You have no idea of the complications we are faced with sometimes. A week, then, as I said, will be more than enough.”
“Yes, I understand,” I said; and I remained silent for a short time. I was thinking that the major, thanks to his so-called scientific investigations, was convinced that he could reach the truth of the matter and I was also thinking that his truth was not mine. Finally I inquired: “What are the conditions of payment?”
“Ten thousand lire a day. With a supplement, according to arrangement, if the person to be watched goes about by car, because in that case our detectives have to have the use of a car too.”
I said, meditatively: “She doesn’t go by car, she walks.”
“Ten thousand lire a day, then.”
“And when could you start?”
“Tomorrow. You give me the details, I’ll study them and tomorrow morning the detective will start shadowing her.”
Suddenly I rose to my feet. “We’ll begin in a week’s time,” I said. “Because the person isn’t in Rome at the moment and won’t be back for a week.”
“As you wish.” Major Mosconi had also risen to his feet. “But if by any chance you are hesitating because of the price, you can find out and see that other agencies won’t charge you any less.”
I answered that it was not a question of price, and repeating that I would reappear in a week’s time, I went away.
I went back mechanically to my studio and prepared to wait for Cecilia, for this was one of the two or three days of the week when we saw each other. For some time now I had been suffering from sleeplessness owing to the wretchedness that my relations with Cecilia were causing me. Usually I would drop off to sleep as soon as I had gone to bed, but not an hour would pass before I woke up with a jump, as though somebody had given me a good shaking; and then, inevitably, I would start thinking about Cecilia and would not fall asleep again until dawn, only to reawaken at my usual time, all too early. And then during the day I would drop off to sleep wherever I was, worn out with fatigue, and sleep heavily for as much as two or three hours. And so it happened that day. The window curtain was drawn, and a restful light, warm and yellow, filled the studio. I lay down on the divan and, turning on one side, started looking at the empty canvas still standing on the easel