Lisa speaks in a strangled voice. Even after all this time, she cannot get used to it. She coughs and continues: ‘Then, this Filippo Zuliani turned up on my doorstep, a few days after Carlo’s death. That too, I told you about at the time. He told me how he and Carlo had gone their separate ways immediately after the escape, which corroborated what Carlo had told me. He told me that Carlo had arranged to meet up with him in Milan, a month later. Whether it’s true or not doesn’t matter. In any case, Zuliani began to make his way northwards. He walked for three weeks in the mountains, without meeting a soul. When he arrived in Bologna, he read the newspapers and learned about the bank raid and Carlo’s death. And that was what frightened him, the idea that he might be suspected of being Carlo’s accomplice — understandably, since he was unable to provide an alibi. It was a knee-jerk reaction, he seemed lost, and I had the feeling that at that point, he was telling the truth. And I still think so. As far as I’m concerned, the book is definitely a novel, constructed from reading certain newspaper articles that bear no relation to the facts.’
Chiara has slipped in beside Roberto and some of the lawyers. She speaks with fieriness and resentment.
‘This business has done a lot of damage, both here and back in Italy, to those of us who aren’t gangsters. Just read the papers, you’ll see. It’s sickening, they’re all banging on about “The Italian left-wing extremists’ deadly and unstoppable slide into crime”. That tars us with the same brush. And unfortunately, I’m not certain that the book is purely fictitious, as you claim. I knew Carlo well too…’
Lisa bristles, Roberto quakes. No, not that…
‘…and I think that this Zuliani knew him well, from the way he describes Carlo’s love of guns, girls and showing off. The warmth of their relationship makes his account credible.’
Lisa straightens herself up, she has lost her cool and her voice becomes shrill.
‘Love of guns … Carlo… you’re crazy, Chiara. You talk as though we were all gunslingers. None of us loved firearms. I know what I’m talking about. And even if Carlo agreed with the Red Brigades’ military actions, he himself never touched a gun. I’m saying it here, for all those who didn’t know us, and now that it’s all over: Carlo was in charge of logistics for the Red Brigades’ underground operators — organising accommodation, transport, allocating funds. He took the same risks as all of us, but the organisation was cellular, he was never involved in any armed operation. This whole story is outrageous.’
‘What about the women, Lisa…?’
Roberto leaps up.
‘That’s enough, Chiara. Stop that now. Let’s get back to the topic of our meeting.’ He turns to the lawyers. ‘Does Zuliani have a chance of obtaining political asylum, and what should we do?’
‘We have met Filippo Zuliani once — Lisa sent him to us last year, on his arrival in Paris. We found him fairly insipid, and we didn’t pay much attention to him. That was clearly a mistake. He has a lawyer, who has not been in contact, so we have no direct knowledge of his application. But we think he has a chance, yes. Refugee status is awarded arbitrarily, at the discretion of the powers that be. And since the president prides himself on being a man of letters, anything is possible. Especially since the book is good and is getting excellent reviews. His publisher is supporting him and it will probably sell well. To defuse things, we’ll put the word out via our networks, repeat what Lisa has told us, explain that Zuliani only had a very distant connection to Carlo, and that his book is a novel. Lisa, have you got any concrete evidence you can give us?’
Lisa closes her eyes, grits her teeth and swallows her irritation.
‘No.’
‘It would be ideal if you could come up with something.’
‘I’m prepared to work at it, energetically too. Last year, I asked for help, but no one came forward. Will it be any different this time?’
‘Of course we’re prepared to help you, all of us here, we French lawyers as well as you Italians. Meanwhile, I advise everyone to be very careful in public. No comment without consulting us first. And let’s hope that no one will be talking about the book after the summer.’
May
After the publication of Jeanne Champaud’s piece in the Univers des Livres, the publisher is inundated with requests from various newspapers and magazines for interviews with Filippo Zuliani, many more than anticipated. Discussion between the publisher and the publicist. How much should they focus on the breakout, should they go all-out or softly-softly? The publisher is not sure. He fears that Filippo might not be able to cope with all the media attention and will cause a scandal by taking credit for the assassinations, for example. The publicist, on the other hand, feels that the book is going to be big, so it is unthinkable not to use it, and she is confident she can handle the young Italian bad boy. When several radio stations and a TV channel request interviews, the publicist is proved right. She asks Filippo to come in for a brief ‘meeting to arrange his schedule’. He arrives, his heart pounding. Conflicting feelings. The publishing house could be the family he dreams of, he wants to feel at home here, but somehow can’t. He is afraid of letting everyone down, and admits to himself that he is ready to do anything so as not to be thrown out, which he feels puts him in a position of weakness. Besides, ready to do anything … Would that be enough?
The publicist, Adèle, sees him in her office, a cramped, very cluttered room, with a French window opening on to a well-kept garden. She smiles at him, invites him to sit in a huge, old armchair, and offers him a coffee.
‘You seem tense. Relax, it’s all good news. There’s quite a buzz around Escape. She opens a file and reads out the requests she has received, commenting on each one.
‘There’s a terrific word-of-mouth effect, no doubt about it, and that’s very valuable because it’s not something you can create, but when there is one, you can build on it and consolidate it. Do you see?’
‘No. Not really.’
‘Never mind. That’s my job, trust me. First we need to try and understand what fires the critics’ interest. And the public’s, if it takes off as we’re hoping it will…’
She gazes at Filippo who sits very still, staring fixedly, fighting back the waves of anxiety.
‘…in addition to the book’s literary merit, of course. But if you knew how many good books never find an audience … in the case of Escape, the thing they’re all talking about is the thrill the journalists get from rubbing shoulders with a criminal, who may be a cop-killer. A type they rarely get to meet.’
Filippo is ashen, he feels a mounting panic. He stares at the floor. Adèle continues, undaunted: ‘Let me be clear. If you’re possibly a cop-killer, that makes you an attractive young hoodlum. But if you are a declared cop-killer and proud of it, then you become a criminal no one wants to be associated with. It’s a delicate balance. We have to maintain the ambiguity without putting you directly in danger. “It’s a novel, talk to my lawyer,” as we agreed, and as you did with Champaud, right? But only as a last resort. Beforehand, make a few concessions, tantalise these good people’s imaginations. You can admit that you escaped from prison with Carlo Fedeli, a former Red Brigades member who was killed a little later in a bank robbery. In any case, people will find out — it’s already public knowledge. You admit his death affected you, and it sparked the idea. Add that all literary fiction includes elements of real life, and stop there. Say any more and it becomes dangerous. Steer the conversation back to the novel and repeat “lawyer”. Are you with me? Agreed?’