Excerpt of Blood From A Stone by Donna Leon
(Page 2 of 11)
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Opposite them a small group was gathered around three buskers, two violinists
and a cellist, who were playing a piece that sounded both baroque and out of
tune. Because the musicians played with enthusiasm and were young, the small
crowd that had gathered was pleased with them, and not a few of them stepped
forward to drop coins into the violin case that lay open in front of the trio.
It was still early, probably too early for there to be much business, but the
street vendors were always punctual and started work as soon as the shops
closed. By ten minutes to eight, therefore, just as the two men approached, all
of the Africans were standing behind their sheets, prepared for their first
customers. They shifted from foot to foot, occasionally breathing on to their
clasped hands in a futile attempt to warm them.
The two white men paused just at the end of the row of sheets, appearing to talk
to one another, though neither spoke. They kept their heads lowered and their
faces out of the wind, but now and then one of them raised his eyes to study the
line of black men. The tall man placed his hand on the other's arm, pointed with
his chin towards one of the Africans, and said something. As he spoke, a large
group of elderly people wearing gym shoes and thick down parkas, a combination
that made them look like wrinkled toddlers, flowed around the corner of the
church and into the funnel created by the buskers on one side, the Africans on
the other. The first few stopped, waiting for those behind to catch up, and when
the group was again a unit, they started forward, laughing and talking, calling
to one another to come and look at the bags. Without pushing or jostling, they
assembled themselves three-deep in front of the line of Black men and their
The taller of the two men started towards the group of tourists, his companion
following close behind. They halted on the same side as the church, careful to
stand behind two elderly couples who were pointing at some of the bags and
asking prices. At first the man whose sheet it was did not notice the two, since
he was attending to the questions of his potential customers. But suddenly he
stopped talking and grew tense, like an animal scenting menace on the wind.
The black man at the next sheet, aware of his colleague's distraction, turned
his attention to the tourists and decided instantly that he would have good luck
with them. Their shoes told him to speak English, and he began: 'Gucci, Missoni,
Armani, Trussardi. I have them all, ladies and gentlemen. Right from factory.'
In the dimmer light here, his teeth glowed with Cheshire cat brilliance.
Three more of the tourist group insinuated their way past the two men to stand
with their friends, all excitedly commenting on the bags, their attention now
evenly divided between the items on both sheets. The taller man nodded, and as
he did, both moved forward until they were standing just a half-step behind the
Americans. Seeing them advance, the first trader pivoted on his right foot and
started to arch himself away from the sheet, the tourists, and the two men. As
he moved, the men took their right hands from their pockets with a smooth,
practised ease that called no attention to itself. Each held a pistol, their
barrels extended by tubular silencers. The taller of the two was the first to
fire, though the only sound the gun made was a dull thwack, thwack, thwack,
accompanied by two similar noises from the pistol of his companion. The buskers
had worked their way towards the end of the allegro, and their music plus the
shouts and squeals of the encircling crowd all but covered the sound of the
shots, though the Africans to either side turned instantly towards them.
Momentum continued to carry the bag seller away from the people in front of his
sheet; then gradually his motion slowed. The men, their guns now in their
pockets, backed through the crowd of tourists, who politely moved out of their
way. The men separated, one moving towards the Accademia bridge and the other
towards Santo Stefano and Rialto. Quickly they disappeared among the people
hurrying in both directions.
Copyright © 2005 by Donna Leon and Diogenes Verlag AG Zurich. Reprinted with permission from Grove Atlantic, Inc. All rights reserved.