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Give Unto Others

Book by Donna Leon · 4 quotes · Autumn, Brunetti, Capitalism

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“While del Balzo spoke, Brunetti turned off his ears and observed the speaking man, a habit he had developed during years of interrogating suspects, listening to witnesses, or sometimes hearing his children explain their school grades. Usually, some uncontrolled part of the bod–-a foot, a finger, or even a nose--gave evidence of the state of affairs inside the speaker; further, the non-listening listener could not be lulled by flattery or charm, nor by persuasive numbers. He simply watched a person, looking for evidence that what they were saying was not what they knew or believed.”

“Have you been reading the letters of Rosa Luxemburg again, Donatella?’ Brunetti asked in a normal voice. She laughed her bright laugh, a sound he delighted in hearing because to be thought clever or amusing by this woman was, to Brunetti, a jewel of great price. ‘No dear, not recently. Besides, they’re very serious and filled with lofty thoughts about the inner contradictions of capitalism, and I’m too old to enjoy reading things like that.’ She gave him a level glance as though she were testing how far she could go – the same look he had sometimes been given by her daughter – and added, ‘And too rich.’ This time it was Brunetti who laughed.”

“In Campo Manin, the bodies of dead shops lined the way to the canal. There was a dead Middle Eastern fast-food place, a dead sporting goods shop, a dead clothes shop with two dead mannequins in the window, and, at last, the dead travel agency. Luckily, shops didn't have toes, for then each of them would have had a tag tied to their left big toe listing their name, age and presumed cause of death. Those here in the campo had all died of Covid.”

“The autumn had been unseasonably dry, and the vines that had taken up residence on the canal side of the brick wall surrounding the property extended themselves in parched desperation towards the water. Brunetti was struck by the resemblance between the vines, exposed to the sun almost all day, every day, and The Raft of the Medusa. The human limbs in the foreground of the painting, like the vines on the wall, fell weakly towards the water, while the figures behind stretched towards a glimpse of what might be a boat, a speck of land, or yet another swiftly arriving wave, bent on their destruction. How much worse the vines looked than the men on the raft, even though the accounts of the incident that had inspired the painting spoke of dehydration and starvation.”