‘You’re intolerable!’ he said. ‘Why are you making these things up? Why are you tormenting that poor boy? Because the woman had a suitor when she was a girl, it doesn’t have to mean …’

‘Calm down and look at this,’ said the King of Spades, showing him the anonymous letter from Costantino’s village.

The chaplain saw the matter was serious. He asked the ex-policeman to leave the letter with him, saying, ‘Do you take money from Ledda?’

‘A little bit, of course. Isn’t that fair? Aren’t I risking being put in solitary by helping him?’

‘And do you think it’s your duty to do what you’re doing?’

‘What’s duty? Helping the next man is our duty, and that’s what I do.’

The chaplain was rereading the letter closely.

‘When I’m free,’ went on Burrai, ‘if those influential people whom I have at my disposal don’t have me reappointed to my post, I shall make it my profession to circulate all the secret correspondence of all prisoners in Italy. A sort of agency.’

‘You’ll soon be back here.’

‘Hah. I’ll do it as a duty. A secret agency, my dear friend. What about that?’

‘Thank you,’ said the other man, folding up the letter. ‘Why are you flattering the poor wretch with your attentions?’

‘Thank you,’ replied Burrai coldly. ‘Isn’t your job, comforting people, an illusion too? Isn’t it a kind act? If we don’t have hope what do we have?’

‘Well, then, do me the favour of tormenting someone other than this poor boy. Give him some hope, or he’s going to become ill.’

The ex-police inspector promised grudgingly. ‘He’ll die of shock,’ he thought. ‘We’ll see in the spring. We’ll see whether I’m right or not.’

When the two of them next met, Costantino smiled at the King and asked him if he had seen the priest, as they called the chaplain amongst themselves, and what he had said. Burrai was leaning against the dark damp wall, his hands behind his back, and in dialect, under his breath, he cursed long and quietly.

‘Who are you cursing?’ asked Costantino. ‘Who are you angry with?’

‘No one. Yes, I saw the priest, he gave me a telling off as if I was a child. He’s a child himself! A piglet full of rancid, yellow fat. Do you know, I read that in Russia rancid bacon is in great demand?’

‘What did he tell you?’

‘What did he tell me? He said … I don’t remember now. Oh, yes, he told me that thing we were talking about is a fantasy of mine. It seems I have a rich imagination. Forgive me, dear friend. As true as I stand here, your wife will never betray you.’

Costantino watched him eagerly. The man was not joking, he never joked. He was telling the truth.