Page 3 of The Collector
“I’m allowed.” Chiara issued a dramatic sigh. “Has the train wreck settled on her repertoire?”
“Schumann’s Violin Sonata No. 1 and the D-minor Brahms.”
“You always loved the Brahms, especially the second movement.”
“Who doesn’t?”
“I suppose she’ll make us sit through an encore of theDevil’s Trill.”
“If she doesn’t play it, there’s likely to be a riot.”
Giuseppe Tartini’s technically demanding Violin Sonata in G Minor was Anna’s signature piece.
“A satanic sonata,” said Chiara. “One can only imagine why your girlfriend would be drawn to a piece like that.”
“She doesn’t believe in the devil. Nor, for that matter, does she believe Tartini’s silly story about hearing the piece in a dream.”
“But you don’t deny that she’s your girlfriend.”
“I believe I’ve been quite clear on that point.”
“And you were never in love with her?”
“Asked and answered.”
Chiara leaned her head against Gabriel’s shoulder. “And what about the devil?”
“He’s not my type.”
“Do you believe he exists?”
“Why would you ask such a question?”
“It might explain all the evil in this world of ours.”
She was referring, of course, to the war in Ukraine, now in its eighth month. It had been another dreadful day. More missiles directed against civilian targets in Kyiv. Mass graves with hundreds of bodies discovered in the town of Izium.
“Men rape and steal and murder all on their own,” said Gabriel, his eyes fixed on the Holocaust memorial. “And many of the worst atrocities in human history were committed by those who were motivated not by their devotion to the Evil One but by their faith in God.”
“How’s yours?”
“My faith?” Gabriel said nothing more.
“Perhaps you should talk to my father.”
“I talk to your father all the time.”
“About our work and the children and security at the synagogues, but not about God.”
“Next subject.”
“What were you thinking about a few minutes ago?”
“I was dreaming of your fettuccine and mushrooms.”
“Don’t make a joke about it.”
He answered truthfully.
