I pick up the wine, take a sip. I watch the liquid sway.
"First of all, when the boy died, he was wearing a pair of gloves."
"And with that?"
"What was he doing with gloves if he was at home? They say he jumped out the window, right?"
Giulia doesn"t take her eyes off me.
"He was wearing gloves?"
"And an anorak!"
She thinks about it a bit.
"That doesn"t mean anything. There is no logic in the actions of a suicide victim. When someone..."
"Yes, there is, instead!" I interrupt her, "it is a distorted logic, but it is still a criterion that has its own coherence!"
"Why are you getting so upset?"
I raise my arms.
"I’m not upset."
Giulia is puzzled. I think she’s surprised that someone"s death can upset my equilibrium. I’ve been dealing with horror for a lifetime, wit
