Bella Italia by Suzanne Vermeer

received a visit from children’s protection services. Eventually they took from him the one thing he loved most in the world. And because of all these setbacks, he ended up on the streets and in our community.
    “Why name him the Noble One?” Tardelli wanted to know.
    “Because the name suited him perfectly. Ottavio was a sensitive, polite human being, who only ever had nice things to say about everyone. Despite his heavy-drinking problem, he still tried to take care of everyone else.”
    “How was he with children?”
    “He was very good with children. He was even friendly to the children who called him names on the street. And I’d like to emphasize that when I use the word friendly , I mean that in the proper sense of the word, gentlemen.”
    They already knew about this part of Galli’s past. They also knew he had a daughter. She lived with a distant relative in Rome and no longer had any contact with her father. According to the detectives who spoke with her, she wasn’t sorry or regretful about that. Sad , he thought.
    “So you really think Ottavio is not the murderer?” Tardelli asked.
    “I’m convinced he is not. In fact, I would bet my life on it. It’s simply unthinkable that Ottavio could ever harm a child.”
    “Well, that is quite a statement. Maybe he was just projecting his grief? Because he was really angry that he couldn’t see his daughter, or that she didn’t want to see him?”
    The man took a swig from the bottle. “Yeah, it is quite a statement indeed, but you know what they say about drunken people!”
    Martuccia laughed at the man’s self-deprecation. For the first time, he noticed that the homeless man, despite his shabby clothes and unkempt physical appearance, was actually quite civilized and charismatic. He looked straight into his eyes and suddenly saw what he had missed before. The look in his eyes. Pleasant, friendly, almost serene. A little like the saints depicted in the large paintings hanging in the museums.
    “I would like to clarify something else,” the Professor said to Martuccia. “The fact that I speak to you with a certain amount of authority, also comes from a place of deep shame. The Council, our community, our society of homeless people, came into existence from a place of helplessness and powerlessness, and a need to give a sense of togetherness. But in reality there are dozens of desolate people, who are all, in their own ways, trying to make the best of it. Society views us as the scum of the earth, and that is precisely how we feel sometimes. We have nothing, and we are nothing. The majority of us don’t have any self-respect left. In an attempt to win some back, we have tried to unite. Together we stand and divided we fall. By uniting we feel stronger, but that in no way means we are some kind of clan. So I fully understand where your preconceived notions come from, sir.” He looked at Martuccia and continued: “They aren’t even all that far from the truth, but they are also not the whole truth.”
    Martuccia nodded quickly. As far as he was concerned, the Professor had made his point clear.
    “Thanks for talking to us, Professor,” Tardelli said genuinely. “Unless my colleague has any more questions, I think were done here.”
    Martuccia saluted him with his right hand. “See you later, Professor.”
    The man returned his greeting by raising his bottle. “Thanks for the gift, gentlemen. Have a good day.”
    As they walked back to the parking lot, Martuccia slowed his pace.
    “Why is he called the Professor?”
    “Before he ended up on the streets, he was a Professor at the university,” Tardelli explained.
    “Where did it go wrong?”
    “Affairs with students—apparently he had a thing for younger women. It went on for a long time, until agirl’s father found out. That man was an archconservative with considerable influence. The story came out, and the Professor was fired. His wife left him and took the children with her. He was broken