The Lake
On the far side of the water, high above Malcesine, Monte Baldo caught the last rays of sunlight, and the runnels along the mountain’s flank were intricate and clear.
In Gardesana, men and women were walking along the Lungolago. There were children playing. And Trotti noticed, standing near the small harbour, the black uniform of two carabinieri. The Giuseppe Verdi let out a mournful hoot as it moved towards the quay. An officer, standing on the deck only a couple of metres away from Pioppi, threw the rope to the Capitano, who caught it and looped it round a bollard. Both men spoke in dialect and Trotti saw the Capitano laugh.