He closed his eyes and jumped.
He realized he had his gun in his hand, though he couldn’t remember when he had taken it out of his pocket. He was acting purely on instinct.
He landed on the aft deck, entirely out in the open. The first shot they fired from the cabin whizzed by his head. He reacted by firing two shots blindly, come what may, in the general direction of the wheelhouse, as he ran and hid behind a large spool of cable that was pretty useless as a shield.
Then he realized he was very close to the hatch leading below decks.
He had to get there. They were still firing at him from the cabin, but as the cruiser rapidly gained speed, it danced about on the water, making it hard for them to take aim.
Then, after firing three rapid shots in a row, the inspector took another great leap and ended up rolling down the steps of the little staircase leading below.
As he picked himself up, he froze.
There before him, back against a wall, was Laura, staring at him in silence, eyes popping in terror.
What was she doing still on board?
For a moment he drowned in the blue of her eyes.
That brief moment sufficed to allow the man behind him to stick the barrel of a revolver into the middle of his back.
“Make a move and I’ll kill you,” said a voice with a slight French accent.
It must be Petit, Zigami’s secretary. Who was not, however, aware of just how much desperate courage Laura’s eyes had inspired in Montalbano.
Without his body showing the slightest sign of turning, the inspector’s left foot rose as if by its own will with animal speed and forcefully, ferociously struck the Frenchman square in the balls, making him double over, groaning and dropping his weapon. Just to be sure, Montalbano dealt him another swift kick square in the face. Petit collapsed.
Then in a single bound Montalbano was beside Laura and pushed her by the shoulders as far as the little staircase. He bent down and grabbed the Frenchman’s pistol. Now he could fire away without needing to save any shots.
“I’m going to go up to the top of the stairs and start firing at the wheelhouse. When you hear the first shot, run across the deck and jump into the water. But from the side of the boat, to avoid the propellors. Got that?”
She nodded yes. Then, making a great effort to speak, she asked:
“What about you?”
“I’ll jump in after you. Here I go.”
But then she laid her hand on his arm. And Montalbano understood. He leaned forward and kissed her, ever so lightly, on the lips.
He crawled up the six stairs and started firing. Laura streaked by him and disappeared. But they were returning his fire from the cabin and there wasn’t a second to lose.
He stood up and, jumping like a kangaroo across the deck, reached the ship’s side, stepped over it, and plunged into the water.
At once he realized that Laura was nowhere in sight. At the high speed the cruiser had reached, the few seconds between one jump and the next had sufficed to put a great distance between the two of them.
On top of everything else, night had fallen. Taking his bearings, however, from the lights he could see in the distance, he realized he was right in the middle of the harbor.
Letting go of the pistols, which he no longer needed, he took off his jacket and shoes and started swimming against the foaming wake the cruiser had left behind.
He called out loudly:
“Laura! Laura!”
Silence. Why didn’t she answer? Maybe her violent landing in the water had temporarily deafened her?
He was about to call out to her again when all at once, at the mouth of the harbor, there was a tremendous burst of automatic weapons fire. It sounded like a veritable naval battle. Apparently the cruiser was trying to force its way through the Coast Guard’s blockade and reach the open sea.
Then there was a tremendous explosion and the water all around turned red, reflecting the flames of a great fire.
So much for the Ace of Hearts, he thought. Perhaps it had been hit in the fuel tanks.
And it was by the continually changing light of that blaze, which made the water look as if it might itself turn to flame, that Montalbano spotted Laura’s body floating, about twenty yards away, moved only by the gentle rippling of the sea.
“Oh my God, my God . . . Oh please, God . . .”
Was he praying? He didn’t know, but if he was indeed praying, it was for the first time in his life.
He swam over to her. She was floating on her back, eyes open as if watching the night’s first stars, and barely breathing, her mouth wide open.
She didn’t even realize that Montalbano was now beside her and holding her head above the water with his arm under her shoulders.
With that same hand he touched the terrible wound that had rent Laura’s flesh.
They must have hit her as she was jumping into the sea.
But the important thing was that she was still breathing, and therefore he had to bring her to shore immediately.
He went underwater, swam under her body, then resurfaced.
Now they were shoulder to shoulder, and Montalbano held her tightly against him with his left arm and started swimming with his free arm and his feet.
After less than five minutes of this, a searchlight spotted them, and at once a motorboat was rumbling beside him, motor idling low, and Fazio’s voice called out.
“You can let her go, Chief. We’ll get the lieutenant ourselves.”
Later, at the station, he changed into the clothes and shoes that Gallo had gone to fetch for him in Marinella. And he’d already guzzled half of the bottle of whisky that he’d had Catarella buy for him, before Roberta Rollo came in, happy and triumphant.
Congratulations, Inspector. Thanks to your courage . . .
Everyone on the Ace of Hearts died in the explosion.
Why hadn’t they let him get into the ambulance with Laura?
The suitcase with the uncut diamonds was recovered by the Customs Police. Livia Giovannini, Captain Sperlì, and Maurilio Alvarez have been arrested.
Was she suffering a lot? Would they manage to save her?
We have delivered a very harsh blow to the illegal war-diamonds trade. They won’t easily recover from it.
I intend to highlight your invaluable contribution, Inspector, in my report to the United Nations.
She’d wanted him to kiss her. Perhaps she had a premonition of what was about to happen to her?
Tomorrow we’re going to hold a press conference here, at the police station.
The look she’d given him when he suddenly appeared on the Ace of Hearts!
Things really couldn’t have gone any better than this.
Really? No better? No better for whom?
By the time he left the station it was past midnight.
For all those hours he had opened his mouth barely three or four times, to answer questions. And Fazio must have noticed that there was something out of kilter with him, because he kept looking over at him.
For his own part, the inspector had asked only two questions, both for Roberta Rollo.
“But did you know that Lieutenant Belladonna was still aboard the Ace of Hearts?”
“Of course! I even told you!”
It was true. Now he remembered. Rollo had started saying, “But the lieutenant . . . ,” but he hadn’t let her finish the sentence.
His second question was:
“And would you have had them fire at the cruiser even if you’d known the lieutenant was aboard?”
“No, in fact I immediately told the Coast Guard not to open fire, even if this meant losing the game. But you took care of that. As soon as I saw you both jump into the water, I told them they could fire away.”
No, he couldn’t go home to Marinella without having any news of Laura. He got in his car and headed for Montelusa.
At that hour one wasn’t allowed to enter the hospital, but perhaps someone in the emergency room could tell h
im something.
As soon as he went in, however, he realized it was hopeless. A bus full of tourists had fallen into a ravine and there were some thirty-odd injured who urgently needed care.
He left the emergency room demoralized. As he was about to head to the parking lot where he’d left the car, he heard someone call him. Turning around, he saw that it was Mario Scala, an inspector from the Antimafia Commission.
“Hey, Salvo. I just heard a little while ago at the office about your heroic actions. Congratulations. What are you doing here?”
“I wanted to know if there was any news about a lieutenant from the Harbor Office, named Belladonna, a young woman who . . .”
His throat went dry and he couldn’t go on. He managed only to ask:
“And how about you?”
“I’ve got a Mafia turncoat here, a state’s witness who’s registered at the hospital under a false name. But I still worry about him, so I come and see him from time to time . . . What did you say the lieutenant’s name was?”
“Belladonna?”
“Wait here.”
He returned some ten minutes later after Montalbano had chain-smoked five cigarettes.
Mario Scala had a very serious expression on his face.
“They performed emergency surgery. It was a miracle she even made it to the hospital alive. She’d lost too much blood. She’s on life support now.”
“Is she going to make it?”
“They’re hoping. But she’s in very grave condition.”
Since the parking lot was almost entirely deserted, the inspector went into his car, turned on the ignition, and pulled the car around in such a way that he had a good view of the hospital’s main entrance. There were two unopened packs of cigarettes in the glove compartment.
He could spend the whole night there. And he did.
Every so often he got out of the car, walked around, looked up at the hospital’s façade, and then got back into the car.
Then, at dawn’s first, violet light, he saw a man in uniform come out the front door and immediately start talking on his cell phone.
It was Lieutenant Garrufo!
Montalbano jumped out of the car, ran up to the lieutenant, and brusquely pulled the arm holding the phone away from the man’s face.
“How is Laura?” he asked.
Garrufo was about to get angry but luckily recognized him at once.
“Ah, it’s you. Just a second.”
He brought the cell phone back to his ear.
“I’ll call you back later.”
“How is she?” Montalbano asked again.
Garrufo’s uniform was all rumpled and he looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink all night.
He threw up his hands, and Montalbano felt sick at heart.
“I don’t know what to say, Inspector. She’s pretty far gone. I spent the whole night at her side, and when they took her to the operating room I waited outside, in the corridor. Right before the operation she had a moment of lucidity, but then nothing.”
“Did she manage to say anything?”
And here it seemed to Montalbano that the lieutenant had suddenly felt a little embarrassed.
“Yes. She repeated a name twice.” He paused a moment, and then asked: “Your first name is Salvo, isn’t it?”
The tone he used made this a statement, not a question. Silence fell over them. Then Garrufo said:
“We’ve informed her boyfriend. But he won’t be able to come. He doesn’t think he can ask for permission.”
The dream in which Livia had refused to come to his funeral flashed through the inspector’s mind. But what did that have to do with anything? What a thought! Perhaps the effect of sleep deprivation? That was a dream, and this was . . .
“The chief surgeon told me he found it very strange that Laura wasn’t cooperating.”
“Cooperating in what sense?”
“He said that, since she’s such a young woman, her body should instinctively react and cooperate, even on the unconscious level. Whereas . . . Well, I guess I’ll go back inside.”
She didn’t want to react, didn’t want to cooperate to save herself, Montalbano thought as he walked towards his car with a lump in his throat and his heart as tight as a fist. Perhaps because she’d made a choice. Or more likely because she wanted to take herself out of the game, so she wouldn’t have to make a choice.
He sat down in the car on the passenger’s side.
An hour later, the door on the driver’s side opened, and someone got in and sat down. He didn’t turn to see who it was, because by this point he was unable to take his eyes off the hospital entrance.
“I went to Marinella to look for you,” said Fazio, “but you weren’t there. Then I realized you’d be here, and so I came.”
Montalbano didn’t answer.
Half an hour later, he saw Garrufo come out, bent over, face in his hands, weeping.
“Take me home,” he said to Fazio.
He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, at last.
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Author’s Note
The only thing in this novel connected to reality is the Kimberley Process. Everything else, from the characters’ names to the situations in which they find themselves, is the fruit of my imagination.
A.C.
Notes
a novel . . . titled The Solitude of Prime Numbers: La solitudine dei numeri primi, by author and mathematician Paolo Giordano, 2008 (English translation by Shaun Whiteside, Penguin, 2009).
“honorables”: In Italy, members of parliament are called “honorables” (onorevoli).
the Cozzi-Pini law: A thinly disguised reference to the Bossi-Fini law, drawn up by Umberto Bossi and Gianfranco Fini, respective leaders of the xenophobic Northern League and the National Alliance, a right-wing party descended directly from the Neofascist MSI party founded after World War II. Enacted in 2002 by the Italian parliament, with the ruling coalition of Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi’s Forza Italia party and these two smaller parties holding an absolute majority, this heavy-handed law, among its many provisions, makes it illegal for individuals not belonging to E.U. member nations to enter the country without a work contract; requires all non-E.U. individuals who lose their jobs while in the country to repatriate to their country of origin; abolishes the sponsorship system that had previously enabled non-E.U. individuals to enter the country under the patronage of a sponsor already in Italy; establishes the government’s right to decree a quota of the number of non-E.U. individuals allowed to enter the country over the period of one year; makes all foreign nationals not in conformity with these new guidelines subject to criminal proceedings and/or forced repatriation.
“Garruso . . . Mebbe ’e’s from up north”: Garruso is a common Sicilian insult, homophobic in nature but used generally to mean “jerk,” “prick,” “asshole,” etc. A literal translation would be more like “faggot.”
the Settimana Enigmistica: An immensely popular Italian weekly periodical of puzzles, such as rebuses, acrostics, crossword puzzles, riddles, etc. Created in 1932, it is also published in a number of other European countries.
“Two months before Nasiriyah”: As part of George W. Bush’s war on Iraq, launched in March 2003, Italy, under right-wing prime minister Silvio Berlusconi, committed three thousand soldiers to the effort, helping to form part of what was called the “Coalition of the Willing.” The modern town of Nasiriyah, an important petroleum center with a population of over 250,000, was severely damaged by American bombs and fighting during the war and became a center for the small Italian contingent, who built a hospital there, among other things. On November 12, 2003, a suicide bombing by the Iraqi resistance killed twenty-three, including nineteen Italians, resulting in a fierce outcry among Italians at home, who had been overwhelmingly against the American declaration of war and Berlusconi’s agreement to participate in an effort they believed unjust. By having the character of Vanna Digi
ulio be killed in a secret operation before the Nasiriyah bombing, Camilleri appears to be highlighting what he views as the murky nature of the Italian participation in an unjustifiable war.
Belladonna . . . The lieutenant not only lived up to her surname, she exceeded it: in Italian, bella donna means “beautiful woman.”
nervetti: Marinated veal shanks, often served as antipasto.
Umberto Saba . . . such was the way / of wisdom: From the poem “Favoletta” in Cuor Morituro (1925–1930), translation from Songbook: The Selected Poems of Umberto Saba, translated by Stephen Sartarelli (Riverdale-on-Hudson: Sheep Meadow Press, 1998), p. 131.
seeing an enemy enter the camp of Agramante: Agramante is one of the leaders of the Saracen knights in Orlando Furioso, the fanciful verse romance by Ludovico Ariosto (1474–1533) loosely based on the Carolingian cycle of medieval chansons de geste. Episodes from Orlando Furioso provide much of the material used in the teatro dei pupi, the traditional Sicilian puppet theater one can still see in the streets of Sicily today.
the equestrienne: See Andrea Camilleri, The Track of Sand (Penguin, 2010).
once they got past the stumbling block of the K, there was still the Y at the end: The Italian language contains neither the letter K nor the letter Y.
Notes by Stephen Sartarelli
Also by Andrea Camilleri
The Shape of Water
The Terra-Cotta Dog
The Snack Thief
Voice of the Violin
Excursion to Tindari
The Smell of the Night
Rounding the Mark
The Patience of the Spider
The Paper Moon
August Heat
The Wings of the Sphinx
The Track of Sand
The Potter’s Field
* * *
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