The Revolution of the Moon

by Andrea Camilleri

  “Eh?” he asked.

  She signaled for him to come closer, then held out her hand and pulled him down towards her until don Alterio’s ear was within reach of her mouth.

  “You must help me,” she whispered.

  “What do you need?”

  And he stuck a hand in the pouch where he kept his money, ready to give her as much as she wanted.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  “Eh?” he said absentmindedly.

  “I’m pregnant.”

  Taken by surprise, Don Alterio got upset. The news pleased him not one bit, because by now he felt that he owned Cilistina. And he certainly wasn’t the one who had got her pregnant.

  “Who was it?”

  “How should I know? There were so many before you, my lord.”

  Don Alterio swallowed his bile. Didn’t he know, after all, what trade the orphan girls of the Holy Refuge practiced? Don Simone used them to win powerful friends who would then lend him a hand in the legitimate and less-than-legitimate deals he had going.

  “And how can I help you?”

  “By getting me out of this place.”

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “I don’t know, but I have to get out of here.”

  “Why?”

  “Because if I stay the marquis will have me killed.”

  Don Alterio balked.

  “What are you saying?”

  “It’s true. I’m absolutely sure of it. Eight months ago Saveria got pregnant, and the marquis made her disappear. And the same thing happened to Assunta three months ago.”

  “But what makes you think they were killed? Maybe the marquis had them taken to a place where—”

  “No, sir. All the girls here are convinced. He had them killed and buried here nearby, in the country.”

  “By whom?”

  “You don’t know them. They’re a couple of cutthroats, Pippo Nasca and Totò ’Mpallomeni. The marquis uses them every now and then. Then he repays them not just with money but by making two of us available to them. And one day when Pippo Nasca was doing it with Ninuzza, he told her what happened to Saveria and Assunta. Listen, if you save me, I swear I’ll become your servant for the rest of my life.”

  “Have you told anyone?”

  “No sir. What, do you think I’m stupid? I only told Teresina, the blonde in the first cell. She’s a friend of mine.”

  Don Alterio couldn’t stay any longer. He had to go home. On top of everything else, seeing her so frightened rekindled his desire. If he tarried another minute, he would end up back in her bed.

  “All right, I’ll think about it.”

  “When will you be back?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  This annoyance was really the last thing he needed. While he didn’t believe that the marquis had had the two girls killed, it was clear that he’d made them disappear to avoid trouble. Which meant that he would also make Cilistina disappear if he found out she was pregnant. And don Alterio did not want this to happen. Therefore, willy nilly, he had to get Cilistina out of there. But once she was out, where was he going to put her? Ah, yes! That’s it! He could send her Scavuzzo, where he had a country house his wife never set foot in because she didn’t like it. But Scavuzzo was far away. He could only go there twice a week, at the very most. Still better than nothing.

  After sleeping through the morning, don Alterio ate and went to see don Simone. He’d got an idea that he thought might solve the problem of Cilistina.

  “To what do I owe the honor?” the marquis asked him, showing him into his sitting room.

  “I have to ask a big favor of you.”

  “Speak.”

  “I want Cilistina.”

  Don Simone gave him a confused look.

  “Don’t you have her already?”

  “I want her always with me. I can keep her at the house I have in Scavuzzo. And you can bring in another girl to take her place.”

  “If it was up to me . . . ” said the marquis.

  “Why, is it not your decision?”

  “Until yesterday it was. But didn’t you hear what donna Eleonora said to me yesterday?”

  “No.”

  “She said she wanted a list of the names of the orphan girls in our care, and that I was responsible for them, and that no girl could leave the Refuge unless there was someone to adopt her, and that in any case the adoption request had to be submitted to her, so she could decide whether or not to grant it. Unfortunately I had the list sent to her just this morning, and I don’t think your wife would agree to adopting her.

  All don Alterio could do at this point was start cursing.

  And he cursed even more when, upon returning home, he found a written request from donna Eleonora wanting to know before evening how much of a decrease in earnings the Royal Treasury could afford. But she didn’t deign to explain why she wanted to know.

  It wasn’t exactly an easy thing to do. Don Alterio had to summon the help of the vice-treasurer, who arrived with a carriage-load of papers. Then he had to summon the vice-treasurer’s assistant as well.

  In short, he didn’t come out of his study until after nightfall, but after sending his answer to donna Eleonora, he had a carriage take him to the Holy Refuge just the same.

  * * *

  By half past nine all the Councillors were already in the great hall.

  They decided almost immediately to let donna Eleonora do the talking. That would make it easier to work out what she had in mind, and they could act accordingly.

  As the session opened, donna Eleonora looked inquiringly at the secretary, who told her that the Councillors had not given him any questions to ask as to the order of the day.

  Donna Eleonora understood the Councillors’ maneuver, but played along.

  She said she would submit to the Council’s opinion two laws she’d decided to institute after hearing the opinions of a few of the people involved.

  The Councillors exchanged some worried, suspicious glances. Who were these people with whom she’d spoken?

  If that was the way it was, and the lady was conducting secret meetings and receiving information, advice and suggestions from outsiders, it meant that she was a slyboots and that they must keep her under strict surveillance from that moment on.

  But the fact was that donna Eleonora was bluffing. Aside from the court physician, she hadn’t met with anyone, but she had, on the other hand, been reading dozens and dozens of letters that had long been coming in for her husband and had never received any reply. And she’d also taken note of many measures that don Angel had intended to take if sickness and death hadn’t prevented him.

  The first law, she explained, was nothing new. It had been passed in 1514 by Viceroy Ugo Moncada, then repealed some forty years later, and she now wanted to reinstate it.

  This was the law of the so-called patri onusti, the “burdened fathers”—that is, those heads-of-family who had at least twelve children, and who had been relieved, without distinction between rich and poor, of certain heavy taxes and minor tariffs. She, however—and this was the novelty—wanted to reduce the number of children concerned to eight.

  Did the honorable Councillors have any observations to make?

  The prince of Ficarazzi asked a question: Since the decreased payment of those taxes and tariffs would mean less revenue for the public purse, might it not have been wiser to know first the Grand Treasurer’s opinion on the matter?

  Donna Eleonora gave a smile as sweet as honey and said that, being a wise woman, she had indeed made sure to consult with the Grand Treasurer on the matter.

  All the Councillors turned and looked at don Alterio. Why had he not informed them that he had been summoned to the palace? Hadn’t they made an explicit agreement?

  Don Alterio threw up his hands as if to say he’
d completely forgotten to let them know. Which was true, since at the time the only thing on his mind had been Cilistina.

  Nevertheless, from time to time the Concillors continued to look over at him with suspicion.

  Donna Eleonora moved on to the second law she wanted to pass. And this was something entirely new. In all of Sicily, but especially in the big cities, disputes often arose not only between the different trade guilds, but also within each individual guild, disputes that almost always ended in brawls with injuries and even fatalities. With this law, each trade, from silversmiths to butchers to coachmen to tailors to chicken-breeders to mattress-makers and so on, had to be represented by a consul whom the tradesmen would freely elect. All the consuls would then be under the jurisdiction of a Magistrate of Commerce, who would have absolute discretionary power to adjudicate all questions or disputes brought before him. His verdict would be equal to that of a court of law.

  The Councillors were bewildered. They hadn’t expected the marquesa to come out with such a complicated law. The first to realize that this new Magistrate would have the power to create good or bad weather over half of Sicily was Bishop Turro Mendoza.

  He said that he thought this law was a good thing, but that one must reflect long and hard over whom to choose for the grave responsibility of such a position.

  Donna Eleonora gave him the same smile she’d given the prince, and said that she’d thought about it long and hard and had found someone who for her was the right man.

  “Could we know his name?” asked the Grand Captain.

  “Claro. Don Valerio Mantano.”

  The Councillors froze.

  Don Valerio Montano, baron of Sant’Alessio, was known to all of Palermo as a very honest, scrupulous, upright man who lived a secluded life and would never have accepted a public post. There wasn’t much to say about him, but there was a great deal to say, on the other hand, about who it was who had given his name to the marquesa.

  “And has don Valerio accepted?” don Cono asked, still in shock.

  “He say yes to me in person.”

  How busy the little slyboots had been! And was she now drawing her sword, getting ready to strike? She had to be stopped once and for all, before she did any further damage. As a first step, they would have to post certain trustworthy persons outside the palace to know who was going in and coming out.

  The last thing donna Eleonora did was to inform the Council that she had decided, motu proprio, to grant a biannual subsidy to the praiseworthy, charitable Holy Refuge for Endangered Virgins of the Marquis don Simone Trecca, and that she would raise the money necessary from the funds available to the Viceroy for personal expenses.

  She added that before materially granting the subsidy, she would have to have a certain test conducted, but she didn’t specify what it would be.

  Then she looked around and, since nobody said anything, she said:

  “La sesión ha terminado.”

  She stood up, and everyone else did likewise.

  After descending the three stairs, donna Eleonora stopped, made a confused face and, lightly touching her forehead as if she had just remembered something, she said:

  “Perdón, I almost forget. Mañana, un Visitador General is coming to Palermo.”

  The Councillors were flabbergasted, and immediately started exchanging confused, worried glances.

  “But it hasn’t yet been six years since the last visit,” said the Grand Captain.

  “Lo sé, but His Majesty ha recibido mi solicitaciòn to send him ahead of time.”

  And so it was she who was putting them all in danger. The slyboots was rolling out the big guns. But still, it might come to nothing. A great many Visitors General had shown themselves willing, after one day, to close one eye, and sometimes even both.

  “Why didn’t you tell us sooner?”

  “It was not possible,” donna Eleonora said blithely, “porque vosotros decided that the next Council meeting sería para hoy.”

  And this was why she hadn’t objected; so she could wait until the very last minute to inform them of the Visitor’s arrival.

  “Do you know who it will be?” asked the bishop.

  “Sí, lo sé. Mi parece que se llame . . . his name is . . . ah, sí, don Francisco Peyró.”

  And then she left, as the Councillors, upon hearing that name, collapsed into their armchairs one after another like ninepins knocked down by a ball.

  The first to recover was the bishop, who ordered the secretary to bring fresh water for everyone. And when it arrived, they each drank a good pint or so, as if they’d been thirsty for days.

  They had to confront this new development head-on, without wasting a single minute.

  “If the protonotary and secretary would please step outside . . . ” the bishop said.

  “Matre santa, what will we do now?” asked the Grand Captain.

  “We’re sunk!” don Cono wailed.

  “Fucked!” don Severino added for precision.

  “The marquesa’s intentions are clear,” said the Grand Captain. “Summoning Peyró is like sending for the hangman. That guy won’t hesitate a minute to send us all to jail. And when we’re in jail the marquesa will replace us all with people loyal to her, and that’ll be the end of us!”

  “Well,” said don Cono, “Losing my position would be bad enough, but as for going to jail, I really don’t feel like it.”

  “Why, do you think I do?” said the Grand Captain.

  “There may be a solution,” said don Arcangelo, who up to that moment hadn’t said a word.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Kill him the minute he steps off the ship.”

  “And the marquesa will be immediately convinced it was us who did it,” don Severino objected.

  “But I was thinking of something that would look like an accident. Such as setting up a phony brawl amongst some sailors, where one of them, by accident . . . ,” don Arcangelo explained.

  “I’m against it,” said the bishop. “Not against killing him, to be sure, but because something like that must be well prepared in advance. It takes time, which we don’t have.”

  “So what should we do?” the Grand Captain asked, going back to square one.

  Silence descended. Nobody could think of a way out of their predicament. They felt like rats in a cage.

  At that moment the protonotary came in.

  “If my lords have no further need of my services . . . ”

  The bishop got an idea.

  “Wait just a minute. I need to ask you something.

  “As you wish, sir.”

  The other Councillors formed a circle round the bishop, full of hope.

  “The question I want to ask you is hypothetical; it has nothing to do with us Councillors, because we all have clean consciences, so we’re not afraid of the Visitor General. But, hypothetically speaking, if a Councillor were to find himself, as it were, in difficulty and wanted to wriggle out . . . ”

  “I don’t quite understand,” said the protonotary.

  He’d understood perfectly well, but wanted to savor the moment a little.

  The bishop took a breath and resumed.

  “Let us assume a Councillor had done something he shouldn’t have, such as a favor for a friend, and derived a monetary benefit from it, or received perhaps a gift, or profited from something that wasn’t his own . . . What could he do to avoid having the Grand Visitor put him in irons?”

  “Ah, now you’re speaking clearly!” exclaimed the protonotary. “But let me think about this for a moment.”

  He sat down at his place and buried his head in his hands, as the Councillors gathered silently around him.

  When he removed his hands from his head, he asked the bishop:

  “Are we still speaking hypothetically?”

  “O
f course,” said Turro Mendoza.

  The protonotary buried his head in his hands again and stayed that way for a spell. So as not to disturb him, the Councillors breathed very lightly. The protonotary then looked at them one by one and said.

  “There may be a solution.”

  “And what would that be?” the six said in unison.

  “The law is very clear. It is written that the Visitor General has no power against a Councillor who, though he may have acted wrongly, resigns from his post before the Visitor’s arrival. If, still speaking hypothetically, you told the marquesa before this evening was over that you are abandoning your office, the Visitor could do nothing to you. And now, by your leave, I must go.”

  He stood up and went out.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  The Grand Visitor General Arrives

  but It Is Not Peyró

  A very heavy silence descended. The protonotary’s words had gone straight to the six Councillors’s brains, but their brains refused to grasp their meaning in full. Then, finally, the meaning itself became clear and exploded inside their heads, leaving them all stunned.

  “Ahh, good Lord, what pain!” don Severino Lomascio suddenly cried, bringing a hand to his chest and falling into the nearest chair like an empty sack.

  He was writhing from the pain in his chest and short of breath. He might be having an apoplectic fit, but nobody paid him any mind.

  Every one of them had his own ass to worry about.

  “As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to consider, not even for a moment, and I tell you I’m absolutely determined not to resign, even if I die,” the bishop said firmly.

  Don Alterio, for his part, gave the matter little or no reflection either, and joined forces with Turro Mendoza, going and standing beside him.

  “Me too,” he said.

  “Well, for me there’s nothing left to do but to tender my resignation,” said don Arcangelo Laferla, frowning darkly. “Between losing my post and prison, there’s not much choice.”

  “I agree,” said don Cono Giallombardo.

  “And I . . . I . . . will resign with you,” said don Severino Lomascio, still writhing.