IM1 The Shape of Water (2002)

by Andrea Camilleri

  But this is real! Its worth tens of millions of lire! Was it stolen?

  No, somebody found it on the ground at the Pasture and brought it in to me.

  At the Pasture? What kind of whore can afford a piece of jewelry like that? You must be kidding!

  I want you to examine it, photograph it, do all the little things you usually do. Then bring me the results as soon as you can.

  The telephone rang. Jacomuzzi answered and passed the receiver to his colleague.

  Who is it?

  Its Fazio, chief. Come back to town immediately. All hells breaking loose.

  What is it?

  Contino the schoolteachers shooting at people.

  What do you mean, shooting?

  Shooting, shooting! He fired two shots from the balcony of his apartment at the people sitting at the cafelow, screaming something nobody could understand. Then he fired another shot at me as I was coming through his front door to see what was going on.

  Has he killed anyone?

  No. He just grazed the arm of a certain De Francesco.

  Okay, Ill be right there.

  As he traveled the six miles back to Vig at breakneck speed, Montalbano thought of Contino the schoolteacher. Not only did he know him, there was a secret between them. Six months earlier the inspector had been taking the stroll he customarily allowed himself two or three times a week along the eastern jetty, out to the lighthouse.Before he set out,however,he always stopped at Anselmo Grecos shop, a hovel that clashed with the clothing boutiques and shiny, mirrored caf along the corso. Among such antiquated items as terracotta dolls and rusty weights to nineteenth-century scales, Greco also sold ca e simenza, a mixture of roasted chickpeas and salted pumpkin seeds. Montalbano would buy a paper cone full of these and then head out. That day, after he had reached the point, he was turning around, right under the lighthouse, when he saw an elderly man beneath him, sitting on a block of the low concrete breakwater,head down,immobile. Montalbano got a better look,to see if perhaps the man was holding a fishing line in his hands. But he wasnt fishing; he wasnt doing anything. Suddenly he stood

  up, quickly made the sign of the cross, and balanced

  himself on his tiptoes.

  Stop! Montalbano shouted.

  The man froze; he had thought he was alone. In a couple of bounds Montalbano reached him, grabbed him by the lapels of his jacket, lifted him up bodily, and carried him to safety.

  What were you trying to do,kill yourself?

  Yes.

  Why?

  Because my wife is cheating on me.

  This was the last thing Montalbano expected to hear. The man had surely passed his eightieth year.

  How old is your wife?

  Lets say eighty. Im eighty-two.

  An absurd conversation in an absurd situation, and the inspector didnt feel like continuing it. Taking the man by the arm, he forced him to walk toward town. At this point, just to make everything even crazier, the man introduced himself.

  I am Giosuontino, if I may. I used to teach elementary school. Who are you? If, of course, you wish to tell me.

  My name is Salvo Montalbano. Im police inspector for the town of Vig.

  Oh, really? Then you came at just the right time.

  You yourself can tell my slut of a wife shed better stop cuckolding me with Agatino De Francesco or one of these days Im going to do something crazy.

  And whos this De Francesco?

  He used to be the mailman. Hes younger than I am, seventy-six years old, and he has a pension thats one and a half times the size of mine.

  Do you know this to be a fact, or are you just suspicious?

  Im absolutely certain its the gospel truth. Every afternoon God sends our way, rain or shine, this De Francesco comes and has a coffee at the cafight under my house.

  So what?

  How long do you take to drink a cup of coffee?

  For a minute Montalbano went along with the old schoolmasters quiet madness.

  That depends. If Im standing

  Whats that got to do with it? When youre sitting!

  Well, it depends on whether I have an appointment and have to wait, or if I only want to pass the time.

  No, my friend, that man sits there only to eye my wife, who eyes him back, and they never waste an opportunity to do so.

  They had arrived back in town.

  Where do you live, Mr. Contino?

  At the end of the corso, on Piazza Dante.

  Lets take a back street, I think thats better. Montalbano didnt want the sodden,shivering old man to arouse the townspeoples curiosity and questions.

  Coming upstairs with me? Would you like a coffee? he asked the inspector while extracting the front-door keys from his pocket.

  No, thanks. Just dry yourself off and change your clothes.

  That same evening he had gone to speak with De Francesco, the ex-mailman, a tiny, unpleasant old man who reacted quite harshly to the inspectors advice, screaming in his face.

  Ill take my coffee wherever and whenever I like! What, is it illegal to go sit at the cafnder that arteriosclerotic Continos balcony? You surprise me, sir. Youre supposed to represent the law, and instead you come and tell me these things!

  Its all over, said the municipal policeman keeping curious bystanders away from the front door on Piazza Dante. At the entrance to the apartment stood Sergeant Fazio, who threw his arms up in distress. The rooms

  were in perfect order, sparkling clean. Master Contino was lying in an armchair, a small bloodstain over his heart. The revolver was on the floor, next to the armchair, an ancient Smith & Wesson five-shooter that must have dated back at least to the time of Buffalo Bill but unfortunately still worked. His wife was lying on the bed, she, too, with a bloodstain over her heart, her hands clasped around a rosary. She must have been praying before agreeing to let her husband kill her. Montalbano thought again of the commissioner, who this time was right: here death had indeed found its dignity.

  Nervous and surly, Montalbano gave the sergeant his instructions and left him there to wait for the judge. He felt, aside from a sudden melancholy, a subtle remorse: if only he had intervened more wisely with the schoolmaster, if only he had alerted Continos friends and doctor in time...

  He took a long walk along the wharf and along the eastern jetty, his favorite. His spirits slightly revived, he returned to the office. There he found Fazio beside himself.

  What is it? Whats happened? Hasnt the judge come yet?

  No, he came, and theyve already taken the bodies away.

  So whats wrong?

  Whats wrong is that while half the town was watching Contino shoot his gun, some bastards went into action and cleaned out two apartments top to bottom. Ive already sent four of our men. I was waiting for you to show up so I could go join them.

  All right, go. Ill be here.

  He decided it was time to play his ace: the trap he had in mind couldnt fail. He reached for the phone.

  Jacomuzzi?

  What, goddammit! Whats the rush? I still dont have any report on your necklace. Its too early.

  Im well aware you couldnt possibly tell me anything yet, I realize that.

  So what do you want?

  To advise you to maintain total secrecy. The story behind that necklace is not as simple as it may appear. It could lead to unexpected developments.

  You insult me! If you tell me not to talk about something,I wont talk about it,even if the heavens fall!

  Mr. Luparello? Im so sorry I couldnt come today. It simply wasnt possible, you must believe me. Please extend my apologies to your mother.

  Just a minute, Inspector.

  Montalbano waited patiently.

  Inspector? Mama says tomorrow at the same hour, if thats all right with you.

  It was all right with him, and he confirmed the appointment.

  8

  He returned home tired, intending to go straight to bed, but almost mechanicallyit was sort of a tiche turned on the television. The Tel
eVig anchorman, after talking about the event of the day,a shoot-out between petty mafiosi on the outskirts of Miletta a few hours earlier, announced that the provincial secretariat of the party to which Luparello belonged (actually, used to belong) had convened in Montelusa. It was a highly unusual meeting,one that in less turbulent times than these would have been held, out of due respect for the deceased, at least thirty days after his passing; but things being what they were, the troubling situation called for quick, lucid decisions. And so a new provincial secretary had been elected, unanimously: Dr. Angelo Cardamone, chief osteologist at Montelusa Hospital, a man who had always fought with Luparello from within the party, but fairly and courageously and always out in the open. This clash of ideasthe news

  man continuedcould be simplified in the following terms: Engineer Luparello was in favor of maintaining the four-party governing coalition while allowing the introduction of pristine new forces untrammeled by politics (read: not yet subpoenaed for questioning), whereas the osteologist tended to favor a dialogue, however cautious and clear-eyed, with the left. The newly elected secretary had been receiving telegrams and telephone calls of congratulation, even from the opposition. Cardamone, who in an interview appeared moved but determined, declared that he would commit himself to the best of his abilities not to betray his predecessors hallowed memory, and concluded by asserting that he would devote his diligent labor and knowledge to the now-renovated party.

  Thank God hell devote it to the party, Inspector Montalbano couldnt help but exclaim, since Dr. Cardamones knowledge, surgically speaking, had left more people hobbled than a violent earthquake usually does.

  The newsmans next words made the inspector prick up his ears. To enable Cardamone to follow his own path without losing sight of the principles and people that represented the very best of Luparellos political endeavors, the members of the secretariat had besought Counselor Pietro Rizzo, the engineers spiritual heir, to work alongside the new secretary. After

  some understandable resistance, given the onerous tasks that came with the unexpected appointment, Rizzo had let himself be persuaded to accept. In his interview with TeleVig, Rizzo, also deeply moved, declared that he had no choice but to assume this weighty burden if he was to remain faithful to the memory of his mentor and friend, whose watchword was always and only: to serve.

  Montalbano reacted with surprise. How could this new secretary so blithely swallow having to work, with official sanction, alongside the man who had been his principal adversarys most loyal right-hand man? His surprise was short-lived, however, and proved naive once the inspector had given the matter a moments rational thought. Indeed that party had always distinguished itself by its innate inclination for compromise, for finding the middle path. It was possible that Cardamone didnt yet have enough clout to go it alone and felt the need for extra support.

  He changed the channel. On the Free Channel, the voice of the leftist opposition, there was NicolZito, the most influential of their editorialists, explaining how in Sicily, and in the province of Montelusa in particular, mutatis mutandisor zara zabara, to say it in Sicilianthings never budged, even when there was a storm on the horizon. He quoted, with obvious facility, the prince of Salinas famous statement about

  changing everything in order to change nothing and concluded that Luparello and Cardamone were two sides of the same coin, the alloy that coin was made of being none other than Counselor Rizzo.

  Montalbano rushed to the phone, dialed the Free Channels number, and asked for Zito. There was a bond of common sympathy, almost friendship, between him and the newsman.

  What can I do for you, Inspector?

  I want to see you.

  My dear friend, Im leaving for Palermo tomorrow morning and will be away for at least a week. How about if I come by to see you in half an hour? And fix me something to eat. Im starving.

  A dish of pasta with garlic and oil could be served up without any problem. He opened the refrigerator: Adelina had prepared a hefty dish of boiled shrimp, enough for four. Adelina was the mother of a pair of repeat offenders, the younger of whom was still in prison, having been arrested by Montalbano himself three years earlier.

  The previous July, when she had come to Vig to spend two weeks with him, Livia, upon hearing this story, became terrified.

  Are you insane? One of these days that woman will take revenge and poison your soup!

  Take revenge for what?

  For having arrested her son!

  Is that my fault? Adelinas well aware its not my fault if her son was stupid enough to get caught. I played fair, didnt use any tricks or traps to arrest him. It was all on the up-and-up.

  I dont give a damn about your contorted way of thinking. You have to get rid of her.

  But if I fire her, whos going to keep house for me, do my laundry, iron my clothes, and make me dinner?

  Youll find somebody else!

  There youre wrong. Ill never find a woman as good as Adelina.

  He was about to put the pasta water on the stove when the telephone rang.

  I feel like crawling underground for waking you at this hour was the introduction.

  I wasnt sleeping. Who is this?

  Its Counselor Pietro Rizzo.

  Ah, Counselor Rizzo. My congratulations.

  For what? If its for the honor my party has just

  done me, you should probably offer me your condolences. Believe me, I accepted only out of a sense of undying loyalty to the ideals of the late Mr. Luparello. But to get back to my reason for calling: I need to see you,Inspector.

  Now?!

  Not now, of course, but bear in mind, in any case, that it is an improcrastinable matter.

  We could do it tomorrow morning, but isnt the funeral tomorrow? Youll be very busy, I imagine.

  Indeed. All afternoon as well. There will be some very important guests, you know, and of course they will linger awhile.

  So when?

  Actually, on second thought, I think we could do it tomorrow morning, but first thing. What time do you usually get to the office?

  Around eight.

  Eight oclock would be fine with me. It wont take but a few minutes.

  Listen, Counselor, precisely because you will have so little time tomorrow morning, could you perhaps tell me in advance what its about?

  Over the phone?

  Just a hint.

  All right. I have heardthough I dont know

  how much truth there is in the rumorthat an object found by chance on the ground was turned over to you. Ive been instructed to reclaim it.

  Montalbano covered the receiver with one hand and literally exploded in a horselike whinny, a mighty guffaw. He had baited the Jacomuzzi hook with the necklace, and the trap had worked like a charm, catching the biggest fish he could ever have hoped for. But how did Jacomuzzi manage to let everyone know things he wasnt supposed to let anyone know? Did he resort to lasers, to telepathy, to magical shamanistic practices? Montalbano heard Rizzo yelling on the line.

  Hello? Hello? I cant hear you! What happened, did we get cut off?

  No, excuse me, I dropped my pencil and was looking for it. Ill see you tomorrow at eight.

  As soon as he heard the doorbell ring, he put the pasta

  in the water and went to the door.

  So whats for supper? asked Zito as he entered.

  Pasta with garlic and oil, and shrimp with oil and lemon.

  Excellent.

  Come into the kitchen and give me a hand.

  Meanwhile, my first question is: can you say improcrastinable?

  Have you gone soft in the head? You make me race all the way from Montelusa to ask me if I can say some word? Anyway, of course I can say it. No problem.

  He tried to say it three or four times, with increasing obstinacy, but he couldnt do it, getting more and more marble-mouthed with each try.

  You have to be very adroit, very adroit, said the inspector, thinking of Rizzo, and he wasnt referring only to the lawyers adroitness in c
asually uttering tongue twisters.

  As they ate, they spoke of eating, as always happens in Italy. Zito, after reminiscing about the heavenly shrimp he had enjoyed ten years earlier at Fiacca, criticized these for being a little overdone and regretted that they lacked a hint of parsley.

  So how is it that youve all turned British at the Free Channel? Montalbano broke in without warning, as they were drinking an exquisite white wine his father had found near Randazzo. He had come by with six bottles the previous week, but it was merely an excuse for them to spend a little time together.

  In what sense, British?

  In the sense that youve refrained from dragging Luparello through the mud, as you would certainly

  have done in the past. Jesus Christ, the man dies of a heart attack in a kind of open-air brothel among whores, pimps, and buggers, his trousers down around his anklesits downright obsceneand you guys, instead of seizing the moment for all its worth, you all toe the line and cast a veil of mercy over how he died.

  Were not really in the habit of taking advantage of such things.

  Montalbano started laughing.

  Would you do me a favor, Nicolould you and everyone else at the Free Channel please go fuck yourselves?

  Zito started laughing in turn.

  All right, heres what happened. A few hours after the body was found, Counselor Rizzo dashed over to see Baron Fil Baucina, the red baron, a millionaire but a Communist, and begged him, with hands folded, not to let the Free Channel mention the circumstances of Luparellos death. He appealed to the sense of chivalry that the barons ancestors seem, long ago, to have possessed. As you know, the baron owns eighty percent of the network. Simple as that.

  Simple as that, my ass. And so you, Nicolto, who have won the admiration of your adversaries for always saying what needed to be said, you just say yes, sir to the baron and lie down?

  What color is my hair? asked Zito by way of reply.

  Its red.

  Im red inside and out, Montalbano. I belong to the bad,rancorous Communists,an endangered species. I accepted the whole bit because I was convinced that those who were saying we shouldnt sully the poor bastards memory by dwelling on the circumstances of his death actually wished him ill,not well,as they were trying to make us think.