IM2 The Terra-Cotta Dog (2002)

by Andrea Camilleri

  He waited for the pain, and when it came it was so intense he started howling and crying like a child.

  17

  As soon as he awoke, he realized he was in a hospital room, and he remembered everything in minute detail: the meeting with Gegthe words they exchanged, the shooting. Memory failed him only from the moment he found himself between the two cars, lying on the wet sand with an unbearable pain in his side. But it did not fail him completely. He remembered, for example, Mimugellos contorted face, his cracking voice.

  How do you feel? How do you feel? The ambulance is coming now, its nothing, just stay calm.

  How had Mimanaged to find him?

  Then, already in the hospital, someone in a white smock:

  Hes lost too much blood.

  After that, nothing. He tried to look around. The room was clean and white. There was a large window, the daylight pouring through. He couldnt move; his arms were stuck full of IVs. His side didnt hurt anymore, however; it felt instead like a dead part of his body. He tried to move his legs but couldnt. He slipped slowly away into sleep.

  He awoke again towards what must have been evening, since the lights were on. He closed his eyes at once when he saw that there were people in the room. He didnt feel like talking. Then, out of curiosity, he raised his eyelids just enough to see a little. Livia was there, sitting beside the bed in the only metal chair; behind her, standing, was Anna. On the other side of the bed, also standing, was Ingrid. Livias eyes were wet with tears, Anna was crying without restraint, and Ingrid was pale, her face drawn.

  Good God! Montalbano said to himself in terror.

  He closed his eyes and escaped into sleep.

  At 6:30 on what he thought was the next morning, two nurses washed him and changed his medication. At seven the chief physician appeared, accompanied by five assistants, all of them in white smocks. The chief physician examined the chart appended at the foot of the bed, pulled the sheet aside, and began to touch him on his injured side.

  Seems to be coming along very nicely, he declared. The operation was a complete success.

  Operation? What operation was he talking about? Ah, maybe to remove the bullet that had wounded him. But its not often a machine-gun bullet stays inside the body instead of slicing right through it. He would have liked to ask questions, demand explanations, but the words wouldnt come out. The doctor, however, seeing his eyes, guessed what questions the inspector was formulating.

  We had to perform an emergency operation on you. The bullet passed through your colon.

  Colon? And what the hell was his colon doing in his side? The colon had nothing to do with ones sides, it was supposed to be in the belly. But if it had to do with the belly, did this meanand here he gave such a start that the doctors noticedthat from this moment on, for the rest of his life, he could eat only mush?

  ...mush? Montalbano finally managed to mutter, the horror of that prospect reactivating his vocal cords.

  What did he say? the chief physician asked, turning to his assistants.

  I think he said brush, said one.

  No, no, he said ambush, interjected another.

  They left arguing over the question.

  At 8:30 the door opened and Catarella appeared.

  Chief, how goes it? How you feeling?

  If there was one person in the entire world with whom Montalbano felt dialogue was useless, it was Catarella. He didnt answer, but merely moved his head as if to say that things were a little less bad.

  Im on guard here, over you, I mean. This hospitals a revolving door, people come, people go, back and forth and back and forth. Somebody could maybe come in immotivated with bad intentions, trying to finish the job they didnt finish. You know what I mean?

  The inspector knew exactly what he meant.

  Know what, Chief ? I gave blood for the transfusal.

  And he went back on guard against the badly immotivated. Montalbano thought bitterly of the dark years that lay ahead of him, surviving on Catarellas blood and eating semolina mush.

  The first in the long series of kisses he would receive over the course of the day were from Fazio.

  Did you know, Chief, that you shoot like a god? You got one guy in the throat with a single shot, and you wounded the other.

  I also wounded the other guy?

  You certainly did. We dont know in what part of the body, but you wounded him all right. It was Jacomuzzi who noticed a red puddle about ten yards from the cars. Blood.

  Have you identified the one who died?

  Of course.

  He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket.

  Munafirst name Gerlando, born in Montelusa on the sixth of September, 1971, unmarried, resident of Montelusa, Via Crispi 43, no distinguishing features.

  He still hasnt given up his Records Office fetish, thought Montalbano.

  And how did he stand with the law?

  Not a thing. Clean record. Fazio put the sheet of paper back in his pocket. For a job like that, they get half a million lire maximum.

  He paused. He obviously had something to say but didnt have the courage to say it. Montalbano decided to help him out.

  Did Gegie on the spot?

  Didnt suffer at all. The volley took half his head off.

  The others came in, and there was an orgy of kisses and embraces.

  Jacomuzzi and Dr. Pasquano came from Montelusa to see him.

  All the papers are talking about you, said Jacomuzzi. He seemed moved but a little envious.

  I was truly sorry I didnt get to do your autopsy, said Pasquano. Id really like to know how youre put together inside.

  I was the first on the scene, said Mimugello, and when I saw you in that condition, in that situation, I got so scared I nearly shit my pants.

  How did you find out?

  There was an anonymous call to headquarters saying thered been some shooting at the foot of the Scala dei Turchi. Galluzzo was on duty and phoned me right away. He

  also said something I didnt know. He said you were in the habit of meeting Gegt the place where the shooting was heard.

  He knew that?!

  Apparently everybody knew! Half the town knew! So, anyway, I didnt even get dressed, I went right outside in my pajamas

  Montalbano raised a tired hand, interrupting him.

  You sleep in pajamas?

  Yes, said Augello, confused. Why?

  Never mind. Go on.

  As I was racing there in my car, I called an ambulance with my cell phone. Which was a good thing, because you were losing a lot of blood.

  Thanks, Montalbano said gratefully.

  What do you mean, thanks? Wouldnt you have done the same for me?

  Montalbano did a little rapid soul-searching and decided not to answer.

  Oh, I also wanted to mention something strange, Augello continued. The first thing you asked me, when you were still lying on the sand, groaning, was to remove the snails that were crawling on you. You were sort of delirious, so I said yes, Id remove them, but there wasnt a single snail on you.

  Livia came and gave him a long hug, started crying, and lay

  down in the bed beside him as best she could.

  Stay like that, said Montalbano.

  He liked the scent of her hair as she rested her head on his chest.

  How did you find out?

  From the radio. Actually, it was my cousin who heard the news. What a way to wake up!

  What did you do?

  First I called Alitalia and booked a flight to Palermo, then I called your office in Vig. They put Augello on, and he was very nice. He reassured me and even offered to come get me at the airport. He told me the whole story in the car.

  Livia, how am I?

  Youre doing well, considering what happened.

  Am I ruined forever?

  What are you talking about?!

  Will I have to eat bland food for the rest of my life?

  But you leave me no choice, the commissioner said,

  smiling.r />
  Why?

  Because youve been going about things like a sheriff, or, if you prefer, like some kind of nocturnal avenger, and its going to end up all over the television and newspapers.

  Thats not my fault.

  No, its not, but neither will it be my fault if Im forced to promote you. Youre just going to have to behave for a little while. Fortunately you wont be able to leave this place for another twenty days.

  Twenty days?!

  By the way, Undersecretary Licalzis in Montelusa at the moment. He says hes here to sensitize public opinion to the struggle against the Mafia. Hes made it known he intends to pay you a visit this afternoon.

  I dont want to see him! Montalbano shouted, upset.

  The undersecretary was someone who had been up to his ears in sweetheart deals with the Mafia and was now recycling himself, as always with the Mafias consent.

  At that exact moment the head physician came in. Seeing there were six people in the room with Montalbano, he frowned.

  Dont take this the wrong way, but I beg you please to leave him alone. He needs to rest.

  They were starting to say their good-byes when the doctor said to the nurse, in a loud voice:

  And no more visitors for the rest of the day.

  The undersecretary is supposed to leave this afternoon at five, the commissioner whispered to Montalbano. Unfortunately, I guess he wont be able to see you. Doctors orders.

  They exchanged smiles.

  214

  A few days later they removed the IV from his arm and put a telephone on his bedside table. That same morning, he received a visit from Nicolto, who came in like Santa Claus.

  Ive brought you a TV, a VCR, and a cassette. Ive even brought the newspaper articles that talk about you.

  Whats on the cassette?

  I taped and spliced together all the idiocies that I,Tele- Vig, and all the other TV stations said about the incident.

  Hello, Salvo? Its MimHow are you feeling today?

  Better, thanks.

  Im calling to let you know they killed our friend Ingrassia.

  I expected as much. When did it happen?

  This morning. They shot him as he was driving into town. Two guys on a high-powered motorcycle. The officer who was tailing him couldnt do anything but try to give him first aid, but it was too late. Listen, Salvo, Im coming to see you tomorrow morning. Youre going to have to tell me, for the record, every detail of your shoot-out.

  He told Livia to put in the cassette. Not that he was so curious; it was just to pass the time. On TeleVig, Galluzzos brother-in-law indulged in a fantasy worthy of a scriptwriter for films like Raiders of the Lost Ark. In his opinion, the

  shooting was a direct consequence of the discovery of the two mummified bodies in the cave. What terrible, indecipherable secret lay behind that distant crime? The newsman did not blush to recall, however briefly, the sad end to which the discoverers of the pharaohs tombs had come, and likened this to the ambush of the inspector.

  Montalbano laughed so hard he felt a stab of pain in his side. Next appeared the face of Pippo Ragonese, the same stations political commentator, a former Communist, former Christian Democrat, and now a representative of the Renewal Party. Mincing no words, Ragonese asked himself: What was Montalbano doing in that place with a pimp and drug dealer who was rumored to be his friend? Were such associations consistent with the rigorous moral standards that every public servant should abide by? Times have changed, the commentator noted sternly; thanks to the new government, an atmosphere of renewal was shaking up the country, and we must all march in step. The old attitudes, the old collusions, must end, once and for all.

  Montalbano felt another stab of pain in his side, from rage this time, and he cried out. Livia got up at once and turned off the video.

  Youre getting upset over what that asshole says?

  After half an hour of insistence and entreaties, Livia gave in and turned the video back on. Nicoltos commentary was affectionate, indignant, and rational. Affectionate towards

  his friend, the inspector, to whom he sent his sincerest good wishes; indignant because, despite all the politicians promises, the Mafia had a free hand across the island; and rational because it connected Tano the Greeks arrest with the discovery of the weapons. As the man responsible for these two powerful blows against organized crime, Salvo Montalbano had become a dangerous adversary, one who must be liquidated at all costs. Zito ridiculed the conjecture that the ambush might be an act of revenge for desecrating the dead. With what money would the assassins have been paid? With the obsolete coins that were found in the bowl?

  The picture then switched back to the TeleVig newsman, who was now interviewing Alcide Maraventano, presented to the viewing public as a specialist in the occult. The defrocked priest was wearing a cassock sewn with multicolored patches and sucking from a baby bottle. In response to a series of insistent questions intended to make him acknowledge a possible connection between the ambush of the inspector and the supposed desecration, Maraventano, like a masterly, consummate actor, both did and did not acknowledge the possibility, leaving everyone in nebulous suspense.

  Zitos cassette concluded with the logo of Ragoneses editorial segment. But then an unknown newsman appeared, saying that his colleague was prevented from airing his commentary that evening because hed been the victim of a brutal assault. A group of hoodlums, still unidentified, had roughed him up and robbed him the night before, as he was returning home from his job at TeleVig. The newsman

  then launched into a violent attack on the police, accusing them of no longer being able to guarantee the safety of the citizenry.

  Why did Zito want you to see that report, which has nothing to do with you? naly asked Livia, who was from the North and didnt understand certain insinuations.

  Augello interrogated him, and Tortorella took it all down. He explained that hed been schoolmates and friends with Gegand that their friendship had endured over the years, even though they found themselves on opposite sides of the barricade. He had them write in the report that Gegthat evening, had asked to see him, but theyd managed to exchange only a few words, barely more than a greeting.

  He started to mention the weapons traffic, said hed heard talk of something that might interest me, but he didnt get a chance to tell me what it was.

  Augello pretended to believe this, and Montalbano went on to recount the various stages of the gunfight.

  Now its your turn to tell me, he said to Mim

  First sign the statement, said Augello.

  Montalbano signed, and Tortorella said good-bye and headed back to headquarters. There wasnt much to tell, said Augello. Ingrassias car was overtaken by the motorcycle; the guy in back turned around, opened fire, and that was that. In- grassias car ended up in a ditch.

  They were pruning a dead branch, Montalbano com

  mented. Then, with a touch of melancholy because he felt left out of the game: What do you think youll do? The people in Catania, whom Ive informed, promised

  not to let Brancato get away. We can always hope. Augello didnt realize it, but by informing his colleagues

  in Catania, he may have signed Brancatos death warrant. So who was it? Montalbano asked bluntly after a pause. Who was what? Take a look at this. He pressed the remote and showed him the segment re

  porting the news of the assault on Ragonese. Mimlayed the part of someone in the dark to perfection. Youre asking me? Anyway, it doesnt concern us;

  Ragonese lives in Montelusa. Youre such an innocent, MimHere, bite my pinky. And he held out his little finger to him, as one does to

  teething babies.

  18

  After a week, the visits, embraces, phone calls, and congratulations gave way to loneliness and boredom. He had persuaded Livia to go back to her cousin in Milan; there was no point in wasting her holidays. The planned trip to Cairo, for the moment, was out of the question. They agreed that Livia would fly back down as soon as Montalbano got out of the hospital. Only t
hen would she decide how and where to spend her two remaining weeks of vacation.

  And little by little, the uproar surrounding the inspector and what had happened likewise died down to a mere echo, before disappearing entirely. Every day, however, Augello or Fazio would come to keep him company. But they didnt stay long, just enough to tell him the latest news and the state of certain investigations.

  Every morning when he opened his eyes, Montalbano made a point of devoting his thoughts and speculations to the dead couple of the Crasticeddru. He wondered when he would again have the chance to be alone, in precious silence, with no disturbance of any kind, so he could develop a sustained line of reasoning from which he might receive a flash,

  a spark. He needed to take advantage of this situation, he would say to himself, and hed begin to replay the whole affair in his mind with the speed of a galloping horse. Soon, however, he would find himself moving at a lazy trot, then at a walk, and finally a kind of torpor would ever-so-slowly overwhelm him, body and mind.

  Must be my convalescence, he told himself.

  He would sit down in the armchair, pick up a newspaper or magazine, and halfway through an article just a little longer than the rest, he would get fed up, his eyes would start to droop, and he would sink into a sweaty sleep.

  Sargint Fasio said you was comin home today. I am hapy and releved. The sargint also said for me to feed you lite foods. Adelina

  The housekeepers note was on the kitchen table. Montalbano rushed to the fridge to see exactly what she meant by lite. There were two fresh hakes to be served with oil and lemon. He unplugged the phone; he wanted to reaccustom himself at an easy pace to living at home. There was a lot of mail, but he didnt open a single letter or read a single postcard. He ate and went to bed.