IM8 The Patience of the Spider (2007)

by Andrea Camilleri

  That would be handy, an anti-insomnia anesthesia. He suddenly feels thirsty, gets out of bed gingerly, to avoid waking Livia, goes into the kitchen, and pours himself a glass of mineral water from an already open bottle. Now what? He decides to exercise his right arm a little, the way the physical therapist taught him. One, two, three, and four. One, two, three, and four. The arm works fine. Well enough for him to drive with ease.

  Strazzera was absolutely right. Except that sometimes his arm falls asleep, the way your leg does when you stay in the same position for too long without moving and the whole limb feels full of pins and needles. Or armies of ants. He drinks another glass of water and goes back to bed. Feeling

  him slip under the covers, Livia murmurs something and turns her back to him.

  Water, he implores, opening his eyes.

  Livia pours him a glass, holding his head up with her hand at the base of the skull so he can drink.Then she puts the glass back on the nightstand and disappears from the inspectors field of vision. He manages to sit up a little in bed. Livias standing in front of the window, and Dr. Strazzera is beside her, talking to her at great length. Montalbano hears a little giggle come from Livia.What a witty guy, this Dr. Strazzera! And why is he hanging all over Livia? And why doesnt she feel the need to take a step back? Okay, Ill show them.

  Water!he yells in rage.

  Livia jumps, startled.

  Why is he drinking so much? Livia asks.

  It must be an effect of the anesthetic, says Strazzera. And he adds: But, you know, Livia, the operation was childs play. I was even able to make it so that the scar will be practically invisible.

  Livia gives the doctor a grateful smile, which infuriates the inspector even more.

  An invisible scar! So he wont have any problem entering the next Mr. Muscle competition.

  Speaking of muscle, or whatever you want to call it ...He slides over, ever so gently, until his body is pressed up against Livias back. She seems to appreciate the contact, to judge by the way she moans in her sleep.

  Montalbano extends a cupped hand and places it over one

  of her tits. As if by conditioned reflex, Livia puts her hand over his. But here the operation grinds to a halt. Because Montalbano knows perfectly well that if he proceeds any further, Livia will put an immediate stop to it. Its already happened once, on his first night back from the hospital.

  No, Salvo. Out of the question. Im afraid you might hurt yourself.

  Come on, Livia. Its my shoulder that was injured, not my

  Dont be vulgar. Dont you understand? I wouldnt feel comfortable, Id be afraid to . . .

  But his muscle, or whatever you want to call it, doesnt understand these fears. It has no brain, is not used to thinking. It refuses to listen to reason. So it just stays there, bloated with rage and desire.

  Fear.Terror. He begins to feel this the second day after the operation, when, around nine in the morning, the wound starts to throb painfully.Why does it hurt so much? Did they forget a piece of gauze in there, as so often happens? Or maybe not gauze, but a ten-inch scalpel? Livia notices at once and calls Strazzera.Who comes running, probably leaving in the middle of some open-heart surgery. But thats how things are now: The moment Livia calls, Strazzera comes run- ning.The doctor says the reaction was to be expected, theres no reason for Livia to be alarmed. And he sticks another needle into Montalbano. Less than ten minutes later, two things happen: first, the pain starts to subside; and second, Livia says:

  The commissioners here.

  And she leaves. Bonetti-Alderighi enters the room accompanied by

  the chief of his cabinet, Dr. Lattes, whose hands are folded in prayer, as

  if he were at a dying mans bedside. How are you? How are you? asks the commissioner. How are you? How are you? Lattes echoes him, as in a litany. The commissioner begins to speak, but Montalbano hears only

  scraps of what hes saying, as if a strong wind were carrying away his words. . . . and therefore Ive recommended you be given a solemn

  citation... . . . solemn citation... echoes Lattes. La-de-da-de-da-de-ation, says a voice in Montalbanos head. Wind. . . . while awaiting your return, Inspector Augello... Oh good fellow, good fellow, says the same voice in his head. Wind. Eyelids drooping, inexorably closing.

  Now his eyelids are drooping. Maybe he can finally fall asleep. Just like this, pressed up against Livias warm body. But theres that goddamn shutter that keeps wailing with every gust of wind.

  What to do? Open the window and try to close the shutter more tightly? Not a chance. It would surely wake Livia up. But maybe there is a solution. No harm in trying. Instead of fighting the shutters wail, try to echo it, incorporate it in the rhythm of his own breathing.

  Iiiih! goes the shutter. Iiiih! goes the inspector, softly, lips barely open. Eeeeh! goes the shutter.

  Eeeeh! echoes the inspector. That time, however, he didnt keep his voice down. In a

  flash, Livia opens her eyes and sits up in bed. Salvo! Are you unwell? Why? You were moaning! I must have been doing it in my sleep. Sorry. Go back to

  sleep. Goddamned window!

  2

  A gelid blast is blowing in through the wide-open window. Its always that way in hospitals.They cure your appendicitis and then make you die of pneumonia. Hes sitting in an armchair. Only two days left, and he can finally go back to Marinella. But since six oclock that morning, squads of women have been cleaning everything: corridors, rooms, closets, windows, doorknobs, beds, chairs. Its as if a great cloud of clean-up mania had descended on the place. Sheets, pillowcases, blankets are changed, the bathroom sparkles so brightly its blinding; you need sunglasses to go in there.

  Whats going on? he asks a nurse whos come to help him get back in bed.

  Some big cheese is coming.

  Who?

  I dont know.

  Listen, couldnt I just stay in the armchair?

  No, you cant.

  A little while later, Strazzera shows up, disappointed not to find Livia in the room.

  I think she might drop in later, Montalbano sets his mind at rest.

  But hes just being mean. He said might just to keep the doctor

  on tenterhooks. Livia assured him shed be there to see him, only a lit

  tle late.

  So whos coming?

  Petrotto.The undersecretary.

  What for?

  To congratulate you.

  Fuck.Thats all he needs.The honorable Gianfranco Petrotto, former chamber deputy, now undersecretary of the interior, though once convicted for corruption, another time for graft, and a third time let off the hook by the statute of limitations. An ex-Communist and ex- Socialist, now a triumphant member of the party in power.

  Couldnt you give me a shot to knock me out for three hours or so? he implores Strazzera.

  The doctor throws his hands up and goes out.

  The honorable Gianfranco Petrotto arrives, preceded by a powerful roar of applause that echoes through the corridor. But the only people allowed to enter the room with him are the prefect, the commissioner, the hospital superintendent, and a deputy from the politicos retinue.

  Everyone else, wait outside! he commands with a shout.

  Then his mouth opens and closes, and he begins to talk. And talk. And talk. He doesnt know that Montalbano has plugged his ears with surgical cotton to the point where they feel like theyre about to explode and cant hear the bullshit hes saying.

  Its been a while now since the shutter stopped wailing. He barely has time to look at the clockfour forty-fivebefore he falls asleep at last.

  In his sleep he could faintly hear the telephone ringing and ringing.

  He opened one eye, looked at the clock. Six oclock. Hed slept barely an hour and fifteen minutes. He got up in a hurry, wanting to stop the ringing before it reached Livia in the depths of her sleep. He picked up the receiver.

  Chief, whadd I do, wake you up? Cat, its six in the morning. On the dot. Actually my watch gots six oh tree. That means it
s a little fast. You sure bout that, Chief? Absolutely. Okay, so Ill put it tree minutes slow. Tanks, Chief. Youre welcome. Catarella hung up. Montalbano did likewise, then headed

  back to the bedroom. Halfway there, he started cursing. What kind of goddamn phone call was that? Catarella calls him at the crack of dawn to find out if his watch has the right time? At that moment the phone rang again. The inspector quickly picked up the receiver after the first ring.

  Beck ypardin, Chief, but that bizniss bout the time made me forget to tell you the real reason for the phone call I jes phoned you about.

  So tell me. Seems some girls motorbikes been seized. Seized or robbed? Seized.

  Montalbano fumed. But he had no choice but to smother his urge to yell.

  And you wake me up at six in the morning to tell me the Carabinieri or Customs police have impounded a motorbike? To tell me? Pardon my French, but I dont give a fuck!

  Chief, you kin speak whichever langwitch ya like wit- tout beckin my pardin, though, beckin ypardin, it sounds a lot to me like a talian, Catarella said respectfully.

  And furthermore, Im not on duty, Im still convalescing!

  I know, Chief, but it wasnt neither the Customs or the Canabirreri that had the seizure.

  Well, then who was it?

  Ass just it, Chief. Nobody knows. Annass why they tol me to call you poissonally in poisson.

  Listen, is Fazio there?

  No, sir, hes at the scene.

  How about Inspector Augello?

  Him too.

  So whos left there at the station?

  For the moment, Chief, s jes me holdin down the fort. Mr. Inspector Augello axed me to do is doody for im, so ass what Im doin.

  Good God! A danger to be avoided as quickly as possible. Catarella was capable of triggering a nuclear war with a simple purse-snatching. But was it possible Fazio and Augello would go to all this trouble for a routine seizure of a motorbike? And why did they have Catarella call him?

  Listen, I want you to do something. Get ahold of Fazio and tell him to phone me at once here in Marinella.

  He hung up.

  What is this, Termini Station? said a voice behind him.

  He turned around. It was Livia, eyes flashing with anger. When shed got up shed slipped on Montalbanos shirt from the day before instead of her dressing gown. Seeing her thus attired, the inspector felt an overwhelming desire to embrace her. But he held himself back, knowing that Fazio would be calling at any moment.

  Livia, please, my job . . .

  You should do your job at the station. And only when youre on active duty.

  Youre right, Livia. Now come on, go back to bed.

  Bed? Im awake now, thanks to you! Im going to go make some coffee, she said.

  The telephone rang.

  Fazio, would you be so kind as to tell me what the fuck is going on? Montalbano asked in a loud voice, since there was no longer any need for precaution. Livia was not only awake, but pissed off.

  Stop using obscenities! Livia screamed from the kitchen.

  Didnt Catarella tell you?

  Catarella didnt tell me a goddamn thing

  Are you going to stop or not? yelled Livia.

  all he told me was something about a motorbike being seized, but not by the Carabinieri or the Customs police. Why the fuck

  Knock it off, I said!

  are you guys bothering me with this stuff? Go see if it was the traffic police!

  No, Chief. If anything was seized, it was the girl who owned the motorbike.

  I dont understand.

  Theres been a kidnapping, Chief.

  A kidnapping? In Vig?

  Tell me where you are and Ill come right over, he said without thinking.

  Chief, its too complicated to find your way out here. If its all right with you, a squad carll be at your place in about an hour. That way you wont have to tire yourself out by driving.

  Okay.

  He went in the kitchen. Livia had put the coffeepot on the burner and was now spreading the tablecloth over the small kitchen table. To smooth it out, she had to bend all the way forward, so that the inspectors shirt she was wearing became too short.

  Montalbano couldnt restrain himself. He took two steps forward and embraced her tightly from behind.

  Whats got into you? Livia asked. Come on, let go! What are you trying to do?

  Guess.

  You might hurt yo

  The coffee rose in the pot. Nobody turned off the flame. The coffee burned. The flame remained lit. The coffee started boiling. Nobody bothered with it. The coffee spilled out of the pot, extinguishing the flame on the burner. The gas continued to flow.

  Doesnt it smell strangely of gas? Livia asked languidly a bit later, freeing herself from the inspectors embrace.

  I dont think so, said Montalbano, whose nostrils were filled with the scent of her skin.

  Oh my God! Livia exclaimed, running to turn off the gas.

  Montalbano had scarcely twently minutes to shower and shave. His coffeea fresh pot had been made in the meantimehe drank on the run, as the doorbell was already ringing. Livia didnt even ask where he was going or why. Shed opened the window and lay stretched out, arms over her head, basking in the sunlight.

  In the car Gallo told the inspector what he knew about the situation. The kidnapped girlsince there was no longer any doubt that she had in fact been kidnappedwas named Susanna Mistretta. A very pretty girl, she was enrolled at Palermo University and getting ready to take her first exam. She lived with her father and mother in a country villa about three miles outside of town. That was where they were heading. About a month earlier, Susanna had started going to a girlfriends house in the early evening to study, usually driving home on her moped around eight.

  The previous evening, when she didnt come home at the usual time, her father had waited about an hour before calling the girls friend, who told him that Susanna had left as usual at eight oclock, give or take a couple of minutes. Then hed phoned a boy whom his daughter considered her boyfriend, and the kid seemed surprised, since hed seen Susanna in the afternoon in Vig, before she went to study with her friend, and the girl had told him she wouldnt be coming with him to the movies that evening because she had to go home to study.

  At this point the father started to get worried. Hed tried

  reaching his daughter several times on her cell phone, but every time the phone was turned off. At a certain point the home phone rang, and the father rushed to pick up, thinking it was Susanna. But it was the brother.

  Susanna has a brother?

  No, shes an only child.

  So, whose brother was it? Montalbano asked in exasperation. Between Gallos speeding and the pothole-riven road they were traveling on, his head was not only numb, but the wound in his shoulder was throbbing.

  The brother in question was the brother of the father of the kidnapped girl.

  Dont any of these people have names? asked the inspector, losing patience, hoping that knowing their names might help him follow the story a little better.

  Of course they do, why wouldnt they? Its just that nobody told me what they are, said Gallo. He went on: Anyway, the kidnapped girls fathers brother, whos a doctor

  Just call him the doctor uncle, Montalbano suggested.

  The doctor uncle had called to find out how his sister-in- law was doing. That is, the kidnapped girls mother.

  Why? Is she sick?

  Yessir, Chief. Very sick.

  And so the father told the doctor uncle

  No, in this case you should say his brother.

  Anyway, the father told his brother that Susanna had disappeared and asked him to come to the house to lend a hand with his sick wife, to free him up so he could look for his daughter. But the doctor had to take care of some obligations first, and it was already past eleven when he arrived.

  The father then got in his car and very slowly retraced the route that Susanna normally took to go home. At that hour in winter there wasnt a soul to be seen
anywhere, and very few cars. He went back and forth along the same route a second time, feeling more and more bereft of hope. At a certain point a motorbike pulled up beside him. It was Susannas boyfriend, who had phoned the villa and was told by the doctor uncle that there still was no news. The kid told the father that he planned to scour every street in Vig, to see if he could at least find Su- sannas motorbike, which he knew well. The father retraced Su- sannas route from her friends house to his own home four more times, occasionally stopping to examine even the spots on the pavement. But he seemed not to notice anything unusual. By the time he gave up and went home, it was almost three oclock in the morning. At this point he suggested that his doctor brother phone all the hospitals in Vig and Montelusa, telling them who he was. But they all answered in the negative, which on the one hand set their minds at rest, but on the other alarmed them even further. Thus they wasted another hour.

  At this point in the storytheyd been driving in the open countryside for a while and were now on a dirt road Gallo pointed to a house about fifty yards ahead.

  Thats the villa.

  Montalbano didnt have time to look at it, however, because Gallo suddenly turned right, onto another dirt road, this one in pretty bad shape.

  Where are we going?

  To where they found the motorbike.

  It was Susannas boyfriend who had found it. After searching in vain up and down the streets of Vig, hed taken

  a much longer route back to the villa. And there, about two hundred yards from Susannas house, hed spotted the abandoned moped and run to tell the father.

  Gallo pulled up, stopping behind the other squad car. When Montalbano got out, Mimugello came up to him.

  I dont like the smell of this, Salvo. Thats why I had to bother you. But things dont look good.

  Wheres Fazio?

  Inside the house, with the girls father. In case the kidnappers call.

  Mind telling me the fathers name?

  Salvatore Mistretta.

  Whats he do?

  Used to be a geologist. Hes been halfway across the world. Heres the motorbike.

  It was leaning against a low dry-wall outside a vegetable garden. The bike was in perfect condition, no scratches or scrapes, just a little dusty. Galluzzo was in the garden, seeing if he could find anything of interest. Imbrd Battiato were doing the same along the dirt road.