August Heat

by Andrea Camilleri

If he wasn't there licking the plate that had held the anchovies, where could he have gone?

  From what Laura and Guido had told him, he knew that the cat and the child had become inseparable. Bruno, in fact, had made such a fuss, screaming and crying, that the cat had been allowed to sleep on his bed.

  That was why Montalbano had made friends with Ruggero. He had an intuitive sense that the cat knew exactly where the child was. And now, as he stood in the kitchen, it had occurred to him that the cat had disappeared again because he'd gone back to Bruno, to keep him company.

  'Gallo!'

  Gallo appeared immediately, dripping water all over the floor. 'Your orders, Chief.'

  'Listen, look in every room for the cat. With each one, when you're sure he's not there, close the window and door. We have to be sure Ruggero is nowhere in the house, and we have to stop him getting back in.'

  Gallo was completely bemused. But weren't they looking for a missing child? Why had the inspector become so fixated on the cat? 'Excuse me, Chief, but what's the animal got to do with it?'

  'Just do as I say. Leave only the front door open.'

  As Gallo began his search, Montalbano went out through the little gate, walked to the edge of the cliff, which plunged straight down to the beach, then turned to peer at the house. He studied it long and hard, until he became convinced that what he was seeing was not just an impression. Ever so imperceptibly, by only a few inches, the entire house listed to the left. It must be the result of the ground's having shifted a few days earlier, causing the living-room floor to crack and subsequently releasing the invasions of cockroaches, mice, and spiders.

  He went back to the terrace, grabbed a ball that Bruno had left on one of the deck-chairs, and put it on the ground. Slowly, the ball began to roll towards the little wall on the left.

  It was the proof he had been looking for. Which might explain everything or nothing.

  He went back out through the little gate and walked until he was far enough away to study the right of the house this time. All the windows on that wall were closed, which meant that Gallo had finished on that side. Montalbano saw nothing unusual.

  Then he headed behind the house, to the entrance and the parking area. The front door was open, as he'd told Gallo to leave it. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  He resumed walking until he could get a good look at the other side, the one where the house listed a little. The tilt was almost invisible. One of the two windows was closed while the other was still open.

  “Gallo.''

  Gallo's head popped out. 'See anything?'

  'This is the smaller bathroom. I've finished. The cat's not here. That leaves only the living room. Can I shut this window?'

  As Gallo was closing it, Montalbano noticed that the gutter above it had broken, leaving a gap at least three fingers wide. It must have been an old problem that had never been repaired.

  When it rained, the water poured out at that spot instead of going into the pipe that channelled it towards a well at one side of the terrace. To prevent staining on the wall of the house and a gigantic puddle forming on the ground below, somebody had put a big metal drum beneath it, one of those used for storing tar.

  Montalbano noticed, however, that the drum had been moved and was no longer perpendicular to the break in the gutter. It now stood at least three feet away from the wall of the house.

  If the water could no longer fall straight into the drum, Montalbano reasoned, there should be a great puddle, a lake, since it had rained so hard over the last two days. Instead there was nothing. What was the explanation?

  He felt a slight electric shock run down his spine. This usually happened to him when he was on the right track. He went up to the drum. There was, in fact, a little water in it, but not as much as there should have been, and it had certainly fallen in directly from the sky.

  At that moment he noticed that the water pouring out of the gap in the gutter for two days and one night had carved a veritable pit at the foot of the wall.

  It was impossible to tell immediately why the drum blocked, it from view.

  The pit had a circumference of about three feet. In all likelihood the surface of friable earth covering some sort of underground cavity had given way under the force of the water falling from above.

  Montalbano removed Livia's hat, threw himself flat on the ground, with his face practically inside the pit. Then he moved on to his side and stuck his arm into the opening, without, however, managing to touch the bottom. He realized that the pit did not descend vertically, but slanted, along a sort of gentle incline.

  He felt absolutely certain — and couldn't say why — that Bruno had slipped into that pit and couldn't climb out.

  He stood up, ran wildly into the house, into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, grabbed the platter of anchovies, returned to the pit, knelt down and began to place the fish one by one around the entrance.

  At that moment Gallo arrived and saw the inspector — who, in the meantime, had put Livia's pink hat back on — sitting on the ground, his chest and arms filthy, staring intently at a hole in the ground ringed with anchovies.

  He staggered, feeling at sea, stunned by the suspicion that his superior had lost his mind. What should he do? Humour him, as one does with mad people to keep them calm?

  'That's a lovely hole, with all the anchovies round it,' he said, with an admiring smile, as if he was gazing at a work of modern art.

  Montalbano gestured imperiously at him to be quiet. Gallo fell silent, afraid that the inspector, in his madness, might turn violent.

  THREE

  Five minutes later, they were both sitting there motionless. Gallo, too, was staring, spellbound, at the anchovy-adorned pit, having caught the intensity with which Montalbano kept his eye on it. They looked as if sight was their only working sense, as if they'd turned the others off and couldn't hear the breath of the sea or smell the scent of a jasmine near the terrace.

  Then, after what seemed an eternity, out of the pit popped the head of Ruggero. He looked at Montalbano, uttered a mrrrow of thanks, and attacked the first anchovy.

  'Good God!' exclaimed Gallo, having finally understood.

  I'd bet my family jewels,' said Montalbano, standing up, 'that the child is down there.' 'Let's find a shovel.''

  'Don't be an idiot. The ground's so soft, it'd cave in.' 'What shall we do?'

  'You stay here and watch what the cat does. I'm going to ring Fazio from the car.'

  'Fazio?'

  'At your service, Chief.'

  'Listen, I'm with Gallo in the Pizzo district, at Montereale Marina.'

  'I know the place.'

  'There's a little boy, the son of some friends, who I think has fallen into a deep pit in the ground and can't get out.'

  'I'll come over straight away.'

  'No. Call the fire chief at Montelusa. This is their sort of thing. Tell him the ground is very friable, and they should bring proper tools for digging and shoring up the walls. And, most importantly, no sirens, no noise. I don't want the media finding out — heaven forbid that this should turn into another Vermicino.'

  'Shall I come too?'

  'There's no need.'

  He went into the house and called Livia's mobile from the telephone in the living room. 'How's Laura doing?'

  'She's asleep. They gave her a sedative. We were just getting into the car. Any news on Bruno?'

  'I think I know where he is.'

  'Oh, God! What does that mean?'

  'It means he fell into a hole and can't get out.' 'But... is he alive?'

  'I don't know. I hope so. The firemen will be here soon. When the hospital discharges Laura, take her to our place in Marinella. I don't want her here. Guido can come, if he wants.'

  'Keep me informed. I mean it.'

  He went back to Gallo, who hadn't moved. 'What did the cat do?'

  'He ate all the anchovies and went into the house. Didn't you see him?'

  'No. He must have gone into the kitchen
for a drink.'

  Montalbano had noticed some time ago that his hearing wasn't as good as it had once been. Nothing serious, but its clarity, like clarity of vision, had dulled. His ears used to be so keen he could hear the grass growing. Damned age! 'How's your hearing?' he asked Gallo.

  'I've got sharp ears, Chief 'See if you can hear anything.'

  Gallo lay flat on the ground, belly down, and stuck his head into the pit.

  'I think I heard something.' He covered his ears with his hands, took a deep breath, lowered his hands, then stuck his head back into the pit. Less than a minute later, he raised it and turned to Montalbano wearing an expression of content. 'I heard him crying. I'm sure of it. He may've hurt himself when he fell. But it sounded really, really far away. How deep is this pit?'

  'Well, injured or not, at least we know he's alive. And that's very good news.'

  At that moment Ruggero reappeared, said mrrrow, hopped blithely into the hole and disappeared.

  'He's gone to visit Bruno,' said the inspector.

  Gallo made as if to get up, but Montalbano held him back. 'Wait a minute,' he said. 'Can you still hear the kid crying?'

  Gallo listened for a long time, then said, 'No.' 'You see? Having Ruggero there comforts him.' 'What do we do now?'

  'I'm going into the kitchen to get myself a beer. You want one?'

  'Nah. I'll have an orangeade. I saw some in the fridge.'

  They felt satisfied, even though a long and difficult road lay ahead of them, trying to pull the little boy out of the hole.

  Montalbano drank his beer slowly, then rang Livia. 'He's alive.' He told her the whole story.

  When he'd finished, Livia asked, 'Should I tell Laura?'

  'Well, it won't be easy to pull him out, and the firemen haven't arrived. You'd better not say anything yet. Is Guido still with you?'

  'No. He drove us to Marinella and now he's on his way back to you.'

  One could tell immediately that the captain of the six-man squad of firefighters knew how to do his job. Montalbano explained what he thought had happened, mentioned the shift in the ground that had occurred several days earlier, and told him of his impression that the house was listing.

  The captain pulled out a spirit-level and a plumb-line and checked. 'You're right,' he said.

  Then he got down to work. First he tested the ground around the house with a kind of steel-tipped stick, then he looked inside the house, stopping to examine the cemented-up crack in the living-room floor through which the cockroaches had entered, then came back out. He stuck a flexible metal tape-measure into the pit, let it play out a long way, then rewound it, stuck it back in, then rewound it again. He was trying to find out how deep it might be.

  'There's an inclined plane in there,' he said, after doing some mathematical calculations, 'which begins almost directly under the smaller bathroom window and ends under the bedroom window, about twenty feet down.'

  'You mean the depression runs the full length of this side of the house?' asked Guido.

  'Exactly,' said the fire chief. 'Which is a very strange path for it to follow.'

  'Why?' asked Montalbano.

  'Because if the depression was caused by rainwater, that means something underneath diminished the water's force of penetration, preventing it spreading entirely through the ground and being for the most part reabsorbed. The water came up against an obstacle, a solid barrier, which forced it to follow an inclined plain.'

  'Can you handle it?'

  'We must proceed with extreme caution,' was the fire chief's reply. 'The soil surrounding the house is different from the rest and the slightest movement could make it give way.'

  'What do you mean, "different from the rest"?' asked Montalbano.

  'Follow me,' the fire chief said.

  He took some ten steps away from the house, with Montalbano and Guido following.

  'Look at the colour of the soil here, then look how, ten yards ahead, near the house, it changes. The soil we're standing on is natural to this place. That other soil, which is lighter and yellowish, is sandy. It was brought here.'

  'Why did they do that?'

  'I have no idea’ said the fire chief. 'Maybe to make the house stand out, make it look more elegant. Ah, at last, here's the mechanical shovel.'

  Before he put the excavator to work, though, the fire chief wanted to lighten the weight of the sandy soil lying over the path of the depression. So, shovels in hand, three firemen began to dig along the side of the house, dumping the earth into three wheelbarrows, which their colleagues emptied about ten yards away.

  After they had removed about a foot of soil, they had a surprise. At the point where the house's foundations should have begun, there was a second wall, perfectly plastered. To protect the plaster from damp, sheets of plastic had been stuck over the wall.

  In short, it was as if the house continued, wrapped up, underground.

  'All of you, dig under the window of the little bathroom,' the fire chief ordered.

  Little by little, the upper part of another window, perfectly aligned with the one above, began to emerge. It had no frame, but was only a rectangular aperture with double sheets of plastic over it.

  'There's another apartment down here!' said Guido, in astonishment.

  At this point, Montalbano understood everything. 'Stop digging!' he ordered.

  Everyone stopped and looked at him questioningly. 'Has anyone got a torch?' he asked. 'I'll fetch one’' said a firefighter.

  'Break the plastic covering the window,' the inspector ordered.

  Two jabs of the shovel sufficed. The firemen brought him the torch.

  'Wait here,' Montalbano said, straddling the window-sill.

  He no longer needed the torch, since the light coming in through the window was more than enough for him to see by. He found himself inside a small bathroom, identical with the one on the floor above it. It was, moreover, perfectly finished, with tiled floors and walls, a shower, washbasin, lavatory and bidet.

  As he was wondering what this might mean, something grazed his leg, making him jump.

  'Mrrrow,' said Ruggero.

  'Nice to see you again,' said the inspector.

  He turned on the torch and followed the cat into the room next door.

  There, the weight of the water and soil had broken through the plastic over the window, turning the room into a bog.

  Bruno was standing in a corner, eyes shut tight. He had a cut on his forehead and was trembling all over as if he had a fever.

  'Bruno, it's me, Salvo,' the inspector said softly.

  The little boy opened his eyes, recognized Montalbano, and ran to him, open-armed. The inspector embraced him, and Bruno started to cry.

  At that moment Guido, who couldn't wait any longer, burst into the room.

  'Livia? Bruno's all right.' 'Is he injured?'

  'He has a cut on his forehead, but I don't think it's serious. Guido is taking him to A and E in Montereale. Tell Laura and, if it's all right with her, take her there. I'll wait for you all here.'

  The fire chief struggled out of the window through which Montalbano had entered. He looked bewildered. 'There's a whole apartment down here, exactly like the one upstairs. There's even a terrace with a railing around it.' All you'd have to do is install the internal and external window frames, which are stacked in the living room, and you could move in! There's even running water — and the electrical system is all ready to be hooked up to the mains. What I don't understand is why they buried it underground.'

  Montalbano, for his part, had a precise idea of why they'd done it. 'I think I do. I'm sure that originally they'd been granted a building permit for a bungalow. But the

  owner, in league with the builder and the work foreman, had the house built as we see it. Then he had the ground floor covered with sandy soil, so that only the upstairs remained visible, turning it into the ground floor.' 'Yes, but why did he do it?'

  'He was waiting for an amnesty on code violations. The momen
t the government approved it, he would remove the earth covering the other apartment, then put in his request for amnesty. Otherwise he risked having the whole house demolished, even though that's unlikely around here.'

  The fire chief was laughing. 'Demolished? Around here whole towns have been built illegally!'

  'Yes, but I found out that the owner lived in Germany. It's possible he forgot about our wonderful ancient customs and thought that people respected the law here as they do in Cologne.'

  The fire chief seemed unconvinced. 'Okay — but this government has granted amnesty after amnesty. Why, then—'

  'He died a few years ago.'

  'What should we do? Put everything back as it was?' 'No, leave it. Could that create any problems?' 'For the upstairs, you mean? No, none whatsoever.' 'I want to show this fine handiwork to the owner of the agency that let the house.'

  Left: alone, the inspector had a shower, dried himself in the sun, then got dressed. He grabbed another bottle of beer. He had worked up a serious appetite. What was taking the gang so long?

  'Hello, Livia? Are you still in A and E?'

  'No, we're on our way. Bruno's fine.'

  He hung up and dialled Enzo's trattoria. 'Montalbano here. I know it's late and you're about to close, but if I came in with a party of four plus a child, could we have something to eat?'

  'For you, Inspector, we're always open.'

  As always happens, the narrow escape had made everyone so giddy and ravenous that Enzo, hearing them laughing and eating non-stop as if they'd just broken a week-long fast, asked what they were celebrating. Bruno behaved as if he'd been bitten by a tarantula, jumping about, knocking the cutlery off the table, then a glass that luckily didn't break and, last, spilling the olive oil over Montalbano's trousers. For a brief moment the inspector regretted having been so quick to pull him out of the hole, then felt guilty for having thought such a thing.

  When everyone had finished eating, Livia and her friends drove back to Pizzo. Montalbano raced home to change his trousers, then went to the office to work.

  That evening, he asked Fazio if a patrol car was available to take him home.

  'There's Gallo, Chief

  'Nobody else?' He wanted to avoid another Monza-style dash like the one he'd endured that morning. 'No, sir.'