The Revolution of the Moon

by Andrea Camilleri

  Now all they had to do was wait.

  After more than an hour had gone by, and it was completely dark outside, two carriages arrived and stopped a short distance away. Out of the first stepped the Grand Captain of Justice in person, don Filippo Arcadipane; in the second sat the midwife, Sidora Bonifacio with two assistants, Maria and Cuncetta. Maria was holding a basket containing thirty hardboiled eggs and five candles.

  Meanwhile, inside, in the refectory, the great feast and drunken revel unfolded in a general atmosphere of good cheer and amusement. Even don Alterio pretended to take part in the festivities, though he was sick at heart.

  Each guest had a girl at his side who saw to fetching dishes from the kitchen and keeping the jugs of wine always full.

  Don Simone had also had the splendid idea to have the eight girls dress up as nuns, with nothing on underneath. And in each nun’s habit four holes had been made: two with the breasts popping out, the third granting easy access to the little thicket and the valley below, and the fourth, which was in back and the largest, allowing one to caress the full moon with the utmost convenience.

  “How do you plan to proceed?” don Filippo asked the captain.

  The officer replied that he would first have the little palace surrounded, to prevent anyone from escaping, and then he would knock.

  “But what if they don’t answer?”

  In that case he would break the door down.

  “But that will remove the element of surprise! They’ll have all the time in the world to put themselves back together!” said don Filippo. “Wouldn’t it be better to send one of your experienced soldiers to see whether there is a way to get inside the house without breaking down the door?”

  The captain agreed and sent a sergeant who was an old war-horse.

  The sergeant returned half an hour later with good news. Which was that the main door was ajar and there were two men standing guard.

  He said to the captain that if he gave him three soldiers of his own choice, he could guarantee him that the two guards would be seized and prevented from sounding the alarm.

  And so it was that Pippo Nasca and Totò ’Mpallomeni, in the twinkling of an eye, found themselves put out of commission by two sharp blows to the head that seemed to have rained down from the sky.

  Ten minutes later, don Filippo Arcadipane, the captain, and ten armed soldiers walked through the main door of the little palace.

  “Nobody move,” said don Filippo, entering the refectory.

  Needless words, since everyone in the room had frozen. Don Simone while sinking his teeth into a chicken breast, Baron Torregrossa as he was bending over to kiss the tits of the girl sitting beside him, Canon Bonsignore as he was turning his attention to the full moon of a girl forced, for this purpose, to stand as she ate . . .

  The first one able to react was don Cono Giallombardo.

  “This is a private gathering. You have no right to arrest me!”

  At that point, they all snapped out of it.

  “You don’t know who I am!” bellowed Count Ciaravolo.

  “We are not doing anything illegal!” yelled Marquis Pullara.

  “This is an outrage! You have no right!” said Marquis Bendicò, laying it on.

  “Until a moment ago I indeed would have had no right,” the Grand Captain replied frostily. “I could only have arrested the Marquis Trecca for running a brothel and calling it a charitable institution. But now I’m in a position to arrest you all.”

  “Why?” asked don Cono.

  “Says who?” the Baron Torregrossa said belligerently.

  “Says the law. You were all caught committing acts of willing, patent blasphemy, by obscenely using nuns’ garments for lascivious ends. And on top of that, every feigned nun is wearing a crucifix round her neck.”

  It was true. Everyone fell silent.

  “It’s up to you to choose: either you let me arrest you, or I turn you over to the Holy Office,” don Filippo continued.

  Not one of the eight men had the slightest doubt as to his preference, and none put up any resistance when the soldiers tied their hands behind their backs.

  The captain, meanwhile, accompanied the girls back to their cells.

  Ten soldiers, under the command of a sergeant, stayed behind at the refuge. Don Filippo likewise.

  The eight arrested gentlemen, together with Totò ’Mpallomeni and Pippo Nasca, headed off on foot to prison, under military escort.

  Don Alterio wept as he walked. They were not tears of shame or despair, but liberating tears, almost tears of relief.

  After they’d gone, the midwife and her two assistants entered the refuge with their basket of thirty eggs. The midwife began her examinations.

  When she came back downstairs an hour later, she said she did not find a single orphan girl who was still a virgin. And therefore there was no need for the eggs.

  The Grand Captain had her sign a paper and then left, as did the midwife and her two helpers. The ten soldiers stayed to guard the place.

  Three hours later Pippo Nasca and Totò ’Mpallomeni confessed to having killed three orphan girls, as ordered by don Simone.

  And they also said were they had buried them.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Don Angel’s Ghost Appears

  and Does a Lot of Damage

  The first session of the new Council opened punctually at ten o’clock on Tuesday morning.

  The first to speak was the Grand Captain of Justice, who recounted what had transpired at the little palace of the Holy Refuge, and why he’d had to arrest everyone. Following the two assassins’ confessions, he’d sent some soldiers to look for the three girls’ corpses, which were found just a short distance from the Refuge. The bodies were then put in coffins and reburied in consecrated ground.

  That morning the Tribunal decreed that the property of all the defendants would be confiscated, and they were sentenced to five years in prison, with the exception of don Simone, who was condemned to death, along with Nasca and ’Mpallomeni, for the triple murder.

  The twenty-four orphan girls, upon the specific order of donna Eleonora, were taken to the convent of Santa Teresa.

  The prior evening, after the full confession of don Simone, the accomplices who had pointed out the prettiest orphans for consignment to the brothel were also arrested. These included Matre Teresa, the abbess of the convent of Santa Lucia, Suor Martina, head of the orphanage run in conjunction with the convent of the Sacred Heart, Don Aglianò, who ran a shelter for orphan girls, and Brother Agenore, the assistant superior of the Franciscans.

  The Grand Captain finished by saying that the marquis had submitted a list of the possessions he’d obtained through his shameful business practices, and the results were astonishing.

  After him the Chief Administrator proposed that don Esteban, once he’d finished dealing with the former Councillors, should be transferred to Messina to put some pressure on the chief of the shipyard there.

  And after Messina, he should go to Bivona to see what don Aurelio Spanò, marquis of Puntamezza, was up to, since it was almost certain the gentleman was lining his pockets with tax proceeds, as the people of Bivona were claiming. Lastly he said that subsequent to all the expropriations being conducted of the money and properties of corrupt officials, the revenues might perhaps make it possible to reduce taxes a little.

  Donna Eleonora showed great interest in this argument and asked the Chief Treasurer to explain. He replied that, indeed, money was pouring into state coffers by the bushel.

  The marquesa then ordered that the arrest and conviction of don Simone and his friends should be brought to the public’s knowledge by the town criers, who must cover every street in the capital.

  She then announced that she would explain everything she had in mind to do at the next Council on Friday.

  And she adjourned the
session.

  She’d invited the princess of Stabia and don Serafino to lunch and didn’t want to be late. She wanted to talk to them at length about the plans she had in mind.

  * * *

  When the great door of the palace was closed and locked every evening, it was the custom that, aside from the guards outside, who stood ten steps away from one another all along the walls, twelve elite soldiers, who changed from week to week, would remain inside, under the command of Lieutenant Ramírez, who was always there.

  Of these twelve soldiers, three stood guard in front of the Viceroy’s private apparentment, another outside the door, a second halfway down the corridor, and a third at the top of the stairs leading to the floor below.

  Normally, after an hour or so, seeing that nothing ever happened inside the palace, the guard at the top of the stairs would lie down on the floor and go to sleep.

  The other two would likewise fall asleep, but on their feet, like horses, with their backs against the wall.

  That week the three soldiers assigned to guard the apartment were called Osorio, who was outside the door, Vanasco, who was the one halfway down the corridor, and Martínez, who was at the top of the stairs.

  That night, while in a deep sleep, aided by the semidarkness created by the fact that the only torch lighting the hallway was far away, Osorio was suddenly awakened by something he didn’t at first understand.

  Was it a human voice or an animal?

  He pricked up his ears and soon became convinced that he was hearing the voice of a man moaning in pain.

  “Ahhh! Ahhh! Ahhh!” said the voice.

  What was a man doing inside the private apartment where there were only supposed to be women—that is, donna Eleonora and her four chambermaids?

  Hearing the desperate laments continue, he went over to Vanasco, who was asleep, and woke him up.

  “Come with me,” he said.

  “What is it?”

  “I want you to hear something.”

  Vanasco followed him and heard the moaning.

  It was possible that someone had entered the apartment through a different door. But that door led directly into the room where don Angel’s catafalque rested.

  The two men ran to Martínez and woke him up.

  “Have you seen anyone pass this way?”

  “Anyone . . . ?” Martínez repeated, still half asleep.

  “Yes, a man.”

  “No,” said Martínez, who, in a sleep as deep as his, wouldn’t have seen even a whole army pass.

  All three went to listen to see whether the voice was still moaning.

  It was.

  “I’ll go and call the lieutenant,” Osorio said, worried. “You two don’t move from here.”

  Lieutenant Ramírez arrived on the run, a burning torch in his hand. He too heard the cries, which grew more and more frightening.

  Now all of them were scared.

  “Go and wake up the Chief of Ceremonies and get him to bring the key to the private apartment.”

  The other key was in the possession of Estrella, the chief chambermaid.

  The Chief of Ceremonies arrived in his nightshirt and opened the door. They all went into the antechamber.

  It was immediately clear that the cries were coming from the room in which don Angel’s corpse was lying.

  Everyone’s hair stood on end, and they all started trembling. They were scared out of their wits.

  “Who has the key to that room?” asked Ramírez.

  “Donna Eleonora.”

  “Isn’t there any other door?”

  “There is, there’s a second door that gives onto the landing. But it’s always been locked,” said the Chief of Ceremonies.

  “And who has the key?”

  “I wouldn’t know.”

  Then the lieutenant went up to the locked door and asked:

  “Who are you?”

  There was no answer. The moaning, however, became more terrifying.

  Voice now quavering a little, the lieutenant asked:

  “Do you need help?”

  “Yessssssss!” replied a cavernous voice that sounded as if it came from the bowels of the earth.

  The torch fell from the terrified lieutenant’s hand and went out, plunging them all into darkness.

  At which point they crashed into one another and fled into the hall, where they remained, out of breath and clinging to each other.

  At that moment the groans stopped.

  They all pricked up their ears but no longer heard anything.

  The following morning the Chief of Ceremonies and Lieutenant Ramírez respectfully asked donna Eleonora if they could have the key to the room where the dead body lay.

  “Last night we heard a man moaning in there,” said the Chief of Ceremonies.

  “He was asking for help,” added the lieutenant.

  “Estáis seguros?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Voy con vosotros.”

  Inside the room, everything was in perfect order. The great candles in the candlesticks were still lit. Lieutenant Ramírez went and checked the other door.

  It seemed not to have been opened for years.

  The Chief of Ceremonies and lieutenant felt upset. But the look donna Eleonora gave them made them feel even more upset.

  That same morning Osorio, the soldier, who had a thing going with the palace chambermaid whose job it was to buy provisions in town, told her about the terrible fright he’d had. And she, who was quite a gossip, told it to everyone at the market.

  The following night nothing happened. All hell broke loose, however, on the night between Thursday and Friday.

  At half past midnight the two soldiers on guard on the first floor, whose names were del Rojo and Sánchez, were leaning against each other, asleep, when they were awakened by a sudden blast of cold air.

  Since it was a nasty night of wind and rain, apparently a gust had opened a window somewhere. A second later, owing perhaps to another gust, the only wall torch went out.

  The two guards immediately became worried, knowing what had happened three nights before.

  They didn’t manage in time to go and relight the torch before a bonechilling, lost-soul lament paralyzed them.

  Then, by the light of a thunderbolt, they saw a frightful thing.

  A ghost, with both arms raised, was approaching them menacingly, emitting that groan, which one couldn’t hear without being scared to death.

  “Una aparición!” shouted del Rojo.

  “Un fantasma!” yelled Sánchez.

  And both took to their heels, shouting wildly and so loudly that they woke up half the palace.

  The only open route ahead of them was the staircase. They took it and ran past Martínez, who was in a haze of sleep.

  “Una aparición!”

  “Un fantasma!”

  Martínez started running behind them, adding his voice to the screams.

  When the three soldiers came to Vanasco, who was the bravest of the lot, he let them pass but remained steadfast at his post, sabre unsheathed, waiting for the ghost to arrive.

  Osorio came running up and planted himself beside him.

  And the white ghost appeared at the far end of the corridor. But it was not alone.

  Behind him was another ghost.

  Two ghosts was too much to bear. Both Vanasco and Osorio likewise turned tail and started running behind the other three, to the end of the corridor.

  “Dos apariciones!”

  “Dos fantasmas!”

  And thus they were not in a position to notice that something odd had happened. Which was that the first ghost, hearing a loud moan behind him, had turned and, seeing the second ghost, had fainted and fallen to the floor.

  This was because the first ghos
t wasn’t really a ghost, but the Chief of Ceremonies, who’d been woken up by all the yelling and got out of bed in his white nightshirt and the tasseled white cap he normally slept in.

  Stepping over the ghost on the floor, the second ghost kept advancing, still moaning and groaning like a lost soul.

  The soldiers, by this point spooked out of their wits, had nowhere to run, the only remaining escape route being the window.

  But at that moment Sánchez remembered that just under the window was a little terrace. Small and narrow, but a terrace just the same.

  Without thinking twice, he opened the window and threw himself below. The other four followed behind him, still shouting:

  “Dos apariciones!”

  “Dos fantasmas!”

  All the yelling, meanwhile, had woken up donna Eleonora. She got up out of bed and went out of her apartment and into the corridor, where she ran into the lieutenant, who was bearing up a trembling, saucer-eyed Chief of Cermonies, arms around his shoulders, as the official blubbered:

  “A gh . . . ghost! I s-saw a gh . . . ghost!”

  Half an hour later it was learned that Sanchez, in jumping out the window, had leapt too far out and instead of landing on the little terrace had crashed some twenty yards farther below, at the base of the palace walls, and died instantly.

  Donna Eleonora decided that it would be quite inappropriate to hold the Council session the following morning. She would tell the Councillors what she had to say to them at the Tuesday session.

  And since it wasn’t possible to talk to the Chief of Ceremonies just then, she sent for the assistant chief and told him to inform the Councillors, first thing in the morning, that the session had been postponed.

  By this point she longer felt sleepy, and so she went into the study to read the letters that had been coming in, since by now people were writing to her from all over Sicily.