Judge Surra

by Andrea Camilleri

  He omitted to say that Di Cagno and Martorana had turned up at his house with a letter from ex-President Fallarino in which he sang their praises. Halfway through the meeting, Nicolosi came in holding a large parcel in both hands.

  “A few moments ago, a man delivered this for you. He told me to give it to you personally. He said it’s a gift.”

  “I do not accept gifts. Send it back immediately,” Surra said brusquely.

  “How can I? There’s no indication of the sender and I don’t know the man who …”

  “Then throw it out.”

  “Just a minute,” Butera said, presiding judge in another division. “Would it not be a good idea to see what it is before throwing it out?”

  “Do you think so?” Surra said, plainly baffled.

  “Well, here there are certain customs which …”

  The truth was that each one of them, with the exception of Judge Surra, wanted to see the parcel opened in their presence – they all had a half suspicion of what it was likely to contain.

  “Alright then. Open it.”

  The head clerk placed the parcel in the centre of the table, taking off the wrapping paper to reveal a metal box.

  Nicolosi stopped, unsure of what to do next. He too had the same suspicion as the others.

  “Well? Open it up,” Surra said.

  Nicolosi removed the lid of the box.

  They all rose to their feet to see, saw and fell back heavily on their chairs, distraught, ashen and silent.

  Partially wrapped in pieces of cloth, which had once been white but were now soaked red with blood, lay a neatly severed lamb’s head. Its great, staring eyes appeared almost human.

  The first to speak was Judge Surra.

  “Ah! A lamb’s head!” He smiled.

  He held his smile as the others remained motionless, frozen by sheer horror and by the appalling significance of the threat.

  Judge Surra continued to smile at a now distant memory of home. In his childhood, his grandfather had occasionally persuaded his grandmother to cook a lamb’s head, and he would pass some bits to the boy seated beside him. My God, how good they had been! After his grandfather’s death, lamb’s head had disappeared from the family menu.

  “Would any of you like it?” he asked.

  They all shook their heads, dismayed, incapable of speech.

  “Filipazzo, one of my relatives, eats these things,” Nicolosi said at last.

  “Good. Give it to him, with my compliments! Right then, gentlemen, shall we resume?”

  *

  “In all sincerity, that man scares me. There’s something about him which is not quite human,” Judge Moresco said to his colleague, Consolato, as they were returning home. Being near neighbours, they were in the habit of walking a bit of the way together.

  “He has the same effect on me. He really unnerves me. He could put the fear of God into anybody. He could even smile when faced with a death threat. We were all scared out of our wits, but he just sat there as though he’d been offered a little present which, unhappily, he thought he really ought to decline. Good God, what an attitude! What inhuman courage!

  “What can I say? Judge Surra is one of those men who could be called a hero.”

  “I quite agree with you,” Consolato said.

  *

  What was Pippina up to? Varying the menu every day to make him sample the full range of Sicilian cuisine? Her pasta con le sarde had him licking his lips and drove out all thought of lamb’s head. Lunches, dinners, cannoli … at this rate he would put on a lot of weight before returning to Piedmont.

  After lunch, a messenger brought him a card from the prefect, requesting his attendance at the prefecture at three o’clock. Senator Pasquale Midulla, who represented the Montelusa constituency and was also undersecretary at the Ministry of Justice, was about to leave for Rome after a brief visit to his constituents and wished to be briefed on conditions at the court.

  *

  “I have put this room at your disposal so that the two of you can talk without being disturbed,” the prefect said.

  And he left them alone.

  Judge Surra, feeling it his duty not to wait for the senator to ask specific questions, gave him a detailed report on the restructuring work, concluding that no later than one week from that day the court would be in a position to resume its activities, albeit only partially.

  “And that’s where the most awkward problem lies,” the senator said.

  “Why’s that?” the judge said, unsure of himself.

  “I mean for you.”

  “For me? By then we will have resolved the most awkward problems. It’s a matter of beginning the normal …”

  “Normal? Listen, Your Honour, I would like you to reflect on the fact that Sicily is not Piedmont.”

  “I know,” Surra said, his pride stung.

  “Let me explain myself better. With us, things are not always as they appear. With you, it’s different. With you, white is white and black is black. With us, grey predominates.”

  “How strange! I thought it was the opposite. Since the day I arrived, there’s never been a day of rain. There’s been a sun which casts clearly defined shadows.”

  The senator looked at him bewildered. Had he really not understood or was he only pretending? Yet the judge had a look of such transparency that …

  “Let me make another attempt to make myself clear. When Ippolito Nievo landed with Garibaldi and saw our young men fighting, he defined them initially as ferocious savages. Later, he changed his mind when he realised that what he was seeing was extreme courage, where death could represent the most longed-for prize. What I mean to say is that there are certain types of behaviour which might appear downright criminal in the eyes of non-Sicilians, but which are often dictated by a deep sense of honour and by a notion of justice which regrettably does not always conform to the code of law.”

  “If it does not conform to the code, I find it hard to see how it can be called justice,” Surra replied simply.

  “What was I telling you? We’re talking about behaviour which is hard to explain and even downright incomprehensible to those who do not have our mentality. Let me give you another example. Recent years have been, for us, years of the absence of everything, of rules, of laws, in a word, of the State. We would have descended into the most complete disorder if some men of good will had not rolled up their sleeves and taken on themselves the burden of dictating rules and ensuring they were observed. But since these rules were not laid down in the various codes, such men found themselves automatically outside the boundaries of law. And yet they had the merit of …”

  “Forgive me if I ask a question, Excellency. Would you number Signor Emanuele Lonero among these men of good will?” The senator smiled. This man from Piedmont was not such a fool as he might appear.

  “Yes, he is one such. Why not?”

  “Because this gentleman procured from a dishonest magistrate some court papers which …”

  “And that’s what I wanted you to see,” the senator interjected without a moment’s hesitation. “As soon as you asked him, Lonero returned them to you intact. If he took possession of the papers, it was to keep them safe, since the court was no longer guarded. You see how easy it is to fall into misunderstandings?”

  “These four cases are clearly close to the heart of Signor Lonero.”

  “Indeed, because they concern four of his friends and assistants who contributed to the maintenance of law and order, and who worked to ensure harmonious relations between people. For exactly that reason he would like – how can I put this – to see them well treated. I don’t say treated with any special partiality, heaven forbid, but treated with due regard for all that they have done …”

  “Signor Lonero will be pleased to know I have given instructions that those four cases are to be given absolute priority. They will be the first four trials held in the new court at Montelusa. This I can guarantee.”

  He made a slight bow to the sen
ator, who looked at him dumbfounded, and made his exit.

  *

  “Don Nené is too uncouth for a man like Judge Surra,” Don Agatino said, growing more excited as he spoke. “Of course he allowed himself a slight smile when he saw the lamb’s head! It was the smile of a superior man, that’s what it was – the smile of a man who knows he could leave his opponent twisting in the wind as and when he chooses!”

  Professor Sciacca was of the same opinion.

  “One thing is certain. At this moment, Don Nené is on the losing side. He’s had to give way, as he did when he was forced to return the dossiers to Paolantonio, with the consequence that his four friends will be the first to go on trial! He’s losing face.”

  *

  “If you want my opinion, I think you should show a bit of patience.”

  “I’ve run out of patience. I’ve used it all up. Can you not see what he’s made of? What the fuck did you get out of talking to him, eh, tell me that.”

  “I understand how he reasons. And that is, he doesn’t reason at all.”

  “So?”

  “I’m going back to Rome tomorrow, and I’ll do what I can to have him transferred. That’s why you’ll need to show patience.”

  “And, in the meantime, he’s going ahead with the four cases?”

  “That’s inevitable.”

  “Well, I’m going to make sure that it’s not.”

  “Listen to me, Don Nené, and listen carefully. If you commit some fuck-up against the person of Judge Surra, not even Jesus Christ in person will be able to help you.”

  “I’ll not lay a finger on your judge, so you can set off with an easy mind.”

  “So what are you going to do?”

  “That’s my damn business.”

  5

  HE WAS WAKENED BY AN INSISTENT KNOCKING AT THE OUTSIDE door. Half-asleep, he peered into the early light of the morning and recognised Maresciallo Solano. Surra was alarmed.

  “What’s happened?”

  “They’ve tried to set fire to the court. You’ll have to come. I’ll wait for you.”

  The news upset him so much that he found it hard to impose order on all the thoughts buzzing about in his head. He got dressed quickly and went downstairs.

  “What’s the situation now?”

  “The fire was rapidly brought under control. Fortunately, the officer on watch saw the flames in time and raised the alarm.”

  “Is there much damage?”

  “Not much, but your office has been partially destroyed. The green cabinet and the desk with all the papers they contained have been destroyed by the flames.”

  “Ah,” the judge said, reassured. After a brief pause, he asked, “Why did you say it was arson?”

  “Because to get in without being seen, they had to force open a side door.”

  In spite of the time, a group of about thirty bystanders had gathered in the space in front of the building.

  One of them emerged from the crowd and approached the judge. He took off his hat.

  It was Don Nené Lonero, displaying a solemnity of expression which befitted the occasion.

  A sudden, tense silence fell on the square.

  “I trust that justice has not suffered any serious reversal,” he said.

  “Justice has not suffered any reversal whatsoever, I can assure you,” the judge replied with icy composure.

  And he entered the court.

  Proceeding along the corridor, he noted that the large black cupboard was intact and in its place.

  It was impossible to get into his own office, which was completely blackened. Inside, Nicolosi and two clerks were busy picking over what little had been saved from the flames.

  The green cabinet was reduced to a pile of ashes and pieces of charred wood, while half of the desk was simply no longer there.

  “Where would you like to move to?” asked Nicolosi.

  “To the office next door.”

  Many of the offices were still empty so there was no lack of choice.

  He was joined by Judge Consolato.

  “I just heard and I rushed over.”

  The judge gave him a smile. Madonna, that man must have steel wires where other men had nerves!

  “Have you had any breakfast?”

  “I didn’t have time!”

  “Nor did I. Want to come with me to the Caff è Arnone?”

  “Glad to.”

  They went out and walked along the street together. Consolato summoned up the courage to break the silence.

  “So it seems they broke in with the sole purpose of destroying the green cabinet.”

  “It looks that way, and they’ve succeeded totally.”

  Consolato yet again found himself admiring Surra’s coolness and calm even in the face of a grave setback like this. Because it was obvious that there could be no possibility now of proceeding with the four cases.

  They went into the caffè.

  Don Nené Lonero was seated at a table with four of his men, pouring sparkling wine into glasses in front of them. Many other tables were occupied with people having their breakfast. On seeing Judge Surra enter, Don Nené rose to his feet, glass in hand. “Like to join us? Myself and my good friends Milioto, Savastano, Curreli and Costantino are celebrating.”

  The four men named stared at the judge, gave a bow and then burst out laughing. Those at the nearby tables joined in.

  Consolato’s face was grey. The judge remained impassive.

  “No, thank you. I never drink in the morning.” He turned to the barman and said. “What’s that gentleman over there having?”

  “A lemon granita and a tarallo.”

  “I’d like to try that. What are you having, Consolato?”

  “A … caff … caffelatte.”

  The judge consumed the rigadi. Every so often he closed his eyes.

  “Good!” he said when he had finished it. “Will you bring me another?

  *

  Since everyone on the court staff had rushed over as soon as they learned the news, Judge Surra was able to open the meeting an hour ahead of schedule. All around, he could see dark faces and furrowed brows. There was a funereal atmosphere.

  He was about to start talking when Nicolosi came in to say that a correspondent of the Giornale dell’Isola would like to put a few questions to him on the attempted arson.

  “Show him in,” Surra said, to the surprise of the company.

  “In here?” Nicolosi asked incredulously.

  He was not the only one who was incredulous.

  “Yes, in here.”

  The journalist came in, the judge sat him down and said: “I’m receiving you in the presence of my colleagues because my old office is out of commission and my new office is not yet ready for use.”

  “I won’t take up much of your time,” the journalist began. “I’m only seeking to confirm the facts – it’s not my custom to publish inaccurate information. Is it true that a green cabinet in your office was completely destroyed?”

  “Yes, and my desk too, come to that.”

  “There’s a rumour in the town that that cabinet contained files and case notes of some importance. Can you confirm that?”

  “I do confirm that.”

  “So I can write that the one motive of the people who broke into the court was to burn those documents?”

  “I would say you could write that.”

  “And, in consequence, the damage done is irreparable?”

  Judge Surra looked puzzled.

  “Irreparable in what sense? Look, the desk had woodworm, the cabinet was in poor shape. I’ll have new furniture purchased.”

  “I was referring to the papers which were inside.”

  “But those papers were no longer inside the cabinet,” Surra said.

  The entire company around the table simultaneously gave a start, causing the table around which they were seated to jump.

  “They … they weren’t there anymore?” the journalist asked in wonderment.

/>   “No, I’d taken them out and put them somewhere else.”

  He stared at his colleagues and they stared back at him. They saw in his eyes nothing but the candour of a snowfall on an Alpine peak.

  “And then I forgot to mention that I’d moved them.”

  *

  There was no need to wait for the arrival of the newspaper from Palermo the following day, because the news spread around Montelusa that very afternoon.

  And curiously, here and there the town seemed to light up with sparks of sheer joy. There was laughter everywhere, in the houses, in the streets and in the bars. There was much winking and smiling, even among people who did not know one another.

  “What finesse, what subtlety he employed to draw Don Nené into a deadly trap.” Don Agatino Smecca had tears running down his cheeks from laughing too much and too long. For the occasion, he even switched to speaking Italian instead of dialect. “He prepared every move with infernal skill. First he showed the four files to the four judges and told them he would put them in the green cabinet, then he called the clerks and had them tidy them away, and then when they had all gone home, he took them out the cabinet and hid them somewhere else. The result was Don Nené’s men burned an empty cabinet!”

  “Excuse me,” Professor Sciacca interrupted. “Why do you call it a deadly trap?”

  “Because it’s obvious that Don Nené is dead and buried in ridicule. It’s a blow from which he can never recover. The judge has checkmated him. Lonero has lost all prestige, and he’ll lose even more when the four judges get to work on the four files. Wait and see how many witnesses for the prosecution will find the courage to talk, strengthened by the presence of Judge Surra. How much are you going to bet that these trials will not end up with an acquittal on the grounds of insufficient evidence, as happens all too often in these parts?

  *

  Don Agatino Smecca was a splendid prophet. A fortnight later, Don Nené Lonero let it be known that, for pressing family reasons, he was obliged to leave Montelusa and would move to Palermo, perhaps for good. The whisper was that Don Sabatino Vullo, a senior figure, a pair of steady hands and a man of vast experience, had been nominated in his place.

  “Don’t let anyone even think of asking me for favours regarding court matters while Judge Surra is in office,” was the first declaration he made to his followers.