IM2 The Terra-Cotta Dog (2002)

by Andrea Camilleri

  The phone call from Gegwho from his tone of voice sounded worriedenough not to tolerate any jokinghad woken him up just in time. It was ten oclock, and he tuned in to the Free Channel. Nicolto, with his intelligent face, red hair, and Red ideas, opened the newscast with the story of a laborer who died at his workplace in Fela, roasted alive in a gas explosion. He listed a series of examples to demonstrate how, in at least ninety percent of the cases, management was blithely indifferent to safety standards. He then moved on to the arrest of some public officials charged with various forms of embezzlement and used this instance to remind viewers of how several different elected governments had tried in vain to pass laws that might prevent the cleanup operation currently under way. His third item was the suicide of the businessman strangled by debts to a loan shark, and here he criticized the gov- ernments provisions against usury as utterly inadequate. Why, he asked, were those investigating this scourge so careful to

  keep loan-sharking and the Mafia separate? How many different ways were there to launder dirty money?

  Finally, he came to the news of the two bodies found in the cave, but he approached it from a peculiar perspective, indirectly challenging the angle that Prestand TeleVig had taken on the story. Somebody, he said, once asserted that religion is the opium of the people; today, instead, one would have to say that the real opium is television. For example:Why had certain people presented this case as a story of two lovers thwarted in their love? What facts authorized anyone to advance such a hypothesis? The two were found nude: what had happened to their clothes? No trace of any weapon was found in the cave. How would they have killed themselves? By starving to death? Come on! Why did the man have a bowl beside him containing coins no longer current today but still valid at the time of their deaths? To pay Charons toll? The truth, claimed the newsman, is that they want to turn a probable crime into a certain suicide, a romantic suicide. And in our dark days, with so many threatening clouds on the horizon, he concluded, we puff up a story like this to drug people, to distract their attention from the serious problems and divert them with a Romeo-and-Juliet story, one scripted, however, by a soap-opera writer.

  Darling, its Livia. I wanted to tell you Ive booked our tickets. The flight leaves from Rome, so youll have to buy a

  ticket from Palermo to Fiumicino; Ill do the same from

  Genoa. Well meet at the airport and board together.

  Mm-hmm.

  Ive also reserved our hotel. A friend of mine has stayed there and said its really nice without being too fancy. I think youll like it.

  Mm-hmm.

  We leave in two weeks and a day. Im so happy. Im counting the days and the hours.

  Mm-hmm.

  Salvo, whats wrong?

  Nothing. Why should there be anything wrong?

  You dont sound very enthusiastic.

  Of course I am, what do you mean?

  Look, Salvo, if you wiggle out of this at the last minute, Ill go anyway, by myself.

  Come on.

  But whats wrong with you?

  Nothing. I was sleeping.

  Inspector Montalbano? Good evening. This is Headmaster

  Burgio.

  Good evening. What can I do for you?

  Im very sorry to disturb you at home. I just heard on television about the two bodies that were found.

  Could you identify them?

  No. Im calling about something that was said in passing on TV, but which might be of interest to you. Im talking about the terra-cotta dog. If you have no objection, I thought Id come by your office tomorrow morning with Burruano, the accountant. Do you know him?

  I know who he is. Ten oclock all right?

  Here, said Livia. I want to do it here, right away.

  They were in a kind of park, dense with trees. Crawling about at their feet were hundreds of snails of every variety, garden snails, tree snails, escargots, slugs, periwinkles.

  Why right here? Lets get back in the car and in five minutes well be home. Around here, somebody might see us.

  Dont argue, jerk! Livia shot back, grabbing his belt and trying awkwardly to unbuckle it.

  Ill do it, he said.

  In an instant Livia was naked, while he was still struggling with his trousers, then his underpants.

  Shes accustomed to stripping in a hurry, he thought, in a surge of Sicilian jealousy.

  As Livia threw herself down on the wet grass, legs spread, caressing her breasts with her hands, he heard, to his disgust, the sound of dozens of snails being crushed under the weight of her body.

  Come on, hurry up, she said.

  Montalbano finally managed to strip down naked, shud

  dering in the chill air. Meanwhile, a few snails had started slithering over Livias body.

  And what do you expect to do with that? she asked critically, eyeing his cock. With a look of compassion, she got up on her knees, took it in her hands, caressed it, and put her lips around it. When she felt he was ready, she resumed her prior position.

  Fuck me to kingdom come, she said.

  When did she become so vulgar? he wondered, bewildered.

  As he was about to enter her, he saw the dog a few steps away, a white dog with its pink tongue sticking out, growling menacingly, teeth bared, a string of slobber dribbling from its mouth. When did it get there?

  What are you doing? Has it gone soft again?

  Theres a dog.

  What the hell do you care? Give it to me.

  At that exact moment the dog sprang into the air and he froze, terrified. The dog landed a few inches from his head, turned stiff, its color lightly fading, then lay down, its front legs extended, hind legs folded. It became fake, turned into terra-cotta. It was the dog in the cave, the one guarding the dead couple.

  Then all at once the sky, trees, and grass disappeared, walls of rock formed around them and overhead, and in horror he realized that the dead couple in the cave were not two strangers, but Livia and himself.

  He awoke from the nightmare breathless and sweating,

  and immediately in his mind he begged Livias forgiveness for having imagined her as so obscene in the dream. But what was the meaning of that dog? And those disgusting snails slithering all over the place?

  That dog had to have a meaning, he was sure of it.

  Before going to the office, he stopped at a kiosk and bought Sicilys two newspapers. Both of them prominently featured the story of the bodies found in the cave; as for the discovery of the weapons, they had prominently forgotten about that. The paper published in Palermo was certain that it had been a love suicide, whereas the one published in Catania was also open to the possibility of murder, while not, of course, discounting suicide, and indeed its headline read: double suicide or dual homicide?implying some vague, mysterious distinction between double and dual. On the other hand, no matter what the issue, this newspaper customarily never took a position. Whether the subject was a war or an earthquake, it always liked to play both sides of the fence, and for this had gained a reputation as an independent, freethinking daily. Neither of the two dwelt on the jug, the bowl, or the terra-cotta dog.

  The instant Montalbano appeared in the doorway, Catarella asked him what he should say to the hundreds of journalists who were certain to phone, wanting to speak with the inspector.

  Tell them Ive gone on a mission. What, youve become a missionary? quipped the policeman, lightning-quick, chuckling noisily to himself. Montalbano concluded that hed been right, the previous evening, to unplug the telephone before going to bed.

  13

  Dr. Pasquano? Montalbano here. Just wondering if theres any news.

  Yes, there certainly is. My wife has a cold and my granddaughter lost a baby tooth.

  Are you angry, Doctor?

  I certainly am!

  With whom?

  You ask me if theres any news! Well, let me ask you how you can have the gall to ask me anything at nine oclock in the morning! What do you think, that Ive just spent the night opening up those two co
rpses bellies like some kind of vulture? I happen to sleep at night! And, at the moment, Im working on that guy who drowned around Torre Spaccata. Who didnt drown at all, since before being tossed into the sea hed been stabbed three times in the chest.

  Shall we make a bet, Doctor?

  On what?

  On whether or not you spent the night with those two corpses.

  All right, all right. You win.

  What did you find out?

  Right now I cant tell you much; I still have to look at a few other things. One sure thing is that they were killed by gunshot wounds. He to the head, she to the heart. You couldnt see the womans wound because his hand was covering it. A textbook execution, while they were sleeping.

  Inside the cave?

  I dont think so. They were probably already dead when they were brought there, then were rearranged, still naked and all.

  Have you managed to establish their ages?

  I wouldnt want to be wrong, but Id say they were young, very young.

  And when did the crime take place, in your opinion?

  I could venture a guess, which you can take with a pinch of salt. About fifty years ago, more or less.

  Im not here for anyone. No phone calls for the next fifteen minutes, Montalbano told Catarella. Then he locked the door to his office, returned to his desk, and sat down. Mim Augello was also sitting there, but stiff as a poker, bolt upright.

  Who goes first? asked Montalbano.

  I do, said Augello, since it was I who asked to talk to you. Because I think its time I said something.

  Well, Im here to listen.

  Could you please tell me what Ive done to you?

  You? To me? Nothing at all. Why do you ask?

  Because I feel like Ive become a stranger in this place. You dont tell me what youre doing, you keep me at a distance, and I feel insulted. For example, was it right, in your opinion, to keep me in the dark about Tano the Greek? Im not Jacomuzzi, who shouts these things from the rooftops. I can keep a secret. I didnt find out what happened at my own police station until I heard it at the press conference. Does that seem like the right way to treat someone whos your second-in-command until proved otherwise?

  But do you realize how sensitive this matter was?

  Its precisely because I realize it that Im so pissed off. Because it must mean that for you, Im not the right person for sensitive matters.

  Ive never thought that.

  Youve never thought it, but youve always done just that. Like with the weapons, which I found out about by accident.

  Come on, MimI was overwhelmed by the pressure and anxiety. It didnt occur to me to inform you.

  Thats bullshit, Salvo. Thats not the real story.

  Oh, yeah? Whats the real story?

  Ill tell you. Youve created a police station in your own image and likeness. Fazio, GermanGalluzzo, take anyone you want, theyre all just limbs that obey one single head: yours. They never contradict you, never ask questions: they just follow orders.There are two foreign bodies here: Catarella and me. Catarella, because hes too stupid, and me

  Because youre too intelligent.

  See? Thats not what I was going to say. You make me out to be arrogant, which Im not, and you do it maliciously.

  Montalbano looked at him, stood up, put his hands in his pockets, circled round the chair in which Augello was sitting, then stopped.

  It wasnt malicious, MimYou really are intelligent.

  If you seriously believe that, then why do you cut me out? I could be at least as useful to you as the others.

  Thats just it, MimNot as useful, but more so. Im speaking to you quite frankly, since youre making me think seriously about my attitude towards you. And maybe this is what bothers me most.

  So, just to please you, I ought to dumb myself down a little?

  Listen, if you want to have it out with me, lets go. Thats not what I meant. The fact is that over the course of time, Ive realized Im sort of a solitary hunterIm sorry if that sounds idiotic, maybe its not the right term. Because I do like to go hunting with others, but I want to be the only one to organize the hunt. Thats the one necessary precondition for making my brain function properly. An intelligent observation made by someone else merely upsets meit throws me off, sometimes for a whole day, and can even prevent me from following my own train of thought.

  I get it, said Augello. Actually, I got it some time ago, but I wanted to hear you say it yourself. So Im telling you

  now, without any hostility or hard feelings: Im going to write to the commissioner today and request a transfer.

  Montalbano looked him over, drew near, and leaned forward, putting his hands on Augellos shoulders.

  Will you believe me if I tell you that would hurt me very deeply?

  So fucking what! Mimxploded. Do you expect everyone to give you everything? What kind of man are you? First you treat me like shit, then you try the affectionate approach? Do you realize how monstrously egotistical you are?

  Yes, I do, said Montalbano.

  Allow me to introduce Mr. Burruano, the accountant who so kindly consented to come here with me today, said Headmaster Burgio with stuffed-shirt ceremoniousness.

  Please sit down, said Montalbano, gesturing towards two small, old armchairs in a corner of the room, which were reserved for distinguished guests. For himself he pulled up one of the two straight-back chairs in front of his desk, normally reserved for people who were decidedly undistinguished.

  These last few days I feel its been up to me to correct or at least clarify what gets said on television, Burgio began.

  Then correct and clarify, Montalbano said, smiling.

  Mr. Burruano and I are almost the same age. Hes four years older, but we remember the same things.

  Montalbano heard a note of pride in the headmasters voice. There was good reason for it: the twitchy Burruano, who was a bit milky-eyed to boot, looked at least ten years older than his friend.

  You see, right after the TeleVig News, which showed the inside of the cave in which they found th

  Excuse me for interrupting, but the last time we spoke you mentioned the weapons cave, but said nothing about this other cave. Why?

  Because I simply didnt know it existed. Lillo never said anything about it to me. Anyway, right after the newscast, I called Mr. Burruano because Id seen that statue of the dog before, and I wanted confirmation.

  The dog! That was why it appeared in his nightmare, because the headmaster had alluded to it on the phone. Montalbano felt overcome by a childish feeling of gratitude.

  Would you gentlemen like some coffee? Eh? A cup of coffee? They make it so well at the corner caf

  The two men shook their heads in unison.

  An orangeade? Coca-Cola? Beer?

  If they didnt stop him, he would soon be offering them ten thousand lire each.

  No, no, thank you, we cant drink anything. Old age, you know, said Burgio.

  All right, then, tell me your story.

  Its better if Mr. Burruano tells it.

  From February 1941 to July 1943, the accountant began, though still very young, I was podestf Vig. Either

  because Fascism claimed to like the youngin fact it liked them so much it ate them all, roasted or frozen, made no differenceor because the only people left in town were women, children, and the elderly. Everybody else was at the front. I couldnt go because I was consumptive. I really was.

  I was too young to be sent to the front, Burgio interjected, to avoid any misunderstanding.

  Those were terrible times. The British and Americans were bombing us every day. In one thirty-six-hour period I counted ten bombing raids. Very few people were left in town, most had been evacuated, and we were living in the shelters that had been dug into the hill of marl above the city. Actually, they were tunnels with two exits, very safe. We even brought our beds in there.Vigs grown a lot over the years. Its no longer the way it was back then, a handful of houses around the port and a strip of buildings between the foot of the
mountain and the sea. Up on the hill, the Piano Lanterna, which today looks like New York with its high- rises and all, had just four structures along a single road, which led to the cemetery and then disappeared into the countryside. The enemy aircraft had three targets: the power station, the port with its warships and merchant ships, and the antiaircraft and naval batteries along the ridge of the hill. When it was the British overhead, things went better than with the Americans.

  Montalbano was impatient. He wanted the man to get to the pointthe dog, that isbut didnt feel like interrupting his digressions.

  Went better in what sense, Mr. Burruano? It was still bombs they were dropping.

  Lost within some memory, Burruano had fallen silent, and so Headmaster Burgio spoke for him.

  The British, how shall I say, played more fairly. When they dropped their bombs they tried to hit only military targets, whereas the Americans dropped them helter-skelter, come what may.

  Towards the end of 42, Burruano resumed, the situation got even worse. We had nothing: no bread, no medicine, no water, no clothing. So for Christmas I decided to make a cre that we could all pray to. We had nothing else left. I wanted it to be a very special cre. That way, I thought, for a few days at least, I could take peoples minds off their wor- riesthere were so manyand distract them from the terror of the bombings. There wasnt a single family that didnt have at least one man fighting far from home, in the ice of Russia or the hell of Africa. Wed all become edgy, ornery, quarrel- somethe slightest thing would set people off; our nerves were frayed. Between the antiaircraft machine guns, the exploding bombs, the roar of the low-flying planes, and the cannon-blasts from the ships at sea, we couldnt get a wink of sleep at night. And everyone would come to me or to the priest to ask one thing or another and I didnt know which way to turn. I didnt feel so young anymore. I felt then the way I feel now.

  He stopped to catch his breath. Neither Montalbano nor Burgio felt like filling that pause.

  Anyway, to make a long story short, I mentioned my idea to Ballassaro Chiarenza, who was a real artist with terra- cotta. He did it for pleasure, since he was a carter by trade. It was his idea to make the statues all life-size. Baby Jesus, the Virgin Mary, Saint Joseph, the ox, the donkey, the shepherd with the lamb over his shoulders, a sheep, a dog, and the other shepherd, the one whos always portrayed with his arms raised in a gesture of wonder. So he made the whole thing, and it came out really beautiful. We even decided not to put it in the church, but to set it up under the arch of a bombed- out house, so it would look like Jesus had been born amidst the suffering of our people.