The Potter's Field (33 page)

The long-awaited phone call from Macannuco came two days later, by which time the inspector was seriously unshaven, hadn't changed his shirt, its collar ringed with grease, and his eyes were so bloodshot he looked like a monster out of a science-fiction movie. Mimì, too, was no joke: also unshaven and red-eyed, hair standing straight up so that he looked like the advertisement for Presbítero pencils. A terrified Catarella was afraid to say anything to either one of them when they passed in front of his closet, and would only slink down in his chair to the floor.

“Half an hour ago we intercepted a very brief phone call from Dolores Alfano to Signora Trippodo,” said Macannuco.

“What did she say?”

“She merely asked if she could come by tomorrow around three in the afternoon. Trippodo answered, ‘I'll be waiting for you.' And we'll be there waiting for her, too.”

“Give me a call at the station as soon as you arrest her. Oh, and listen, I had an idea about the syringe...”

Macannuco liked the idea. Montalbano, however, didn't care what happened to Dolores; his main concern was to keep Mimì completely out of the loop. He had to pull him out and keep him busy for the next twenty-four hours. He called Fazio.

“Fazio? Sorry to bother you at home, but I need you to come to my place right now, in Marinella.”

“I'm on my way, Chief.”

When Fazio got there, he was worried and full of questions. He found Montalbano clean shaven, wearing a crisp new shirt, spic and span. The inspector sat him down and asked him:

“Would you like a whisky?”

“To be honest, I'm not in the habit...”

“Take my advice, I think it's better if you have one.”

Fazio obediently poured himself two fingers' worth.

“Now I'm going to tell you a story,” Montalbano began, “but you'd better keep the whisky bottle within reach.”

By the time he'd finished his story, Fazio had drunk a quarter of a brand-new bottle. During the half hour in which Montalbano was talking, Fazio's only comment, which he said five times, was:

“Holy shit!”

The color of his face, on the other hand, changed often: initially red, it turned yellow, then purple, and then a blend of all three colors.

“So, tomorrow morning, what I want you to do,” the inspector concluded, “is this: The minute Mimì gets to the office, you tell him that an idea came to you during the night, and then you hand him a copy of the article.”

“What do you think Inspector Augello will do?”

“He'll race to Montelusa to talk to Tommaseo, claiming it's proof, then he'll do the same with the commissioner and even with Musante. He'll waste the whole morning running from one office to another. You, then, will throw down your ace, and make things more difficult for him.”

“And then what?”

“Tomorrow evening, as soon as Dolores gives herself away, Macannuco will phone me at the station. I'll call Mimì and tell him she's been arrested. You should be there, too. I can't imagine what his reaction will be.”

At six P.M. the following evening, Mimì Augello returned to the office dead tired and in a rage over all the time he'd wasted in Montelusa. But he also seemed worried about something else.

“Has Signora Alfano called you?” the inspector asked.

“Called me? Why would she do that? Has she called Fazio, by any chance?”

“No, she hasn't.”

He was agitated. It looked like Dolores had left without saying anything. And was keeping her cell phone turned off. Apparently she urgently needed to go to Catania to talk to Arturo Pecorini.

“And how did it go in Montelusa?”

“Don't get me started, Salvo! What a bunch of imbeciles ! All they do is shilly-shally, take their time, and find excuses. What better proof do you want than that newspaper article! But I'll be there again tomorrow, talking to Tommaseo!”

He left, furious, and went into his office.

At seven that evening, Macannuco rang.

“Bingo! Montalbano, you are a genius! When, as you suggested, Signora Trippodo let Dolores have a glimpse of a bloody syringe, Dolores dug her own grave. And you want some good news? She gave up immediately. She realized the jig was up and confessed, blaming it all on her lover, the butcher. Who, incidentally, was arrested about fifteen minutes ago at his butcher shop in Catania . . . So there you go. Anyway, bye now, I'll keep you informed.”

“Informed of what? No need to bother anymore, Macannù. I'll learn the rest from the newspapers.”

The inspector took three, four, five deep breaths, to get his wind back.

“Fazio!”

“Your orders, Chief.”

A quick glance sufficed to communicate their thoughts. There was no need for words.

“Go tell Mimì I want to see him, and you come back, too.”

When the two returned, Montalbano was swaying back and forth in his chair, hands in his hair. He was putting on a performance of surprise, shock, and dismay.

“
Matre santa! Matre santa!
” he said.

“What is it, Salvo?” Mimì asked, frightened.

“I just got a call from Macannuco!
Matre santa!
Who would've thought it?”

“Why, what happened?” Mimì nearly yelled.

“He's just arrested Dolores Alfano in Gioia Tauro!”

“Dolores?! In Gioia Tauro?!” Mimì repeated, flabbergasted.

“Yes.”

“What for?”

“For the murder of her husband!”

“But that's impossible!”

“No, it's true. She confessed.”

Mimì closed his eyes and fell to the floor too fast for Fazio to catch him. And at that moment Montalbano realized that Mimì had suspected all along, but had never been able to admit, not even to himself, that Dolores was involved up to her neck in her husband's murder.

The day after his arrival in Boccadasse, the inspector had just entered Livia's apartment when the phone rang. It was Fazio.

“How are you doing, Chief?”

“Not great, not bad, just getting along.”

His dress rehearsal for retirement was going well. Indeed that was a typical reply for a retiree.

“I wanted to let you know that Inspector Augello left today with his wife and son for a couple of weeks' rest in the town where Beba's parents live. I also wanted to tell you how pleased I am at the way you were able to set everything right. When will you be back, Chief?”

“Tomorrow evening.”

The inspector went and sat by the big picture window. Livia would be pleased to hear about Beba and Mimì. Balduccio Sinagra had had his lawyer Guttadauro call Montalbano to tell him how pleased the boss was to see Dolores arrested. Fazio, too, was pleased. And so was Macannuco, whom the inspector had seen on television, being congratulated by journalists for his brilliant investigation. And surely Mimì, who'd been in a pretty nasty pickle, had to be pleased, even if he couldn't admit it to anyone. So, when all was said and done, the inspector had managed to lead them all out of the treacherous terrain of
'u critaru
. But what about him? How did he, Montalbano, feel?

“I'm just tired” was his bleak reply.

Some time ago he had read the title, and only the title, of an essay called: “God Is Tired.” Livia had once asked him provocatively if he thought he was God. A fourth-rate, minor god, he had thought at the time. But, as the years passed, he'd become convinced he wasn't even a back-row god, but only the poor puppeteer of a wretched puppet theater. A puppeteer who struggled to bring off the performances as best he knew how. And for each new performance he managed to bring to a close, the struggle became greater, more wearisome. How much longer could he keep it up?

Better, for now, not to think of such things. Better to sit and gaze at the sea, which, whether in Vigàta or Boccadasse, is still the sea.

 

As is obvious, the names of characters, companies, streets, hotels, etc., are fabricated out of whole cloth and have no connection to reality.

3–4 with a
coppola
on his head:
The
coppola
is a typical Sicilian beret made of cloth and with a short visor.

 

4 Totò Riina:
Savatore (“Totò”) Riina (born 1930) is the former leader of the infamous Corleonesi clan of the Sicilian Mafia and became the
capo di tutt'i capi
(“boss of bosses”) in the early 1980s. Riina's faction was responsible for the spectactular murders of the anti-Mafia magistrates Giovanni Falcone and Paolo Borsellino (both in 1992), crimes that led to a serious crackdown on the Mafia and ultimately the arrest of Riina in 1993. Riina, one of whose nicknames is
La Belva
, or “The Beast,” is known to be particularly bloodthirsty and violent.

 

4 Bernardo Provenzano for vice president, one of the Caruana brothers for foreign minister, Leoluca Bagarella at Defense:
Provenzano (born 1932), another prominent member of the Corleonesi clan, became Riina's de facto successor until his capture in 2006. Alfonso Caruana (born 1946), along with his brothers Gerlando and Pasquale, ran a vast international network of drug trafficking, shifting their bases from Sicily to Canada to Venezuela and back to Canada by way of Switzerland and London (hence the “foreign minister” post in Montalbano's dream); he was captured in 1998 and convicted in Canada, then extradited to Italy in 2004, where he had already been twice convicted in absentia, and where he still awaits final sentencing. Leoluca Bagarella (born 1932), another Corleonese and Riina's brother-in-law, was arrested in 1995, ultimately convicted for multiple murders, and is currently serving a life sentence.

 

9 a “white death”—the shorthand used by journalists when someone suddenly disappears without so much as saying goodbye:
Literal translation of the Italian
morte bianca
.

 

17 Montalbano recalled having seen something similar in a famous painting. Brueghel? Bosch?:
The painting is
The Blind Leading the Blind
(1568), by Pieter Brueghel the Elder, at the Museo di Capodimonte in Naples. It is inspired by a statement by Jesus Christ in the Gospels (Matthew 15:13–14 and Luke 6:39–40): “Can a blind man lead a blind man? Will they not both fall into the ditch?” (Gospel of Luke)

 

17
'u critaru
:
Sicilian for
il cretaio
, or “the clay field.” From
creta
(
crita
in Sicilian), which means “clay.”

 

40 Don't you like Guttuso?:
Renato Guttuso (1911–1987) was a Sicilian-born painter and passionate anti-Fascist and Communist who rose to prominence after the Second World War.

 

54
A joyous start is the best of guides
, as Matteo Maria Boiardo famously said:
Matteo Maria Boiardo (1440–1494), a poet of the Italian Renaissance who thrived at the court of the dukes of Este in Ferrara, is best known for writing the chivalric verse romance
Orlando Innamorato
, first published in 1495.

 

67 He committed a massacre of
nunnati
—newborns, that is:
Nunnatu
, Sicilian for
neonato
, or “newborn” (also called
cicirella
in certain other parts of Sicily), is a tiny newborn fish available only at certain times of the year. Whitebait.

 

68
purpiteddro a strascinasali
:
Baby octopus cooked in salted water and dressed with olive oil and lemon juice.