Excursion to Tindari

He sat on the veranda, having savored the pappanozza he’d been wanting for a while. A humble dish: potatoes and onions boiled a long time, mashed into a porridge with the back of a fork, then dressed with an abundance of olive oil, strong vinegar, freshly ground black pepper, and salt. To be eaten preferably with a tin fork (he had two which he jealously guarded), scorching the tongue and palate and cursing the saints with each bite.

On the nine P.M. news program, Nicolo Zito did his job, showing the photo of the Griffos and saying that their son was worried.

The inspector turned off the television and decided to start reading the latest novel by Vazquez Montalban, which featured Pepe Carvalho as the protagonist and took place in Buenos Aires. He read the first three lines and then the phone rang. It was Mimi.

“Am I disturbing you, Salvo?”

“Not in the least.”

“Are you busy?”

“No. Why do you ask?”

“I’d like to talk to you. I’ll come over to your place.”

So Mimi’s attitude when he’d reproached him that morning was sincere, not just an act. What could have happened to the poor guy? In matters of women, Mimi was easy to please and belonged to that line of male thinking according to which every neglected woman is lost to her mate. Maybe there’d been a scene with a jealous husband. Like the time he was caught by Perez, the accountant, while kissing the naked breasts of his lawfully wedded spouse. Things turned nasty, and an official grievance was filed with the Office of the Commissioner. But Mimi had wiggled out of it, because the commissioner—the old one, that is—had managed to settle the matter. If it had been the new commissioner, Bonetti-Alderighi, that would have been all for the career of Deputy Inspector Mimi Augello.

Somebody rang the doorbell. It couldn’t possibly be Mimi, since he’d called not a moment before. But it was.

“Did you fly to Marinella from Vigata?”

“I wasn’t in Vigata.”

“Where were you, then?”

“Here, nearby. I called you from my cell phone. I’d been circling the area for an hour.”

Uh-oh. Mimi’d been wandering around the neighborhood before deciding to call. A sign that the matter was more serious than he had imagined.

Suddenly, a terrible thought occurred to him: What if Mimi had caught a disease from all his whoring?

“How’s your health, Mimi?”

Mimi gave him a confused look.

“My health? Fine.”

Oh God. If the burden he was bearing didn’t involve the body, then it must concern the opposite realm. The soul? The mind? Whom are we kidding? What did Mimi know about any of that?

As they were heading toward the veranda, Mimi said:

“Would you do me a favor, Salvo? Could you pour me a couple of shots of whisky, neat?”

He was trying to get up the nerve, clearly. Montalbano started to feel extremely agitated. He set the bottle and glass down in front of Mimi, waited for him to pour out a substantial serving, and then spoke.

“Mimi, I’m getting sick of this charade. Tell me what the hell is happening to you.”

Augello downed the glass in a single gulp and, looking out at the sea, said in a very low voice:

“I’ve decided to take a wife.”

Montalbano reacted on impluse, prey to an uncontrollable rage. With his left hand he swept the glass and bottle off the table, while with his right he dealt Mimi, who’d turned towards him, a ringing slap on the cheek.

“You stupid shit! What the fuck are you saying? As long as I’m alive, I’ll never let you do a thing like that! I won’t allow it! How could you ever think of such a thing? For what reason?”

Augello, meanwhile, had stood up, back against the wall, a hand on his reddened cheek, bug-eyed and terrified.

The inspector managed to get hold of himself, realizing he’d overreacted. He came towards Augello with his arms extended. Mimi managed to flatten himself even closer to the wall.

“For your own good, Salvo, don’t touch me.”

So it was definitely contagious, Mimi’s disease.

“Whatever it is you have, Mimi, it’s still better than death.”

Mimi’s jaw literally dropped.

“Death? Who ever said anything about death?”

“You did. Just now, you said: ‘I’ve decided to take my life.’ Do you deny it?”

Mimi didn’t answer, but began to slide down the wall. Now he had his hands on his belly as if in unbearable pain. Tears came out of his eyes and began to roll down beside his nose. The inspector felt a sense of panic come over him. What to do? Call a doctor? Whom could he wake up at that hour? Mimi, meanwhile, had jumped to his feet, cleared the balustrade in a single bound, recovered the whisky bottle, unbroken, from the sand, and was now