Patience of the Spider

When Livia called him at the office, it usually meant that something serious had happened.

“Marta phoned me.”

Marta Gianturco was the wife of an officer with the Har-bor Authority and one of Livia’s few friends in Vigata.

“So?”

“She told me to turn on the television immediately and watch the special edition of TeleVigata News, which I did.” Pause.

“It was terrible . . . that poor girl . . . her voice was heart-breaking . . .” she continued, after a moment.

What was there to say?

“Yeah . . . I know . . .” said Montalbano, just to let her know he was listening.

“Then I heard Ragonese say you were searching his offices.”

“Well . . . actually . . .”

“Are you getting anywhere?”

We’re sinking fast, he wanted to say. Instead he said:

“We’re making progress.”

“Do you suspect Ragonese of having kidnapped the girl?” Livia asked ironically.

“Livia, this is no time for sarcasm. I told you we were making progress.”

“I hope so,” Livia said stormily, in the sort of tone a low, black cloud might have.

And she hung up.

o o o

So now Livia had taken to making insulting and threatening phone calls. Wasn’t it a bit excessive to call them threatening?

No, it was not. She was liable to prosecution, in fact. Come on, stop being such an asshole and get over your anger. There. Are you calm now? Yes? Then call the person you were thinking of calling and forget about Livia.

“Hello? Dr. Carlo Mistretta? Inspector Montalbano here.”

“Any news?”

“No, I’m sorry to say. But I’d like to have a few words with you, Doctor.”

“I’m terribly busy this morning. And this afternoon as well. I’ve been neglecting my patients a bit, I’m afraid. Could we do it this evening? Yes? All right, let’s see, we could meet at my brother’s house around—” “I’m sorry, Doctor, but I would like to speak to you alone.”

“Do you want me to come to the station?”

“No, you needn’t bother.”

“Okay, then come to my house around eight o’clock this evening. All right? I live on Via . . . well, it’s too complicated to explain. Let’s do this. I’ll meet you at the first filling station on the road to Fela, just outside Vigata. At eight o’clock.” The telephone rang again.

“H’lo, Chief? There’s some lady wants to talk to you poissonally in poisson. Says iss a poissonal matter.”

“Did she say what her name is?”

“I tink she said GI Joe, Chief.”

What! Mostly out of curiosity to find out what the woman’s real name was, he accepted the call.

“Is det you, Signore? This is Adelina Cirrincio.” His housekeeper! He hadn’t seen her since Livia arrived.

What could have happened? Or maybe she wanted to threaten him, too, with something like: If you don’t free that girl within two days, I’m not going to come to your house and cook for you anymore. A terrifying prospect, especially as he remembered one of her favorite sayings: Tilefunu e tiligramma portanu malanna, or, “Phone calls and telegrams bring bad news.” Therefore, if she’d picked up the phone, it meant she had something very serious to tell him.

“What is it, Adeli?”

“Signore, I wanna youta know that Pippina’s a jess hedda baby.”

Who the hell was Pippina? And why was she telling him she’d just given birth? His housekeeper realized the inspector was drawing a blank.

“Don’ you rimimber, Signore? Pippina’s my son a Pasquali’s wife.”

Adelina had two criminally inclined sons who were constantly in and out of jail, and the inspector had attended the wedding of the younger son, Pasquale. Had nine months already passed? Jesus, how time flew! He grew sullen. For two reasons: one, because old age was drawing closer and closer and, two, because old age brought to mind banal cliches like the one that had just come into his head. But his anger at having had such a commonplace thought cut short the sadness rising up inside him.

“Boy or girl?”

“Boy, signore.”