Patience of the Spider

“My heartfelt congratulations.”

“Wait, signore. Pasquali an’ Pippina said they wanna youta be the godfather atta bappetism.”

In short, he’d done them one good turn by attending the wedding, and now they wanted him do them another by becoming the kid’s godfather at the baptism.

“And when’s the baptism?”

“In about ten days.”

“Gimme a couple of days to think about it, Adeli, okay?”

“Okay. And when’s a Miss Livia leaving?”

o o o

He went to his usual trattoria. Livia was already sitting at a table. From afar one could see, from the look she gave him as he sat down, that this going to be no picnic.

“So, are you getting anywhere?” she attacked.

“Livia, we spoke less than an hour ago!”

“So what? A lot of things can happen in an hour.”

“Does this seem like the proper place to discuss these things?”

“Yes. Because when you come home you never tell me anything about your work. Or would you rather I come to the station to discuss it, Inspector?”

“Livia, we really are doing everything we can. At this very moment, most of my men, including Mimi and another squad from Montelusa, are scouring the nearby countryside, looking for—” “And why, while your men are out scouring the countryside, are you quietly sitting here with me in a trattoria?”

“It’s what the commissioner wanted.”

“The commissioner wanted you to go eat at a trattoria while your men are working hard and that girl’s life is a living hell?”

What a pain in the ass!

“Livia, stop breaking my balls!”

“Hiding behind obscenity, eh?”

“Livia, you would make a peerless agent provocateur. The commissioner has divvied up responsibilities. I’m working with Minutolo, who’s in charge of the investigation, while Mimi and others keep searching. It’s hard work.” “Poor Mimi!”

Poor everybody, according to Livia. Poor girl, poor Mimi . . . The only person unworthy of her pity was him. He pushed away the dish of plain spaghetti all’aglio e olio, which he’d been forced to order because Livia was with him. Enzo, the proprietor, came running, concerned.

“What’s wrong, Inspector?”

“Nothing, I’m just not very hungry,” he lied.

Livia didn’t make a peep and went on eating. In an attempt to lighten the atmosphere and get himself ready to savor the second course he’d ordered— aiole in a sauce whose fragrance was wafting out from the kitchen, sending him positive signals—he decided to tell Livia about the phone call from his housekeeper. He set off on the wrong foot.

“Adelina rang me at the office this morning.”

“I see.”

She shot out the words like bullets.

“What’s ‘I see’ supposed to mean?”

“It means Adelina rings you at the office, not at home, because at home I might answer instead of you, which would surely leave her traumatized.”

“Okay, never mind.”

“No, I’m curious. What did she want?”

“She wants me to go be the godfather at the baptism of her grandson, the son of her son Pasquale.”

“And what did you tell her?”

“I asked her to give me a couple of days to think about it.

But I have to confess, I’m leaning toward saying yes.”

“You’re insane!”

She said it too loudly. Mr. Militello, an accountant sitting at the table to their left, stopped his fork in midair, mouth hanging open; Dr. Piscitello, sitting at the table on their right, choked on the wine he’d just sipped.

“Why?” asked Montalbano, puzzled at her vehement reaction.

“What do you mean, why? Isn’t this Pasquale, your housekeeper’s son, a repeat offender? Haven’t you arrested him several times yourself?”

“So what? I would be the godfather of a newborn infant who, until proved otherwise, hasn’t yet had the time to become a repeat offender like his father.”