After that, he’d been unable to fall back asleep, besieged by unanswered questions. One, above all, hammered away at him. What did Livia mean when she said she wanted to take advantage of the opportunity? Quite simply, it meant that his death represented a sort of liberation for her. The follow-up question could only be: How much truth was there in a dream? In this particular case, even a tiny grain of truth was too much.
Because it was true that Livia had had more than her fill. In fact, she’d had enough to fill a whole boatload of shipping containers. But how was it possible that his conscience only showed up in dreams, ruining his sleep? All the same, he thought, the fact that Livia had no intention of coming down to Sicily for his funeral was not right, whatever her reasons might be. In fact, it was downright mean.
When he got into the car to go the station, he noticed that the sea had come almost all the way up to the house and was less than a couple of feet from the parking area. He’d never seen the water come up this far. The beach was gone. It was all one great expanse of water.
It took him a good fifteen minutes and a couple of hundred curses before the car’s engine decided to do what it was supposed to do, and this, naturally, only aggravated the state of his nervous system, which was already on the ropes from the nasty weather conditions.
He’d gone barely fifty yards when he had to stop. There was a line of traffic extending as far as the eye could see-or, rather, as far as the windshield wipers, which couldn’t quite manage to wipe away the pouring rain, allowed the eye to see.
The column of traffic was made up entirely of cars headed towards Vigata. In the opposite lane there wasn’t so much as a motor scooter.
After about ten minutes of this, he decided to pull out of the jam, turn back, and, at the junction with the Montereale road, take another route into town. It was longer, but it would, at least, get him to his destination.
But he was unable to budge, as the nose of his car was wedged right into the back of the car in front of him, and the car behind him had done the same to him.
It was hopeless. He had to stay put. He was trapped. Sandwiched. And the worst of it was that he had no idea what the hell had happened to create this situation.
After another twenty or so minutes he lost patience, opened the car door, and got out. In the twinkling of an eye he was soaked straight down to his underpants. He started running towards the front of the column of cars and soon came to the point of obstruction, the cause of which was immediately obvious: the sea had washed the road away. Completely. Both lanes were gone. In their place was a chasm, at the bottom of which lay not earth but yellowy, foamy water. The nose of the first car in the column was actually sticking out over the edge. Another ten inches and it would have plummeted below. The inspector, however, became immediately convinced that the car was still in danger, because the road surface was still crumbling, though very slowly. In some twenty minutes, that car was destined to be swallowed up by the chasm. The downpour made it impossible to see inside the vehicle.
He went up to the car and tapped on the window. After a pause it was opened barely a crack by a young woman just over thirty wearing eyeglasses with lenses as thick as bottle bottoms. She looked terrified.
She was alone in the car.
“You have to get out,” he said to her.
“Why?”
“I’m afraid your car’s going to get swallowed up if help doesn’t arrive immediately.”
She made a face like a child about to start crying.
“But where will I go?”
“Take whatever you need, and you can come in my car.”
She just looked at him and said nothing. Montalbano realized she didn’t trust him, a total stranger.
“Listen, I’m a police inspector.”
Perhaps it was the way he said it, but the girl seemed convinced. She grabbed a sort of handbag and got out of the car.
They started running side by side, then Montalbano had her get in his car.
Their clothes were so wet that when they sat down the weight of their bodies made the water ooze out of her jeans and his trousers.
“Montalbano’s the name.”
The young woman eyed him, bringing her head closer.
“Ah, yes. Now I recognize you. I’ve seen you on TV.”
She started sneezing and didn’t stop. When she’d finally finished, her eyes were watering. She removed her glasses, wiped her eyes, and put them back on.
“My name is Vanna. Vanna Digiulio.”
“Seems like you’re catching a cold.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
“Listen, do you want to come to my place? I’ve got some dry clothes that belong to my girlfriend. You could change into them and set these clothes out to dry.”
“I’m not sure that would be right,” she objected, suddenly reserved.
“You’re not sure what would be right?”
“For me to come to your place.”
What was she imagining? That he would jump on her the moment she entered? Did he give the impression of being that kind of man? And hadn’t she ever looked at herself in the mirror?
“Listen, if you’re not-”
“And how would we get to your house?”
“On foot. It’s barely fifty yards from here. It’s going to be hours before anyone gets us out of this jam.”
As Montalbano, after changing clothes, prepared a
“Where’d you put your clothes?”
“I saw a little heater in the bathroom, and I turned it on and put my jeans, blouse, and jacket in front of it.”
He sat her down and served her the caffelatte with a few of the biscotti Adelina normally bought for him and which he normally never ate.
“Excuse me a minute,” he said after drinking his first cup of coffee, and he got up and phoned the police station.
“Ah Chief Chief! Ahh Chief!”
“What’s wrong, Cat?”
“Iss the oppocalypso!”
“What happened?”
“The wind blew the roof tiles offa the roof in probable cause o’ which the water’s comin’ inna rooms!”
“Has it done any damage?”
“Yessir. F’rinstince, alla papers that was a toppa yer desk awaitin’ f’yiz to sign ’em ’sgot so wet they’s turn to paste.”
A hymn of exultation, deriding the bureaucracy, welled up joyously in Montalbano’s breast.
“Listen, Cat, I’m here at home. The road into town has collapsed.”
“So you’s consiquintly outta reach.”
