The Age Of Doubt

“Two,” Bonetti-Alderighi then said.

“You want to play morra?” Montalbano asked with an angelic expression.

Would that he had never said it!

Bonetti-Alderighi’s hand then closed in a fist, and the fist came crashing down on the desktop, nearly breaking it.

“Jesus Christ, Montalbano! You are stark, raving mad! Don’t you realize it?”

“Realize what?”

“Two people have been murdered in Vigata! And you…”

Choked with rage, the commissioner couldn’t finish his sentence and ended up coughing.

He was forced to stand up, go and open the minifridge, and drink a glass of water.

When he sat back down, he seemed a little calmer.

“Do you admit that you knew the man found in the dinghy had been murdered?”

“Yes, and in fact-”

“Silence! Do you admit that you knew a North African sailor was also murdered?”

“I don’t see why I shouldn’t have-”

“Quiet! Do you or don’t you admit that you then began to investigate the matter?”

“Of course. It was my duty to-”

“Shut up!”

Silence, quiet, and shut up. Montalbano began to admire the variety of the commissioner’s injunctions. He wanted to see if Bonetti-Alderighi could come up with any others.

“Look, Mr. Commissioner-”

“Button it! I’ll do all the talking, for now.”

Silence, quiet, shut up, and button it. He tried again.

“But I would like to-”

“Sshhh!” said the commissioner, bringing his index finger to his lips.

No, sshhh didn’t count. It had to be verbal. But Montalbano didn’t feel like playing anymore and clammed up.

“Now I want you to answer a question I have for you, but without equivocating, without digressing, without-”

“-stalling, cavilling, changing the subject, beating around the bush?” Montalbano suggested in a rapid-fire burst to put any thesaurus to shame.

The commissioner looked at him, nonplussed.

“Are you mocking me?”

Montalbano assumed a demure expression.

“I wouldn’t dare.”

“Then cut the shit and answer!”

“May I make an observation?”

“No.”

Montalbano fell silent.

“Answer!”

“If you won’t let me make my observation…”

“All right, make your observation and then answer my question!”

“The observation is the following. I only wanted to point out, in all humility, that you forgot to ask your question.”

“Ah, yes. You see? You are the only person here with the ability to make me so furious that I get all-”

“Confused? Distracted? Disoriented? Muddled?”

“Stop it, for Christ’s sake! I don’t need your stupid suggestions! At any rate, why didn’t you deign to inform either the public prosecutor or myself of these investigations? Can you tell me?”

“And how did you find out?”

“Don’t ask idiotic questions! Just answer!”

With all his talking, the guy was making him miss his appointment with Laura. Montalbano decided to cut things short.

“I completely forgot.”

“You forgot?” the commissioner repeated, dumbfounded.

Montalbano threw his hands up.

Bonetti-Alderighi turned red as a beet and emitted first a sort of roar and then an elephantine trumpet blast. It sounded like they were at the zoo.

“But what… exactly… do you think you’re doing? Runn… running your own private inves… tigating firm?” the commissioner yelled, stammering in rage and standing up, index finger pointed at the inspector.

“No, but-”

“Silence!”

What? Was he going to restart, da capo, the ball-busting litany of silence, quiet, and shut up? They wouldn’t get out of there before dawn!

“And you listen to me, Montalbano,” the commissioner continued. “As of this moment you are removed!”

“From what?”

“From the investigations. Inspector Mazzamore will handle them.”

Never heard of him. Must be a new arrival. They changed every two weeks. Montelusa Central Police was a revolving door.

The only one who never left was pain in the ass Bonetti-Alderighi.

Montalbano was about to object when he realized that this new development would allow him more time to devote to Laura.

“All right, then, if you don’t mind, I’ll remove myself,” said Montalbano, anxious to leave.

Leaning on the broomstick, he stood up, groaning and twisting his mouth as though in great pain.

The commissioner was unmoved.

“Where are you going?”

“Home to lie down, so-”

“Ha ha ha!” the commissioner laughed, sounding just like Mephistopheles.

“Why are you laughing, may I ask?”

“You’re not going home!”

Montalbano turned pale. For a brief moment he was afraid that Bonetti-Alderighi would have him arrested. The man was capable of it. But the commissioner continued:

“Now you are going to go into Dr. Lattes’s office-he’s already waiting for you, in fact-and the two of you are going to reconstruct the list of the documents that were destroyed.”

And since Montalbano, annihilated, could no longer move, the commissioner prodded him.

“Go on! Out with you!”

While crossing the waiting room, still limping to keep up appearances, Montalbano managed to curse all the saints in heaven.

Upon seeing him, Dr. Lattes, without even noticing the Sardinian shepherd getup, immediately asked him:

“How’s the little one?”

“He’s dead,” Montalbano answered mournfully.

With his cojones already in a blinding spin, he’d be damned if he was going to keep the promise he’d made to Livia!

Lattes stood up, ran up to him, and embraced him.

“I’m so terribly sorry.”

Maybe there was a way out. Montalbano buried his face in Lattes’s shoulder and emitted a sobbing sound.

“And instead of being with my little boy… I have to be here and-”

“Good heavens, no!” said Lattes, hugging him even more tightly. “Go straight home! We’ll talk about it some other time!”

It was all the inspector could do not to kiss his hand.