“They’re hoping. But she’s in very grave condition.”
Since the parking lot was almost entirely deserted, the inspector went into his car, turned on the ignition, and pulled the car around in such a way that he had a good view of the hospital’s main entrance. There were two unopened packs of cigarettes in the glove compartment.
He could spend the whole night there. And he did.
Every so often he got out of the car, walked around, looked up at the hospital’s facade, and then got back into the car.
Then, at dawn’s first, violet light, he saw a man in uniform come out the front door and immediately start talking on his cell phone.
It was Lieutenant Garrufo!
Montalbano jumped out of the car, ran up to the lieutenant, and brusquely pulled the arm holding the phone away from the man’s face.
“How is Laura?” he asked.
Garrufo was about to get angry but luckily recognized him at once.
“Ah, it’s you. Just a second.”
He brought the cell phone back to his ear.
“I’ll call you back later.”
“How is she?” Montalbano asked again.
Garrufo’s uniform was all rumpled and he looked as if he hadn’t slept a wink all night.
He threw up his hands, and Montalbano felt sick at heart.
“I don’t know what to say, Inspector. She’s pretty far gone. I spent the whole night at her side, and when they took her to the operating room I waited outside, in the corridor. Right before the operation she had a moment of lucidity, but then nothing.”
“Did she manage to say anything?”
And here it seemed to Montalbano that the lieutenant had suddenly felt a little embarrassed.
“Yes. She repeated a name twice.” He paused a moment, and then asked: “Your first name is Salvo, isn’t it?”
The tone he used made this a statement, not a question. Silence fell over them. Then Garrufo said:
“We’ve informed her boyfriend. But he won’t be able to come. He doesn’t think he can ask for permission.”
The dream in which Livia had refused to come to his funeral flashed through the inspector’s mind. But what did that have to do with anything? What a thought! Perhaps the effect of sleep deprivation? That was a dream, and this was…
“The chief surgeon told me he found it very strange that Laura wasn’t cooperating.”
“Cooperating in what sense?”
“He said that, since she’s such a young woman, her body should instinctively react and cooperate, even on the unconscious level. Whereas… Well, I guess I’ll go back inside.”
She didn’t want to react, didn’t want to cooperate to save herself, Montalbano thought as he walked towards his car with a lump in his throat and his heart as tight as a fist. Perhaps because she’d made a choice. Or more likely because she wanted to take herself out of the game, so she wouldn’t have to make a choice.
He sat down in the car on the passenger’s side.
An hour later, the door on the driver’s side opened, and someone got in and sat down. He didn’t turn to see who it was, because by this point he was unable to take his eyes off the hospital entrance.
“I went to Marinella to look for you,” said Fazio, “but you weren’t there. Then I realized you’d be here, and so I came.”
Montalbano didn’t answer.
Half an hour later, he saw Garrufo come out, bent over, face in his hands, weeping.
“Take me home,” he said to Fazio.
He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes, at last.
Author’s Note
The only thing in this novel connected to reality is the Kimberley Process. Everything else, from the characters’ names to the situations in which they find themselves, is the fruit of my imagination.
A.C.
Andrea Camilleri
Andrea Camilleri is the author of many books, including his Montalbano series, which has been adapted for Italian television and translated into nine languages. He lives in Rome.
Stephen Sartarelli is an award-winning translator and the author of three books of poetry.
[1] La solitudine dei numeri primi, by author and mathematician Paolo Giordano, 2008 (English translation by Shaun Whiteside, Penguin, 2009).
[2] In Italy, members of parliament are called “honorables” (onorevoli).
[3] A thinly disguised reference to the Bossi-Fini law, drawn up by Umberto Bossi and Gianfranco Fini, respective leaders of the xenophobic Northern League and the National Alliance, a right-wing party descended directly from the Neofascist MSI party founded after World War II. Enacted in 2002 by the Italian parliament, with the ruling coalition of Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi’s Forza Italia party and these two smaller parties holding an absolute majority, this heavy-handed law, among its many provisions, makes it illegal for individuals not belonging to E.U. member nations to enter the country without a work contract; requires all non-E.U. individuals who lose their jobs while in the country to repatriate to their country of origin; abolishes the sponsorship system that had previously enabled non-E.U. individuals to enter the country under the patronage of a sponsor already in Italy; establishes the government’s right to decree a quota of the number of non-E.U. individuals allowed to enter the country over the period of one year; makes all foreign nationals not in conformity with these new guidelines subject to criminal proceedings and/or forced repatriation.
[4] Garruso is a common Sicilian insult, homophobic in nature but used generally to mean “jerk,” “prick,” “asshole,” etc. A literal translation would be more like “faggot.”
