Of all the things in the dream, what made the strongest impression on you?
The change.
Which one?
When I come out of the kitchen and find Toto Riina in Bonetti-Alderighi’s place.
Explain.
Well, in the place of the representative of the law, there’s the numero uno of the Mafia, the boss of people who are outside the law.
So, what you’re telling me is that in your own living room, in your own home, there with all your things, you found yourself playing host to the law and to people outside the law.
So what?
Could it be that in your mind the boundary between the law and those outside the law has been getting a little more blurry each day?
Cut the shit!
All right, let’s look at it another way. What did they ask of you?
Bonetti-Alderighi asked me to help him, to hide him at my house.
And did that surprise you?
Of course!
And what did Riina ask you?
He asked me to be his minister of the interior.
And did that surprise you?
Well, yeah.
Did it surprise you as much as the commissioner’s question? Or did it surprise you more? Or less? Answer sincerely.
Well, no, it surprised me less.
Why less? Do you consider it normal that a Mafia boss should ask you to work for him?
No, that’s not how I would put it. Riina, at that moment, wasn’t a Mafia boss any longer, he was about to become prime minister! And it was as prime minister that he asked me to work for him.
Hold it right there. There are two ways to look at this. Either you think that the fact of someone’s becoming prime minister cancels out all his prior crimes, murders and massacres included, or else you belong to that category of cops who always serve, no matter what, whoever happens to be in power, an honest man or a criminal, whether a Fascist or a Communist. To which of these two categories do you belong?
Wait a minute! That’s too easy!
Why do you say that?
Because then Catarella appeared!
And what does that mean?
It means that I, in fact, said no to Riina’s offer.
But you didn’t even open your mouth!
I said it through Catarella. He pops up, points his gun at me, and tells me he’ll kill me if I accept. It’s as if Catarella was my conscience.
Now there’s something new from you! Catarella, your conscience?
Why not? Do you remember the time that journalist asked me if I believed in my guardian angel? When I answered yes, he asked me if I’d ever seen him. And I said, “Yes, I see him every day.” “Does he have a name?” the journalist asked. And without missing a beat, I said, “His name is Catarella.” I was joking, of course. But later on, after thinking it over, I realized that only a small part of it was in jest, and the rest was the truth.
Conclusion?
The question should be read in the opposite way. The scene with Catarella means that rather than accept Riina’s offer, I was ready to shoot myself.
Are you sure, Montalba, that Freud would have interpreted it this way?
You know what I say to you? That I don’t give a flying fuck about Freud. Now let me get some sleep, I can hardly keep my eyes open anymore.
When he woke up it was already past nine. He didn’t see any lightning or hear any thunder, but the weather certainly was nasty outside. Why bother to get up? His two old wounds ached. And a few little pains, unpleasant companions of his age, had awakened with him. He was better off sleeping for another couple of hours. He got up, went into the dining room, unplugged the phone, went back to bed, pulled up the covers, and closed his eyes.
Barely half an hour later he opened them again, awakened by the phone’s insistent ringing. But how the hell could the phone be ringing if he’d unplugged it? And if it wasn’t the phone making that sound, what was it? The doorbell, idiot! He felt a kind of motor oil, dense and viscous, circulating in his brain. Seeing his trousers on the floor, he put them on and went to the door, cursing the saints.
