Montalbano felt pleased with his French, like a tourist at the Eiffel Tower or the Moulin Rouge.
“Ahmed,” said the little boy.
“
“Oh,
“Karima Moussa,” said Francois, shrugging his shoulders at the obviousness of the question.
Montalbano poured out his anger at Livia, who was not expecting the violent assault.
“What the fuck! You’re with the child day and night, you play with him, teach him checkers, but it never occurs to you to find out his name! All you had to do was ask! And that fucking asshole Mimi! The big investigator! He brings the little bucket, the little shovel, the little sand molds, the little pastries, and instead of talking to the kid he only talks to you!” Livia didn’t react. Montalbano immediately felt ashamed of his outburst.
“Forgive me, Livia. I’m on edge.”
“I can see.”
“Ask him if he’s ever met this uncle in person, even recently.”
Livia and the boy spoke to each other softly. Livia then explained that he had not seen him recently, but that when Francois was three, his mother had taken him to Tunisia, and there he’d met his uncle along with some other men. But his memory of all this wasn’t very clear; he’d mentioned it only because his mother had spoken to him about it.
Therefore, Montalbano concluded, there had been a sort of summit two years earlier, in which, in some way, the fate of poor Mr. Lapecora had been decided.
“Listen. Take Francois to see a movie. There’s still time to make the last showing. Then come back here. I’ve got some work to do.”
o o o
“Hello, Buscaino! Montalbano here. I’ve just found out the full name of the Tunisian woman who lives in Villaseta. Remember?”
“Of course. Karima.”
“Her name is Karima Moussa. Could you do a check there at your own office, at the Immigration Bureau?”
“Are you joking, Inspector?”
“No, I’m not. Why?”
“What? How can you ask me such a thing, with all your experience?”
“Explain yourself.”
“Look, Inspector, even if you were to tell me her parents’
names, her grandparents’ names on both sides, and her date and place of birth—”
“Pea soup?”
“What else would you expect? They can pass all the laws they want in Rome, but here Tunisians, Moroccans, Libyans, Cape Verdians, Senegalese, Nigerians, Rwandans, Albanians, Serbs, and Croats come and go as they please. We’re in the blasted Colosseum here: there aren’t any doors. The fact that we found this Karima’s address the other day is not in the normal order of things. It belongs to the realm of the miraculous.” “Well, try anyway.”
o o o
“Montalbano? What’s this business about you chasing after somebody who steals snacks from children? Is he some kind of maniac?”
“No, no, Mr. Commissioner. He was a little boy who was starving and so he started robbing schoolchildren of their morning snacks. That’s all.”
“What do you mean, that’s all? I’m well aware that every now and then you, how shall I say, go off on a tangent. But this time, frankly, I think—”
“Mr. Commissioner, I assure you it won’t happen again.
It was absolutely necessary that we catch him.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“And what did you do with him?”
“I brought him home with me. Livia’s looking after him.”
“Are you mad, Montalbano? You must give him back to his parents at once!”
“He hasn’t got any. He may be an orphan.”
“What do you mean, ‘may be’? Do a search, for God’s sake!”
“I am. But Francois—”
“Who on earth is that?”
