if to cleanse it of some invisible speck of dust, looked at it again, remained unsatisfied, blew into it again, put it down on the desk, unscrewed the pens metal tip, thought about this for a moment, set it down alongside the cap, carefully considered the piece remaining in his hand, lined this up near the other two pieces, and sighed deeply. This allowed him to calm down and check the impulse, which for a second had nearly overwhelmed him to get up, go over to Ingrassia, punch him in the face, and ask:
Tortorella, who was present for the interview and knew his chief s reactions well, visibly relaxed.
'Let me try and understand,' said Montalbano, in full control of himself.
'What's to understand, Inspector? It's all clear as day. The stolen goods were all in the truck that you found. Not one toothpick was missing, not a single lollipop. So, if they didn't do it to rob me, they musta done it as a joke, for fun.'
'You'll have to be patient with me, Mr. Ingrassia, I'm a little slow in the head. So: eight days ago, from a depot in Cataniathat is, on the other side of the island two people steal a truck with a trailer belonging to the Sferlazza company. At that moment the truck is empty. For eight days they keep this truck out of sight, hiding it somewhere between Catania and Vig, since it wasn't seen in circulation. Logically speaking, therefore, the only reason that truck was stolen and hidden was to take it out of circulation, when the time was right, to play a joke on you. Let me continue. Last night the truck rematerializes and around one a.m., when there's almost nobody on the streets, it stops in front of your supermarket. The night watchman thinks its there to bring in new stocks, even at that odd hour. We don't know exactly how things went, the watchman still cant talk, but we do know that they put him out of commission, took his keys, and went inside. One of the thieves stripped the watchman and put on his uniform. This, I must say, was a brilliant move. The next brilliant move was that the others turned on the lights and got down to work in plain sight, taking no precautions in broad daylight, one might say, if it wasn't night. Ingenious, no doubt about it. Because a stranger passing through the neighborhood, noticing the watchman in uniform overseeing a few people loading a truck, would never dream that he was actually witnessing a robbery. This is the reconstruction of events offered by my colleague Augello; it was confirmed by the testimony of Cavaliere Misuraca, who was on his way home at the time.'
At the mention of that name, Ingrassia, who had seemed to be losing interest as the inspector went on, sat up in his chair as if stung by a wasp.
'Misuraca?!'
'Yes, the one who used to work at the Records Office.'
'But he's a Fascist!'
'I don't see what the cavalieres political beliefs have to do with the case were discussing.'
'They have everything to do with it! Because when I used to be involved in politics, he was my enemy.'
'Your'e no longer involved in politics?'
'What's to be involved in anymore! With that handful of Milanese judges who've decided to ruin politics, commerce, and industry, all at the same time!'
'Listen, the cavaliere merely gave a testimonial establishing the modus operandi of the thieves.'
'I don't give a shit what the cavaliere was establishing. He's an old geezer who can't even remember when he turned eighty. He's so senile he's liable to see a cat and say its an elephant. What was he doing out at that time of the night anyway?'
'I don't know, I'll ask him. Shall we get back to the subject?'
'Fine.'
'Once it was loaded, at your supermarket, after at least two hours of labor, the truck leaves. It drives three or four miles, turns around, parks in the lot behind the gas station, and remains there until I find it. And, in your opinion, someone went through this whole elaborate setup, committed half a dozen crimes, risking years in jail, just so he, or you, could have a good laugh?'
'Inspector, we could stay here all day arguing, but I swear to you that I can't imagine how it could have been anything but a joke.'
...
In the refrigerator Montalbano found a plate of cold pasta with tomatoes, basil, and black passuluna olives that gave off an aroma to wake the dead, and a second course of fresh anchovies with onions and vinegar. Montalbano was in the habit of trusting entirely in the simple but zestful culinary imagination of Adelina, the housekeeper who came once a day to see to his needs, a mother of two irremediably delinquent sons, one of whom was still in jail, put there by Montalbano. And this day, too, she did not disappoint him. Every time he was about to open the oven or fridge, he still felt the same trepidation he used to feel as a little boy when, on the second of November, he would look for the wicker basket in which the dead had left their gifts during the night a celebration now lost, obliterated by the banality of presents under the Christmas tree, obliterated like the memory of the dead themselves. The only ones who did not forget their dead, and who indeed tenaciously kept their memory burning, were the mafiosi; but the presents they sent in remembrance were certainly not little in trains or marzipan fruits.
Surprise, in short, was an indispensable spice in Adelinas dishes.
He took his two courses, a bottle of wine, and some bread to the table, turned on the television, and sat down to dinner. He loved to eat alone, relishing every bite in silence. This was yet another bond that tied him to Livia, who never opened her mouth when she ate. It occurred to him that in matters of taste he was closer to Maigret than to Pepe Carvalho, the protagonist of Montalbs novels, who stuffed himself with dishes that would have set a sharks belly on fire.
On the national television stations, an ill wind of malaise was blowing. The governing majority found itself split over a law that would deny early prison release to those who had eaten up half the country; the magistrates who had laid bare the dirty secrets of political corruption were resigning in protest; and there was a faint breeze of revolt animating the interviews with people in the street.
He switched to the first of the two local TV stations. TeleVig was progovernment by congenital faith, whether the government was red, black, or sky blue. The news reporter made no mention of the capture of Tano the Greek, stating only that a few conscientious citizens had alerted the Vig police of a lively but mysterious shoot-out at dawn in the rural area known as the Walnut, and that investigators, after arriving promptly at the scene, had found nothing unusual. The newscaster for the Free Channel, Nicolto, who did not hide his Communist sympathies,
