The Terra-Cotta Dog

you access to him.'

In front of the hospital gate there was an armored car, as well as some ten guards scattered about the yard, submachine guns in hand.

'Idiots,' said the commissioner.

They passed through at least five checkpoints, growing more irritated each time, then finally reached the ward where Tanos room was. All other patients had been cleared out, transferred elsewhere amid curses and obscenities. At each end of the corridor were four armed policemen, plus two outside the door of the room Tano was obviously in. The commissioner showed them his pass.

'Congratulations,' he said to the corporal.

'For what, Mr. Commissioner?'

'For maintaining order.'

'Thank you,' said the corporal, brightening, the commissioners irony sailing far over his head.

'You go in alone,' the commissioner said to Montalbano, 'I'll wait outside.'

Only then did he notice how ashen the inspector was, his forehead bathed in sweat.

'My God, Montalbano, what's wrong? Do you feel ill?'

'I'm perfectly fine,' the inspector replied through clenched teeth.

He was lying. In fact, he felt terrible.The dead left him utterly indifferent. He could sleep with them, pretend to break bread with them, play hearts or spades with them. They didn't bother him in the least. The dying, on the other hand, made him break into a sweat: his hands would start to tremble, he would go cold all over, a hole would open up in his stomach.

Under the sheet that covered him, Tanos body looked shrunken, smaller than the inspector remembered it. His arms lay stretched along his sides, the right arm wrapped in thick bandages. Oxygen tubes sprouted from his nose, which had turned almost transparent, and his face looked unreal, as if it belonged to a wax doll. Overcoming the desire to run away, Montalbano pulled up a metal chair and sat down beside the dying man, who kept his eyes shut, as if asleep.

'Tano? Tano? It's Inspector Montalbano.'

The other reacted immediately, opening his eyes and making as if to sit up in bed, a violent start surely triggered by the animal instinct of one who has long been hunted. Then his eyes brought the inspector into focus, and the tension in his body visibly relaxed.

'You wanted to talk to me?'

Tano nodded yes, and gave a hint of a smile. He spoke very slowly, with great effort.

'They ran me off the road anyway.'

He was referring to the discussion they'd had in the cottage. Montalbano didn't know what to say.

'Come closer,' the old man said.

Montalbano rose from his chair and leaned over.

'Closer.'

The inspector bent down so far forward, his ear actually touched Tano's lip. The man's burning breath made him feel disgusted. Tano then told him what he had to tell, lucidly and precisely. But the talking had worn him out, and he closed his eyes again. Montalbano didn't know what to do, whether to leave or stay a little while longer. He decided to sit down, and Tano said something again, in a gurgly voice. The inspector stood back up and leaned over the dying man.

'What did you say?'

'I'm spooked.'

Tano was afraid, and in his present state he didn't hesitate to admit it. Was it pity, this sudden wave of heat, this flutter of the heart, this agonizing surge of emotion? He put a hand on Tanos forehead, and the intimate words came out spontaneously.

'You needn't be ashamed to say so. I'ts one more thing that makes you a man. We'll all be scared when our time comes. Good-bye,Tano.'

He walked out quickly, closing the door behind him. In the hallway, together with the commissioner and policemen, were De Dominicis and Sciacchitano. He ran up to them.

'What did he say?' De Dominicis asked anxiously.

'Nothing. He didn't manage to say anything. He wanted to, but couldn't. Hes dying.'

'Hah!' said Sciacchitano, doubtful.

Very calmly, Montalbano placed his open hand on Sciacchitanos chest and gave him a violent push. The man reeled three steps backward, stunned.

'Stay right where you are and don't come any closer,' the inspector said through clenched teeth.

'That's enough, Montalbano,' the commissioner intervened.

De Dominicis seemed to pay no mind to the two mens differences.

'Who knows what he wanted to tell you,' he persisted, eyeing Montalbano inquisitively, as if to say: Youre not talking straight.

'If you'd like, I can try and guess,' Montalbano retorted insolently.