The Terra-Cotta Dog

'Could you have it here to me in Vig by five oclock?'

'Are you insane? It's four-thirty! Let's say in two hours. I'll bring it myself, along with the cardboard. But what do you need it for?'

'To sound your little behind.'

'Headmaster Burgio is here for you. Says if you'll see him, he has something to tell you. It won't take more than five minutes.'

'Show him in.'

Headmaster Burgio had already been retired for ten years or so, but everyone still called him by that title because he'd been headmaster of the Vig Business School. He and Montalbano were well acquainted. The headmaster was a very cultured, energetic man, with a keen interest in life despite his age, and he sometimes accompanied the inspector on his restful walks along the jetty. The inspector stood up to greet him.

'How nice to see you! Please sit down.'

'Since I was in the neighborhood, I thought I'd ask if I could talk to you. If I hadn't found you in the office, I would have phoned.'

'What can I do for you?'

'I wanted to let you know a few things about the cave where you found those weapons. I'm not sure it'll be of any interest, but'

'Are you kidding? Tell me everything you know.'

'Well, let me state first that what I'm about to say is based on what I've heard on the local TV and read in the newspapers. It's possible they got a few things wrong. In any case, somebody said that the boulder covering the cave entrance had been made into a door by mafiosi or by whoever was trafficking in weapons. It's not true. This work of... let's call it adjustment, was done by the grandfather of a very dear friend of mine, Lillo Rizzitano.'

'How long ago? Do you know?'

'Of course I know. It was around 1941, when oil, flour, and wheat were growing scarce because of the war. At that time, all the land around the Crasto and the Crasticeddru belonged to Giacomo Rizzitano, Lillos grandfather, who had made a lot of money in America by less-than-legitimate means, or at least that's what people in town said. Anyway, it was Giacomo Rizzitano's idea to seal off the cave by turning that boulder into a door. And inside the cave they kept all sorts of good things, selling them on the black market with the help of his son Pietro, Lillo's father. They were unscrupulous men, who'd been implicated in other affairs which decent people at the time never talked about, including, apparently, some acts of violence. Lillo, on the other hand, had turned out differently. He was sort of literary, he wrote nice poems and read a lot. It was he who first introduced me to Paveses Paesi tuoi, Vittorinis Conversazione in Sicilia, and so on. I used to go visit him, usually when his folks werent there, in a small house right at the foot of the Crasto, on the seaward side.'

'Was it demolished to build the tunnel?'

'Yes. Or, more precisely, the earthmovers working on the tunnel merely got rid of the ruins and foundations, since the house was literally pulverized during the bombings that preceded the Allied landing in 1943.'

'Think you could track down this Lillo friend of yours?'

'I don't even know whether hes dead or alive, or where he's lived since then. I say this because you should bear in mind that Lillo was, or is, four years older than me.'

'Tell me, Mr. Burgio, have you ever been inside that cave?'

'No. I once asked Lillo, but he said no. He had strict orders from his father and grandfather. He was very afraid of them; the fact that hed even told me the secret of the cave was already a lot.'

...

Officer Balassone, despite his Piedmontese name, spoke Milanese dialect and always wore a haggard face worthy of the Day of the Dead.

Ll di mort, alegher! Montalbano thought upon seeing him, reminded of the title of a poem by Delio Tessa.

After half an hour of fussing about with his instrument at the back of the cave, Balassone removed his headset and gave the inspector an even more disconsolate look than usual, if that was possible.

I was wrong, thought Montalbano, and now I'm going to look like a stupid shit in Jacomuzzi's eyes.

Jacomuzzi, for his part, after ten minutes inside the cave, had made it known he suffered from claustrophobia and gone outside.

Maybe because now there aren't any TV cameras pointed at you? Montalbano thought maliciously.

'So?' the inspector finally asked Balassone, to confirm his failure.

'It's there, behind the wall,' Balassone said mysteriously. He was not only a melancholic, but also a man of few words.

'Would you please tell me, if it's not asking too much, exactly what is there behind the wall?' asked Montalbano, who was becoming dangerously polite.

'On sit voeuij.'

'Would you please have the courtesy to speak Italian?'

The appearance and tone seemed those of an eighteenth- century gentleman of the court. Baldassone had no idea that, if he went on at this rate, he was in line to have his nose rearranged. Luckily for him, he obeyed.

'There's a hollow,' he said, 'and it's as big as this cave here.'