...
It was still early. His appointment with Gege wasn't for another two hours. He dropped by the Free Channel studios, wanting to learn more about Alcide Maraventano.
'Extraordinary, isn't he?' said Nicolto. 'Did he suck milk from a baby bottle in front of you? And how. It's all a put-on, you know. He's just playacting.'
'What do you mean? He has no teeth.'
'You have heard of an invention called dentures, I presume? He owns a set, and they work perfectly well. I'm told he sometimes wolfs down a quarter of veal or a roast suckling goat when nobodys looking.'
'So why does he do it?'
'Because he's a born tragedian. Or comedian, if you prefer.'
'Is he really a priest?'
'He quit the priesthood.'
'And the things he says, are they true or made up?'
'You don't have to worry about that. His knowledge is limitless, and when he says something, it's better than gospel.'
'Did you know he shot somebody about ten years ago?'
'Come on.'
'Really. Some thief broke into his house, on the ground floor. He bumped into a pile of books and they came crashing down, making an infernal racket. Maraventano, who'd been asleep upstairs, woke up, came down, and shot him with a muzzle-loading rifle, a kind of household cannon. The blast made half the village jump out of bed. When the smoke cleared, the robber was wounded in the leg, a dozen or so books were ruined, and the old man had a fractured shoulder from the guns tremendous kick. The robber, however, maintained he'd entered the house not with any criminal intent, but because he'd been invited there by the priest, who at a certain point, for no apparent reason, picked up a rifle and shot him. And I believe him.'
'Whom?'
'The supposed thief.'
'But why would he shoot him?'
'I suppose you know what goes on inside the head of Alcide Maraventano? Maybe it was to see if the rifle still worked. Or just to make a scene, which is more likely.'
'Listen, before I forget, do you have Umberto Eco's
'Me? Are you crazy?'
...
On his way to the car, which he'd left in the Free Channels parking lot, Montalbano got soaked. It had started raining without warning,very fine drops but very dense. He got home with time to spare before the appointment. He changed clothes and sat down in the armchair in front of the TV, but then immediately got up again and went to his desk to fetch a postcard that had arrived that morning.
It was from Livia. As she'd informed him by telephone, she had gone to visit a cousin in Milan for ten days or so. On the glossy side, which showed the inevitable view of the cathedral, there was a luminescent trail of slime cutting the image in half. Montalbano touched it with the tip of his index finger: it was very fresh, and slightly sticky. He examined the desk more closely. A scataddrizzo, a large, dark-brown snail, was slithering across the cover of the Consolo book. Montalbano did not hesitate. The horror he'd felt after the dream, which he was still carrying around with him, was too strong. Grabbing the Vasquez Montalb novel, which he'd already read, he slammed it violently down on the one by Consolo. Caught in between, the scataddrizzo made such a noise as it was being crushed that Montalbano felt nauseated. He then tossed the two novels into the garbage can. He would buy new copies tomorrow.
...
Gege wasn't there, but the inspector knew he wouldn't be long. His friend was never late by much. The rain had stopped, but there must have been quite a storm at sea: large puddles had formed along the beach, and the sand gave off a strong smell of wet wood. He lit a cigarette. All at once, by the faint light of the moon that had suddenly appeared, he saw the dark shape of a car approaching very slowly, lights extinguished, from the opposite direction to where he'd come in, which was the same direction Gege should have come from. Alarmed, he opened the glove compartment, took out his pistol, cocked it, and disengaged the car door, ready to jump out. When the other car came within range, he turned on his high beam all at once. The car was Gege, no doubt about that, but it might easily be somebody else at the wheel.
'Turn off your lights!' he heard someone shout from the car.
It was definitely Gege's voice, and the inspector obeyed. They spoke one to the other, each in his own car, through their lowered windows.
'What the fuck are you doing? I nearly fired at you,' Montalbano said angrily.
'I wanted to see if they'd followed you.'
'If who'd followed me?'
'I'll tell you in a second. I got here half an hour ago and was hiding behind the jetty at Punta Rossa.'
'Come over here,' said the inspector.
Gege got out of his car and into Montalbano's, almost huddling against him.
'What's wrong, you cold?'
