might have some connection to reality.
'But what about the bombing? And the machine-gun fire? My God, what courage,' said the signora.
'So, which statement do you mean?' the headmaster asked impatiently.
'The one where Lisetta writes that her lover has told her that, after all this time in Vig, they've now received the order to leave.'
'I don't understand.'
'You see, signora, that statement tells us he'd been in Vig for a long time, which implies that he was not from the town. Second, it also informs Lisetta that he was about to be compelled, forced, to leave town. Third, she says they, and therefore he's not the only one who has to leave Vig; it's a whole group of people. All this leads me to think he's a soldier. I could be wrong, but it seems like the most logical conclusion.'
'Yes, logical,' echoed the headmaster.
'Tell me, signora, when did Lisetta first tell you she was in love? Do you remember?'
'Yes, because in the last few days I've done nothing but try to recall every last detail of my meetings with Lisetta. It was definitely around May or June of 42. I refreshed my memory with an old diary I dug up.'
'She turned the whole house upside down,' grumbled her husband.
'We need to find out what troops were stationed here between early 42, or even earlier, and July of 43.'
'You think that's easy, Inspector?' Burgio commented. 'I, for example, can remember a whole slew of different troops. There were the antiaircraft batteries, the naval batteries, there was a train armed with cannon that remained hidden inside a tunnel, there were soldiers in barracks, soldiers in bunkers...Sailors, no; they would come and go. It'd be practically impossible to find out.'
They became discouraged. Then the headmaster stood up.
'I'm going to phone Burruano. He stayed in Vig the whole time, before, during, and after the war. Whereas I was evacuated at a certain point.'
His wife resumed speaking.
'It was probably an infatuation at that age it's hard to distinguish, you know, but it certainly was something serious, serious enough to make her run away from home, to make her go against her father, who was like her jailer, or so she used to tell me, at least.'
A question came to Montalbanos lips. He didn't want to ask it, but the hunters instinct got the better of him.
'Excuse me for interrupting, but could you be more precise. I mean, could you tell me exactly what Lisetta meant by that word, jailer? Was it a Sicilian fathers jealousy of the female child? Was it obsessive?'
Signora Angelina looked at him a moment, then lowered her eyes.
'Well, as I said, Lisetta was much more mature than me; I was still a little girl. Since my father forbade me to go to the Moscato's house, we used to meet up at school or in church, where we would spend a few quiet hours together. And we would talk. Lately, I've been going over and over in my mind what she said or hinted at back then. I think there were a lot of things I didn't understand at the time . . .'
'Such as?'
'For example, up until a certain point, Lisetta referred to her father as my father; after that, however, she always called him that man. But this might not mean anything. Another time she said to me: One day that mans going to hurt me, he's going to hurt me very badly. And at the time I imagined a beating, a whipping. Now I'm starting to have a terrible feeling about the true meaning of that statement.'
She stopped, took a sip of coffee, and continued.
'She was brave, very brave. In the shelter, when the bombs were falling and we were trembling and crying from fear, it was she who gave us courage and consoled us. But to do what she did, she needed twice that much courage, to defy her father and run out under a hail of bullets, to come all the way here and make love to someone who wasn't even her official lover. Back then we were different from todays seventeen-year-olds.'
Signora Angelinas monologue was interrupted by the return of her husband, who seemed restless.
'I couldn't find Burruano, he wasn't home. Come, Inspector, let's go.'
'To look for Burruano?'
'No, no, I've just had an idea. If we're lucky, and I've guessed right, I'll donate forty thousand lire to San Calogero on his next feast day.'
San Calogero was a black saint revered by the towns folk.
'If you've guessed right, I'll throw in another fifty myself,' said Montalbano, caught up in the old mans enthusiasm.
'Think you could tell me where youre going?'
'I'll tell you later,' the headmaster said to his wife.
'And leave me here in the lurch?' the woman insisted.
Burgio, frantic, was already out the door. Montalbano bowed down to her.
'I'll keep you informed of everything.'
'How the hell did I forget La Pacinotti?' the headmaster muttered to himself as soon as they were in the street.
'Who's she?' Montalbano asked. He imagined her fifty-ish and stubby. Burgio didn't answer. Montalbano asked another question.
