Andrea Camilleri - The Age Of Doubt

“Yesterday evening, as I think I mentioned to you on the phone, I took Livia out to dinner.”

Montalbano, who at that moment was lost in thoughts of Laura, leapt out of his chair.

“You did what to Livia?!”

“Salvo, have you forgotten that Signora Giovannini has the same first name? Don’t worry, it wasn’t your Livia. So, anyway, I look her to a restaurant in Montelusa. She ate heartily and downed a bottle and a half of wine. Am I going to be reimbursed for expenses?”

“Weren’t you reimbursed in kind? Go on.”

“Well, on the way back, she took the initiative.”

“How?”

“Listen, I’d rather skip the details.”

“Just tell me how it started. What did she say?”

“What did she say? She didn’t say a word!”

“Then what did she do?”

“We’d been in the car barely five minutes when she put her hand you know where.”

So romantic, La Giovannini!

“And then she asked me where I intended to take her. I replied that, if she liked, we could go to my place, but she said she would feel more comfortable in her cabin.”

“What time was it?”

“I didn’t look at my watch, but it must have been past midnight. So we went aboard and the minute we went below decks we ran into the captain.”

“But they say he’s La Giovannini’s lover! Did he get upset? Angry? Did he say anything?”

“Not a word. He politely wished us goodnight and went up on the deck.”

“Maybe they’re lovers in the sense that La Giovannini turns to him when she hasn’t got anybody else.”

“Maybe. At any rate, he didn’t make a scene. So, the minute we went into her cabin, Livia took off all her clothes and-”

“Would you do me a favor, Mimì?”

“Sure.”

“Don’t call her Livia.”

“Why not?”

“It makes me feel weird.”

“All right, then. So, anyway, she got right down to business. And never stopped. Believe me, she’s not a woman but an electrical meat grinder that’s always plugged in. Maybe that’s why the captain grinned at me when he saw me with her. I was sparing him a night of forced labor! Luckily, around two-thirty, we heard that something serious had happened.”

“What do you mean, ‘luckily’?”

“I mean that she pulled the plug, even if only for a little while.”

“ Mors tua vita mea , in short.”

“I’m sorry, Salvo, but that’s really the way it is.”

“So you heard a scream.”

“A scream? There wasn’t any scream.”

“What did you hear, then?”

“We heard the captain talking loudly over the telephone, saying that there’d been an accident.”

“And then what?”

“Then Liv-I mean La Giovannini-got up, put on a bathrobe, and left the cabin. When she got back she said it was nothing serious. One of the crew had got drunk and fallen into the water, but they’d fished him back out.”

“But do you know that in fact the man died?”

“Of course, I found that out later. She’d told me a different story.”

“And why’d she do that?”

“Why? Because she wanted to grind the pestle in the mortar some more! She was afraid that if I found out that the guy was not only dead but stuck right there, just a few yards away from us, I wouldn’t feel like doing it anymore.”

“When were you able to leave the yacht?”

“Around six-thirty this morning, after they took the body away. I went home, dozed a bit, and now here I am. I’m going to go and get some more sleep in a little while, because tonight, Liv-La Giovannini wants a second round.”

“Were you able to talk to her during any lulls in the action?”

“Yes. At one point she wanted to know how much I earned, and so I came up with a figure a little higher than what our government hands out.”

“Did she comment?”

“No. She wanted to know if I was married and whether I had any children. I said no. It’s a good thing we didn’t go to my house! She would have immediately noticed Salvuzzo’s toys all over the place.”

“They seem like perfectly normal questions.”

“Yes, except that I was convinced they were asked with a specific purpose in mind. And so I told her I was unhappy at my job, and if I could find another I would be so much happier and grateful to anyone who gave me the chance… In short, I let her know I was available. I think she’s already percolating something in her head.”

“Listen, so, how did you make out on the boat?”

“Not too badly, if I may say so myself. I think I was up to the task.”

“I wasn’t referring to the excellence of your performance in bed, about which I haven’t the slightest doubt, but to the fact that you didn’t get to have your lesson in boat fuels with Lieutenant Belladonna.”

“Ah, so you heard? But we were still able to have the lesson. It was all very quick, there wasn’t much time.”

A rafter falling on his head would have stunned the inspector less.

“Wh… when? Wh… where?”

“The poor thing! After being on her feet all night she phoned me at six in the morning.”

“And she c… came to y… your place?”

“Salvo, what’s got into you? Have you become a stutterer? No, she had me come to the Harbor Office.”

Ding dang dong, ding dang dong .

“My dear Mimì,” he said, standing up suddenly and going over and putting his arms around Augello. “Now go and get some rest, so you’ll be strong for tonight.”

Fazio, who was entering at that very moment, stopped dead in his tracks. What was happening to the inspector to make him go around embracing everybody?

“What do you want?” Montalbano asked him after Augello had gone.

“I’ve come to remind you about calling Dr. Pasquano.”

“I’ve already called him, you know. What do you think, that I’ve gotten so old I’m starting to forget things?”

“What are you talking about, Chief? I didn’t-”

“Look what I can still do.”

And the inspector hopped up, feet together, onto the desktop.

“Upsy daisy!”

Fazio just looked at him, eyes popping out of his head. No doubt about it, the inspector needed to see a doctor.

“Ahh Chief! ’At’d be Dacter Pasquino who-”

“Lemme talk to him.”

“The phones are out of order here, Montalbano. All service has been interrupted.”

“So where are you calling from?”

“I’m calling from a stinking cell phone. But don’t keep me on this gadget for long. What does Mohammed want?”

“Today you were brought a sailor who’d fallen-”

“I worked on him early this morning.”

“Want to tell me about it?”

“Not over the cell phone. If you can be here in half an hour, I’ll wait for you.”

Halfway between Vigàta and Montelusa there were two large trucks stopped along the road, one pointing in one direction, the other pointing in the other, so that both lanes, which were rather narrow, were blocked. The only vehicles that managed to pass through were scooters and motorcycles.

The truck drivers must have been old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a long time. They’d got out of their respective cabs and were chatting blithely and laughing, slapping each other on the shoulders from time to time and not giving a damn about blocking traffic. Behind Montalbano, who happened to be right behind the truck pointed in the direction of Montelusa, a long queue of horn-blasting cars had formed.

At any other time Montalbano would have raised hell himself, honking the horn and yelling obscenities, and he would have ended up getting out of the car, spoiling for a fight. Instead he just sat there, a doltish smile on his face, waiting for the truckers to finish at their convenience and leave.