in Montelusa; Ill be at least another hour Im sure.
Then Ill come running. Oh, and listen: tonight were going
to the commissioners for dinner.
But I didnt bring anything to wear!
You can go in jeans. Have a look in the fridge, Adelina
must have cooked something.
No, thats all right. Ill wait for you, we can eat together.
Ive already made do with a sandwich. Im not hungry.
See you soon.
He sat back down at his table, where a pound of mullet
awaited him, fried to a delicate crisp.
A little weary from her journey, Livia had gone to bed. Montalbano
got undressed and lay down beside her. They kissed.
Suddenly Livia pulled away and started sniffing him.
You smell like fried food.
Of course I do. I just spent an hour interrogating some
guy in a fried-food shop.
They made love calmly, knowing they had all the time in
the world. Then they sat up in bed, pillows behind their
heads, and Montalbano told her the story of Lapras murder.
Thinking he was amusing her, he told her how hed had
Mrs. Piccirillo and her daughter, who set such great store by
their honor, brought in to the station. He also told her hed
had Fazio buy a bottle of wine for Mr. Culicchia, whod lost
his when it rolled next to the corpse. Instead of laughing, as
Montalbano expected, Livia looked at him coldly.
Asshole, she said.
I beg your pardon? Montalbano asked with the
aplomb of an English lord.
Youre an asshole and a sexist. First you disgrace those
two wretched women, and then you buy a bottle of wine for
the guy who had no qualms about riding up and down in the
elevator with a corpse. Now tell me thats not acting like a
jerk.
Come on, Livia, dont look at it that way.
Unfortunately Livia insisted on looking at it that way. It
was six oclock before he managed to appease her. To distract
her he told her the story of the little boy who was stealing
other childrens late-morning snacks.
But Livia didnt laugh this time, either. In fact, she
seemed to turn melancholy.
Whats wrong? What did I say? Did I do something
wrong again?
No, I was just thinking of that poor little boy.
The one who got beat up?
No, the other one. He must be really famished and desperate.
You say he didnt speak Italian? Hes probably the
child of some immigrants who cant even put food on the
table. Or maybe he was abandoned.
Jesus Christ! cried Montalbano, thunderstruck by the
revelation, yelling so loudly that Livia gave a start.
Whats got into you?
Jesus Christ! the inspector repeated, eyes bulging out
of his head.
What on earth did I say? Livia asked, concerned.
Without answering, Montalbano dashed to the phone,
completely naked.
Catarella, get the fuck off the line and pass me Fazio on
the double. Fazio? In one hour, at the latest, I want you all at
the office. Got that? All of you. If anybodys missing, Im
going to go nuts.
He hung up, then dialed another number.
Commissioner? Montalbano here. Im embarrassed to
say, but I cant make it to dinner tonight. No, its not because
of Livia. Its got to do with work. Ill explain everything.
Lunch tomorrow? By all means. And please give your wife
my apologies.
Livia had got out of bed, trying to understand how her
words could have provoked such a frantic reaction.
Montalbanos only answer was to throw himself on the
bed, dragging her along with him. His intentions were perfectly
clear.
But didnt you say youd be at the office in an hour?
Fifteen minutes more or less, whats the difference?
Crammed into Montalbanos office, which was certainly not
spacious, were Augello, Fazio, Tortorella, Gallo, German
Galluzzo, and Grasso, who had begun working at the station
less than a month ago. Catarella stood leaning against the
door frame, an ear to the switchboard. Montalbano had
brought along a reluctant Livia.
But what am I going to do there?
Believe me, you might be very useful.
But he hadnt given her a single word of explanation.
In utter
Then Ill come running. Oh, and listen: tonight were going
to the commissioners for dinner.
But I didnt bring anything to wear!
You can go in jeans. Have a look in the fridge, Adelina
must have cooked something.
No, thats all right. Ill wait for you, we can eat together.
Ive already made do with a sandwich. Im not hungry.
See you soon.
He sat back down at his table, where a pound of mullet
awaited him, fried to a delicate crisp.
A little weary from her journey, Livia had gone to bed. Montalbano
got undressed and lay down beside her. They kissed.
Suddenly Livia pulled away and started sniffing him.
You smell like fried food.
Of course I do. I just spent an hour interrogating some
guy in a fried-food shop.
They made love calmly, knowing they had all the time in
the world. Then they sat up in bed, pillows behind their
heads, and Montalbano told her the story of Lapras murder.
Thinking he was amusing her, he told her how hed had
Mrs. Piccirillo and her daughter, who set such great store by
their honor, brought in to the station. He also told her hed
had Fazio buy a bottle of wine for Mr. Culicchia, whod lost
his when it rolled next to the corpse. Instead of laughing, as
Montalbano expected, Livia looked at him coldly.
Asshole, she said.
I beg your pardon? Montalbano asked with the
aplomb of an English lord.
Youre an asshole and a sexist. First you disgrace those
two wretched women, and then you buy a bottle of wine for
the guy who had no qualms about riding up and down in the
elevator with a corpse. Now tell me thats not acting like a
jerk.
Come on, Livia, dont look at it that way.
Unfortunately Livia insisted on looking at it that way. It
was six oclock before he managed to appease her. To distract
her he told her the story of the little boy who was stealing
other childrens late-morning snacks.
But Livia didnt laugh this time, either. In fact, she
seemed to turn melancholy.
Whats wrong? What did I say? Did I do something
wrong again?
No, I was just thinking of that poor little boy.
The one who got beat up?
No, the other one. He must be really famished and desperate.
You say he didnt speak Italian? Hes probably the
child of some immigrants who cant even put food on the
table. Or maybe he was abandoned.
Jesus Christ! cried Montalbano, thunderstruck by the
revelation, yelling so loudly that Livia gave a start.
Whats got into you?
Jesus Christ! the inspector repeated, eyes bulging out
of his head.
What on earth did I say? Livia asked, concerned.
Without answering, Montalbano dashed to the phone,
completely naked.
Catarella, get the fuck off the line and pass me Fazio on
the double. Fazio? In one hour, at the latest, I want you all at
the office. Got that? All of you. If anybodys missing, Im
going to go nuts.
He hung up, then dialed another number.
Commissioner? Montalbano here. Im embarrassed to
say, but I cant make it to dinner tonight. No, its not because
of Livia. Its got to do with work. Ill explain everything.
Lunch tomorrow? By all means. And please give your wife
my apologies.
Livia had got out of bed, trying to understand how her
words could have provoked such a frantic reaction.
Montalbanos only answer was to throw himself on the
bed, dragging her along with him. His intentions were perfectly
clear.
But didnt you say youd be at the office in an hour?
Fifteen minutes more or less, whats the difference?
Crammed into Montalbanos office, which was certainly not
spacious, were Augello, Fazio, Tortorella, Gallo, German
Galluzzo, and Grasso, who had begun working at the station
less than a month ago. Catarella stood leaning against the
door frame, an ear to the switchboard. Montalbano had
brought along a reluctant Livia.
But what am I going to do there?
Believe me, you might be very useful.
But he hadnt given her a single word of explanation.
In utter
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