me,” she ordered, in a voice suddenly different.
Montalbano embraced her.Then, after a brief spell, she turned around until she was facing away from him.
“Mount me,” said the coarse voice.
He turned and looked at the woman.
She was no longer a woman, but sort of a horse. She had got down on all fours ...
The dream!
That was what had made him feel so uneasy! The absurd gate, the horse-woman . . . He froze for a moment, let go of the woman . . .
“What’s got into you? Put your arms around me!” Rachele repeated.
“C’mon, mount me,” she repeated.
He mounted and she took off at a gallop, fast as a Roman candle . . .
Later he felt her move and then get up, and all at once a yellowish light lit up the scene. Rachele, still naked, was standing beside the door by the light switch and looking at him. Without warning she started laughing in her way, throwing her head back.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re funny.You’re so touching.”
She went up to him, knelt down, and hugged him. Montalbano started frantically putting his clothes back on.
But they lost another ten minutes helping each other remove the blades of straw that had lodged themselves in every place they could.
They retraced their steps without a word, and walking a bit apart from each other.
Then, just as he had feared, Montalbano ran into a tree. But this time Rachele did not come to his aid by taking his hand. She said only:
“Did you hurt yourself ?”
“No.”
But when they were still in the dark part of the great lawn where the tables were, Rachele suddenly put her arms around him and whispered in his ear:
“I really enjoyed you.”
Deep inside, Montalbano felt a kind of shame. He also felt slightly offended.
I really enjoyed you! What kind of fucking statement was that? What did it mean? That the lady was satisfied with the performance? Pleased with the product? Try Montalbano’s cassata; you’ll taste paradise! Montalbano’s ice cream has no equal! Montalbano’s cannoli are the best! Try them, you’ll like them!
He felt enraged. Because, while Rachele may have enjoyed the encounter, it was still stuck in his craw.What had taken place between the two of them anyway? A pure and simple coupling. Like two horses in a barn. And he, after a certain point, had been unable, or had not known how, to restrain himself. How true it was that one needed slip only once, to slip every time thereafter!
Why had he done it?
It was a pointless question, in that he knew very well why: the fear—by now ever-present even when not visible—of the years passing by, flying by. And his recent flings, first with that twenty-year-old girl, whose name he did not even want to remember, and now with Rachele, were both ridiculous, miserable, pitiable attempts to stop time.To stop it, at least, for those few seconds in which only the body was alive, while the mind, for its part, was lost in some great, timeless nothingness.
When they returned to their table, the dinner was over.A few tables had already been cleared by the waiters. An atmosphere of desolation hung over it all, and a few of the floodlights had been turned off. A handful of people remained, still willing to be eaten alive by mosquitoes.
Ingrid was waiting for them at Guido’s place.
“Guido has gone back to Fiacca,” she said to Rachele. “He was a bit miffed. He said he’ll call you later.”
“All right,” Rachele said indifferently.
“Where’d you two go?”
“Salvo came with me to say goodbye to Moonbeam.”
Ingrid gave a hint of a smile at the sound of that “Salvo.”
“I’m going to smoke this cigarette and then go beddybye,” said Rachele.
Montalbano also lit up. They smoked in silence. Then Rachele stood up and exchanged kisses with Ingrid.
“I’ll come to Montelusa late in the morning.”
“Whenever you like.”
Then she put her arms around Montalbano and rested her lips lightly on his.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
As soon as Rachele left,
Montalbano embraced her.Then, after a brief spell, she turned around until she was facing away from him.
“Mount me,” said the coarse voice.
He turned and looked at the woman.
She was no longer a woman, but sort of a horse. She had got down on all fours ...
The dream!
That was what had made him feel so uneasy! The absurd gate, the horse-woman . . . He froze for a moment, let go of the woman . . .
“What’s got into you? Put your arms around me!” Rachele repeated.
“C’mon, mount me,” she repeated.
He mounted and she took off at a gallop, fast as a Roman candle . . .
Later he felt her move and then get up, and all at once a yellowish light lit up the scene. Rachele, still naked, was standing beside the door by the light switch and looking at him. Without warning she started laughing in her way, throwing her head back.
“What’s wrong?”
“You’re funny.You’re so touching.”
She went up to him, knelt down, and hugged him. Montalbano started frantically putting his clothes back on.
But they lost another ten minutes helping each other remove the blades of straw that had lodged themselves in every place they could.
They retraced their steps without a word, and walking a bit apart from each other.
Then, just as he had feared, Montalbano ran into a tree. But this time Rachele did not come to his aid by taking his hand. She said only:
“Did you hurt yourself ?”
“No.”
But when they were still in the dark part of the great lawn where the tables were, Rachele suddenly put her arms around him and whispered in his ear:
“I really enjoyed you.”
Deep inside, Montalbano felt a kind of shame. He also felt slightly offended.
I really enjoyed you! What kind of fucking statement was that? What did it mean? That the lady was satisfied with the performance? Pleased with the product? Try Montalbano’s cassata; you’ll taste paradise! Montalbano’s ice cream has no equal! Montalbano’s cannoli are the best! Try them, you’ll like them!
He felt enraged. Because, while Rachele may have enjoyed the encounter, it was still stuck in his craw.What had taken place between the two of them anyway? A pure and simple coupling. Like two horses in a barn. And he, after a certain point, had been unable, or had not known how, to restrain himself. How true it was that one needed slip only once, to slip every time thereafter!
Why had he done it?
It was a pointless question, in that he knew very well why: the fear—by now ever-present even when not visible—of the years passing by, flying by. And his recent flings, first with that twenty-year-old girl, whose name he did not even want to remember, and now with Rachele, were both ridiculous, miserable, pitiable attempts to stop time.To stop it, at least, for those few seconds in which only the body was alive, while the mind, for its part, was lost in some great, timeless nothingness.
When they returned to their table, the dinner was over.A few tables had already been cleared by the waiters. An atmosphere of desolation hung over it all, and a few of the floodlights had been turned off. A handful of people remained, still willing to be eaten alive by mosquitoes.
Ingrid was waiting for them at Guido’s place.
“Guido has gone back to Fiacca,” she said to Rachele. “He was a bit miffed. He said he’ll call you later.”
“All right,” Rachele said indifferently.
“Where’d you two go?”
“Salvo came with me to say goodbye to Moonbeam.”
Ingrid gave a hint of a smile at the sound of that “Salvo.”
“I’m going to smoke this cigarette and then go beddybye,” said Rachele.
Montalbano also lit up. They smoked in silence. Then Rachele stood up and exchanged kisses with Ingrid.
“I’ll come to Montelusa late in the morning.”
“Whenever you like.”
Then she put her arms around Montalbano and rested her lips lightly on his.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
As soon as Rachele left,
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