challenger wants things to appear a certain way. How shall I put it? He wants them to seem more innocent than they really are. In my opinion, the simplicity of the poetry, which you could even call stupidity, is intentional.”
“You think so?”
“I’m quite convinced. There’s a striking contrast between the disarming childishness of the little poems and the complex technological effort required to make those photos in the shack.”
“Maybe there are two of them, one who writes the letters and the other—”
“I would rule that out.”
“Why?”
“Because it looks in every way like a duel between two people, you and the other guy.”
The kid reasoned well.
“And what kind of person do you think he is?”
“Well, so far we haven’t got enough material to paint a complete portrait. All we can say is that he’s a person who hides behind appearances—the rather harmless appearance of someone interested only in playing innocuous games.”
“But in your opinion, that’s not really the case.”
“I really don’t think so. There’s something about all this that seems weird to me.”
“So we’re dealing, in short, with a cunning individual.”
“More than just cunning: quite intelligent.”
“Then all we can do is wait for the next letter,” Montalbano concluded, standing up and holding out his hand.
“Will you keep me informed?”
“Of course. But tell me something. How did you manage to find Via dei Mille?”
“I got a map from city hall.”
8
That evening, after waging a harsh battle with the four servings of
cuddriruni
he’d bought (he’d planned to eat only two, but lost the fight and ate them all), he phoned Livia. He decided not to tell her anything about the plastic collar.
“I’ve gained weight,” he said dejectedly.
“That was all you needed.”
Jesus, was Livia ever cranky sometimes! What did she mean by that? That he already had all the worst physical defects a man can have? Better pretend he didn’t hear.
“I’m unable to control myself while eating—it must be because I’ve had nothing to do for the past month. I’m sure a clerk at the land registry office leads a more exciting life than I do.”
“Are you telling me you’ve been twiddling your thumbs for the last month?”
Twiddling your thumbs! What an obnoxious expression! And when did anyone ever really twiddle their thumbs?
“Well, sort of.”
“And you couldn’t even find two days to come and see me?”
“No, you see, I thought about it, but then, maybe because I was hoping something would happen—”
“You were
hoping
? Hoping that something would go wrong to prevent you from coming? Nobody’s forcing you, you know. You can sit there and do nothing for as long as you want for all I care! But don’t start hoping I’m going to come down there!”
“Jesus, why don’t you make a big deal out of it for a change! I used the wrong verb, okay? I meant to say
I was afraid
something would happen.”
“I guess we
are
a bit verbally challenged, hm?”
“Well,
you
certainly aren’t! Your command of the language is utterly flawless! You even use such elegant expressions as ‘twiddling your thumbs’! Ha ha ha!”
The flare-up didn’t last more than five minutes, after which the pitch began to descend, and soon they were both apologizing, and in the end Montalbano promised that the following day he would be on the six P.M . flight for Genoa.
The next morning, after he’d been in the office for about half an hour, the door opened with such a crash that Montalbano, who’d been following the progress of a fly along the edge of his desk with extreme concentration, jumped straight into the air.
“Beckin’ yer partin’, Chief, my foot slipped,” said a mortified Catarella.
He’d had to knock with his foot because his hands were busy carrying a rather large parcel.
“’Iss ’ere packitch was d’livvered juss now an’ iss asposta be brung t’yiz poissonally in
“You think so?”
“I’m quite convinced. There’s a striking contrast between the disarming childishness of the little poems and the complex technological effort required to make those photos in the shack.”
“Maybe there are two of them, one who writes the letters and the other—”
“I would rule that out.”
“Why?”
“Because it looks in every way like a duel between two people, you and the other guy.”
The kid reasoned well.
“And what kind of person do you think he is?”
“Well, so far we haven’t got enough material to paint a complete portrait. All we can say is that he’s a person who hides behind appearances—the rather harmless appearance of someone interested only in playing innocuous games.”
“But in your opinion, that’s not really the case.”
“I really don’t think so. There’s something about all this that seems weird to me.”
“So we’re dealing, in short, with a cunning individual.”
“More than just cunning: quite intelligent.”
“Then all we can do is wait for the next letter,” Montalbano concluded, standing up and holding out his hand.
“Will you keep me informed?”
“Of course. But tell me something. How did you manage to find Via dei Mille?”
“I got a map from city hall.”
8
That evening, after waging a harsh battle with the four servings of
cuddriruni
he’d bought (he’d planned to eat only two, but lost the fight and ate them all), he phoned Livia. He decided not to tell her anything about the plastic collar.
“I’ve gained weight,” he said dejectedly.
“That was all you needed.”
Jesus, was Livia ever cranky sometimes! What did she mean by that? That he already had all the worst physical defects a man can have? Better pretend he didn’t hear.
“I’m unable to control myself while eating—it must be because I’ve had nothing to do for the past month. I’m sure a clerk at the land registry office leads a more exciting life than I do.”
“Are you telling me you’ve been twiddling your thumbs for the last month?”
Twiddling your thumbs! What an obnoxious expression! And when did anyone ever really twiddle their thumbs?
“Well, sort of.”
“And you couldn’t even find two days to come and see me?”
“No, you see, I thought about it, but then, maybe because I was hoping something would happen—”
“You were
hoping
? Hoping that something would go wrong to prevent you from coming? Nobody’s forcing you, you know. You can sit there and do nothing for as long as you want for all I care! But don’t start hoping I’m going to come down there!”
“Jesus, why don’t you make a big deal out of it for a change! I used the wrong verb, okay? I meant to say
I was afraid
something would happen.”
“I guess we
are
a bit verbally challenged, hm?”
“Well,
you
certainly aren’t! Your command of the language is utterly flawless! You even use such elegant expressions as ‘twiddling your thumbs’! Ha ha ha!”
The flare-up didn’t last more than five minutes, after which the pitch began to descend, and soon they were both apologizing, and in the end Montalbano promised that the following day he would be on the six P.M . flight for Genoa.
The next morning, after he’d been in the office for about half an hour, the door opened with such a crash that Montalbano, who’d been following the progress of a fly along the edge of his desk with extreme concentration, jumped straight into the air.
“Beckin’ yer partin’, Chief, my foot slipped,” said a mortified Catarella.
He’d had to knock with his foot because his hands were busy carrying a rather large parcel.
“’Iss ’ere packitch was d’livvered juss now an’ iss asposta be brung t’yiz poissonally in
Similar Books
