“You see, Karima’s suitcase was soiled with bodily waste from its first period alongside the corpse. And in order to carry the suitcase to the well where it was found, they wrapped it in newspaper.” “So?”
“The newspaper was only three days old. Whereas the woman had been killed at least ten days earlier. The coroner would bet his life on it. So I need to figure out why she was moved. And I have no idea; I just can’t understand it.” Montalbano had an idea, but he couldn’t tell his colleague what it was. If only those fuckheads in the secret services could do something right for once! Like the time when, wanting to make people believe that a certain Libyan airplane had crashed in Sila on a specific day, they staged a show of explosions and flames, and then, in the autopsy, it was determined that the pilot had actually died fifteen days earlier from the impact. The flying cadaver.
o o o
After a simple but elegant dinner, Montalbano and his superior retired to the study. The commissioner’s wife withdrew in turn to watch television.
Montalbano’s story was long and so detailed that he didn’t even leave out his voluntary crushing of Lohengrin Pera’s little gold eyeglasses. At a certain point, the report turned into a confession. But the commissioner’s absolution was slow in coming. He was truly annoyed at having been left out of the game.
“I’m mad at you, Montalbano. You denied me a chance to amuse myself a little before calling it quits.”
o o o
My dear Livia,
This letter will surprise you for at least two reasons. The first is the letter itself, my having written it and sent it. Un-written letters I’ve sent you by the bushel, at least one a day. I realized that in all these years, I’ve only sent you an occa-sional miserly postcard with a few “bureaucratic, inspectorly” greetings, as you called them.
The second reason, which will delight you as much as surprise you, is its content.
Since you left exactly fifty-five days ago (as you can see, I keep track), many things have happened, some of which concern us directly. To say they “happened,” however, is incorrect; it would be more accurate to write that I made them happen.
You reproached me once for a certain tendency I have to play God by altering the course of events (for others) through omissions great and small, and even through more or less damnable falsifications. Maybe it’s true. Actually, it most certainly is. But don’t you think this, too, is part of my job?
Whatever the case, you should know at once that I’m about to tell you of another supposed transgression of mine, one that was aimed, however, at turning a chain of events in our favor, and was therefore not for or against anyone else. But first I want to tell you about François.
Neither you nor I have even mentioned his name since the last night you spent in Marinella, when you reproached me for not having realized that the boy could become the son we would never have. What’s more, you were hurt by the way I had the child taken from you. But, you see, I was terrified, and with good reason. He had become a dangerous witness, and I was afraid they would make him disappear (or “neutralize” him, as they say euphemistically).
The omission of that name has weighed heavily on our phone conversations, making them evasive and a little loveless.
Today I want to make it clear to you that if I never once mentioned François before now, it was to keep you from nurturing dangerous illusions. And if I’m writing to you about him now, it is because this fear has subsided.
Do you remember that morning in Marinella when François ran away to look for his mother? Well, as I was walking him home, he told me he didn’t want to end up in an orphanage. And I replied that this would never happen. I gave him my word of honor, and we shook on it. I made a promise, and I will keep it at all costs.
In these fifty-five days Mimì Augello, on my request, has been calling his sister three times a week to see how the boy is doing. The answers have always been reassuring.
The day before yesterday, in Mimì’s company, I went to see him (by the way, you ought to write Mimì a letter thanking him for his generosity and friendship). I had a chance to observe François for a few minutes while he was playing with Mimì’s nephew, who’s the same age. He was cheerful and carefree. As soon as he saw me (he recognized me at once), his expression changed. He sort of turned sad. Children’s memories, like those of the elderly, are intermittent. I’m sure the thought of his mother had come back to him. He gave me a big hug and then, looking at me with bright, tearless eyes—he doesn’t seem to me a boy who cries easily—he didn’t ask me what I was afraid he’d ask, that is, if I had any news of Karima. In a soft voice, he said only: “Take me to Livia.”
Not to his mother. To you. He must be convinced he’ll never see his mother again. And unfortunately, he’s right.
You know that from the very first, based on unhappy experience, I was convinced that Karima had been murdered. To do what I had in mind, I had to make a dangerous move that would bring the accomplices to her murder out in the open.
The next step was to force them to produce the woman’s body in such a way that, when it was found, it would be certain to be identified. It all went well. And so I was able to act “officially” on behalf of François, who has now been declared motherless. The commissioner was a tremendous help to me, putting all his many acquaintances to work. If Karima’s body had not been found, my steps would have surely been hindered by endless bureaucratic red tape, which would have delayed the resolution of our problem for years and years.
I realize this letter is getting too long, so I’ll change register.
1) In the eyes of the law, Italian as well as Tunisian, François is in a paradoxical situation. In fact, he’s an orphan who doesn’t exist, inasmuch as his birth was never registered either in Sicily or Tunisia.
2) The judge in Montelusa who deals with these questions has sort of straightened out his status, but only for as long as it takes to go through the necessary procedures. He has assigned him temporarily to the care of Mimì’s sister.
3) The same judge has informed me that while it is theo-retically possible in Italy for an unmarried woman to adopt a child, in reality it’s all talk. And he cited the case of an actress who was subjected to years of judicial pronouncements, opin-ions, and decisions, each one contradicting the last.
4) The best way to expedite matters, in the judge’s opinion, is for us to get married.
5) So get your papers ready.