"No. My father had closed up the entrance to it with a dry wall of stones. I removed the stones and later put them back in place when I was done. I used flashlights to help me see; we had quite a few at our country house. Now I had to find the symbols of sleep, the ones from the legend. The jug and the bowl with coins were easy enough, but what about the dog? Well, the previous Christmas in Vig"
"I know the whole story," said Montalbano. "When the dog was sold at auction, somebody in your family bought it."
"My father did. But since Mama didn't like it, we put it in a storeroom in the basement. I remembered it. When I had done everything and closed up the cave with the great hinged boulder, it was pitch-dark out and I felt almost at peace. Lisetta and Mario really were asleep. Nothing had happened. And so the corpse I found upstairs on my return no longer frightened me. It didnt exist; it was the fruit of my war-ravaged imagination. Then utter pandemonium broke out. The house began to shake from bombs exploding just a few yards away, but I couldn't hear any airplanes. They were shelling from the ships at sea. I raced outside, afraid I might get buried under the rubble if the house were hit. On the horizon it looked as if day were breaking. What was all that light? I wondered. Suddenly, behind me the house exploded, literally, and I was struck in the head with a piece of debris and passed out. When I reopened my eyes, the light on the horizon was even brighter, and I could hear a continuous, distant rumble. I managed to drag myself to the road and started waving and gesturing, but none of the passing vehicles would stop. They were all fleeing. I was in danger of being run over by a truck. Finally, one stopped, and an Italian soldier hoisted me aboard. From what they were saying, I gathered that the American invasion had begun. I begged them to take me with them, wherever they were going. And they did. What happened to me after that I doubt is of any interest to you. I'm very tired."
"Would you like to lie down awhile?"
Montalbano had to carry him bodily, then helped him to undress.
"Please forgive me," he said, "for awakening the sleepers and bringing you back to reality."
"It had to happen."
"Your friend Burgio, who was a big help to me, would love to see you again."
"No, not me. And if you have no objection, you should act as if I never came."
"No, of course not, I've no objection."
"Do you want anything else from me?"
"Nothing. Only to say that I'm deeply grateful to you for answering my call."
They had nothing more to say to each other. The old man looked at his watch so closely he appeared to be sticking it in his eye.
"Let's do this. Let me sleep for an hour or so, then wake me up, call me a taxi, and I'll go back to Punta Ri."
Montalbano drew the shades over the window and headed for the door.
"Just a minute, Inspector."
From the wallet he had laid on the night table the old man took out a photograph and handed it to Montalbano.
"This is my youngest granddaughter, seventeen years old. Her names Lisetta."
Montalbano went over to a shaft of light. Except for the jeans she was wearing and the motor scooter she was leaning against, this Lisetta was identical to the other, a perfect likeness. He handed the photo back to Rizzitano.
"Excuse me again, but could you bring me another glass of water?"
...
Seated on the veranda, Montalbano answered the questions his policemans mind was asking. The assassin's body, assuming they'd found it under the rubble, certainly could never have been identified. Lillo's parents had either believed that those remains belonged to their son, or that, according to the peasants story, he'd been picked up by the soldiers as he was dying. And since they never heard from him again, he must surely have died somewhere. For Stefano Moscato, however, those remains belonged to his triggerman, who after finishing his work, that is, after killing Lisetta, Mario, and Lillo and disposing of their bodies, had returned to the house to steal a few things but was crushed under the bombs. Assured that Lisetta was dead, he had come out with the story of the American soldier. But a relative of his from Serradifalco, when he came to Vig, had refused to believe it and severed relations with him. The photomontage recalled to mind the photograph the old man had shown him. Montalbano smiled. Elective affinities were a clumsy game compared to the unfathomable convolutions of the blood, which could give weight, form, and breath to memory. He glanced at his watch and gave a start. Well over an hour had passed. He went into the bedroom. The old man was enjoying a peaceful sleep, his breathing untroubled, his expression calm and relaxed. He was traveling through the land of dreams, no longer burdened with baggage. He could sleep a long time, since he had a wallet with money and a glass of water on the night table. Montalbano remembered the stuffed dog he'd bought for Livia in Pantelleria. He found it on top of the dresser, hidden behind a box. He put it on the floor, at the foot of the bed, then closed the door softly behind him.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
The idea for writing this story came to me when, as a courtesy to two Egyptian student stage directors, we studied The People of the Cave, by Taufik al-Hakim, in a class of mine.
It seems therefore appropriate to dedicate this book to my students at the Silvio d'Amico National Academy of the Dramatic Arts, where I have been teaching stage direction for over twenty-three years.
It is boring to repeat, with each new published book, that the events, characters, and situations are purely fictional. Still, it is necessary. So while I'm at it, I would like to add that the names of my characters come to me by virtue of their amusing assonances, with no malice intended.
NOTES
3. four large Saracen olive trees: Very ancient olive trees with gnarled trunks, tangling branches, and very long roots. The name suggests that they date from the time of the Arab conquest of Sicily, which began in earnest in the late ninth century, after more than a century of isolated raids, and lasted until the Norman conquest, which began in 1060.
18. a man of honor: An epithet that stands for mafioso, used mostly by the mafiosi themselves. Tano the Greeks regret for the decline of honor among them is a common refrain among mobsters of the older generation, such as the repentant Tommaso Buscetta.
21. to speak in what he called Talian: Many uneducated Sicilians, even in this day of mass media and standardized speech, can only speak the local dialect and tend to struggle with proper Italian. Oftentimes what comes out when they attempt to use the national language is a linguistic jumble that is neither fish nor fowl. In such speech the first syllable of the word italiano is often dropped to taliano, especially when the preceding word ends in a vowel, as in parlare taliano.
23. notify the carabinieri: The Italian carabinieri are a national police force, bureaucratically separate from local police forces and actually a branch of the military.
23. like I'm running a chicken farm here: Gallo and Galluzzo both mean rooster, the second being a diminutive of the first.
32. they think omerts on the decline: Omerts the traditional Sicilian law of silence, in force particularly among members of the Mafia.
34. madunnuzza biniditta!: Blesslittle Madonna! (Sicilian dialect).
35. caught in the net, the chamber of death: A reference to traditional Sicilian tuna-and-sword-fishing and the mattanza, when the fish are slaughtered. Schools of the fish are caught in nets which are then gradually closed until the space holding them, the cammara della morte, becomes very small, like a death chamber.
40. the testimony of Cavaliere Misuraca: The honorific title of cavaliere, bestowed on members of various orders of knighthood (e.g., Cavaliere di Malta, Cavaliere della Repubblica) and often awarded in the modern age to successful men in different areas of business and industry (such as il cavaliere Silvio Berlusconi), was given out wholesale during the Fascist period. Cavaliere Misuraca, as the unfolding episode implies, was probably a beneficiary of this Fascist largesse or earned his title for his efforts in war.