The Patience of the Spider (23 page)

set free in time to see her mother still alive ...she would go
away before a month had passed. And she was talking to me as
though she was already gone, already far away.

Did she tell you where she was going?
To Africa. Shes giving up her studies, giving up getting

married, having children. Sh-shes giving up everything.
To do what?
To make herself useful. That exactly what she said: Im

finally going to make myself useful. Shes going away with
some volunteer organization. And you know what? Shed already
made her preliminary request with them two months
ago, without telling me anything. All the while she was with
me, she was thinking of leaving me forever. What on earth got
into her?

So there wasnt any other man. And it all made sense.
Even more than before.

Do you think she may change her mind?

No, Inspector. If youd heard her voice ...And anyway,
I know her well.When shes made a de-decision ...But for
the love of God, what does it mean, Inspector? What does it
mean?

The last question was a cry. Montalbano knew perfectly
well, at this point, what it meant, but he couldnt answer
Francescos question. For the inspector it had all become rather
simple. The scales, which had long been in a state of balance,
had now tipped forcefully and entirely to one side. What
Francesco had just told him confirmed that his next move was
the right one. And should be made at once.

Before making any moves, however, he had to fill Livia in.
He put his hand over the telephone, but did not pick up the
receiver. He still needed to talk it over with himself. Did
what he was about to do, he asked himself, in some way mean
that, having reached the end of his career, or almost, he was
repudiatingin the eyes of his superiors, in the eyes of the law
itselfthe principles by which he had abided for so many long
years? But had he in fact always respected these principles?

Didnt Livia harshly accuse him once of acting like a minor
god, a little god who took pleasure in changing or rearranging
the facts? Livia was wrong. He was no god. Absolutely not. He
was only a man with his own personal judgment of right
and wrong. And sometimes what he thought was right would
have been wrong in the eyes of justice. And vice versa. So
was it better to act in accordance with justice, the kind of justice
thats written down in books, or with ones own conscience?

No, Livia might not understand, and might even manage,
through argument, to bring him to the opposite conclusion
from the one he wanted to arrive at.

It was better to write to her. He took out a sheet of paper
and a ballpoint pen.

Livia my love,
he began, but couldnt continue. He tore up the sheet and
took out another.

My beloved Livia,
and he got stuck again. He took out a third sheet.

Livia,
and the pen refused to go any further.

It was hopeless. He would tell her everything face to face,
looking her straight in the eye, the next time they saw each
other.

Having made this decision, he felt rested, serene, revived.
Wait a minute, he said to himself. Those three adjectives, rested,
serene, revived, are not your own. Youre quoting. Okay, but what?
He thought hard, putting his head in his hands. Then, confident
in his visual memory, he moved with near-total assurance.
He stood up right in front of the bookcase, pulled out

Leonardo Sciascias Council of Egypt, and leafed through it.
There it was, on page 122 of the first edition from 1966, the
one hed read at age sixteen and had always carried around
with him, to read from time to time.

On that extraordinary page, the abbella decides to reveal
something to Monsignor Airoldi that will turn his life upside
down, to wit, that the Arabian Code is an imposture, a
forgery created by his own hand. Yet before going to Monsignor
Airoldi, the abbella takes a bath and drinks a coffee.

Montalbano, too, stood at a crossroads.

Smiling, he stripped naked and slipped into the shower.
He changed all his clothes, down to his underpants, putting on
an entire set of clean articles. He chose a serious-looking tie
for the occasion. Then he made coffee and drank a cup with
relish. By this point, the three adjectives, rested, serene, revived,
were entirely his. One, howeverwhich was not in Sciascias
bookwas missing: sated.

What can I get for you, Inspector?

Everything.

They laughed.

Seafood antipasto, fish soup, boiled octopus dressed with
olive oil and lemon, four mullets (two fried, two grilled), and
two little glasses, filled to the brim, of a tangerine liqueur with
an explosive alcohol level, the pride and joy of Enzo the
restaurateur. Who congratulated the inspector.

I can see youre in good form again.

Thanks. Would you do me a favor, Enzo? Could you

look up Dr. Mistrettas number in the phone book and write
it down for me on a piece of paper?

As Enzo was working for him, he drank a third glass of
liqueur at his leisure. The restaurateur returned and handed him
the number.

People around town have been talking about the doc

tor, he said.
And what are they saying?
That this morning he went to the notarys to do the pa

perwork for donating the villa he lives in. Hes going to move
in with his brother, the geologist, now that his wife has passed
away.

Whos he donating the villa to?
Oh, apparently some orphanage in Montelusa.
From the restaurant phone, Montalbano called first Dr.

Mistrettas office, then his home. There was no answer. No
doubt the doctor was at his brothers villa for the wake. And
no doubt only the family was there, unbothered by policemen
or journalists. He dialed the number. The telephone rang a
long time before somebody picked up.

The Mistretta home.
Montalbano here. Is that you, Doctor?
Yes.
I need to talk to you.
Look, we can do it tomorrow after
No.
The doctors voice cracked.
You want to see me now?
Yes.

The doctor let a little time elapse before speaking again.

All right, though I find your insistence quite inappropriate.
Youre aware that the funeral is tomorrow?

Yes.

Will it take very long?

I cant say.

Where do you want to meet?

Ill be over in twenty minutes, maximum.

Exiting the trattoria, he noticed that the weather had
changed. Heavy rain clouds were approaching from the sea.

17

Seen from the outside, the villa was in total darkness, a black
bulk against a sky black with night and clouds. Dr. Mistretta
had opened the gate and stood there waiting for the inspec-
tors car to appear. Montalbano drove in, parked, and got out,
but waited in the garden for the doctor to close the gate. A
faint light shone from a lone window with its shutter ajar; it
came from the dead womans room, where her husband and
daughter were keeping watch. One of the two French doors
in the salon was closed, the other ajar, but it cast only a dim
light into the garden, because the overhead chandelier was
not lit.

Come inside.

I prefer to stay outside. We can go in if it starts raining,
said the inspector.

They walked in silence to the wooden benches and sat
down like the time before. Montalbano pulled out a pack of
cigarettes.

Want one?

No, thank you. Ive decided to quit smoking.

Apparently the kidnapping had led both uncle and niece
to make vows.

What was it you so urgently needed to tell me?

Where are your brother and Susanna?

In my sister-in-laws room.

Who knows whether theyd opened the window to let a
little air into the room? Who knows whether there was still
that ghastly, unbearable stench of medication and illness?

Do they know Im here?

I told Susanna, but not my brother.

How many things had been kept, and were still being
kept, from the poor geologist?

So, what did you want to tell me?

Let me preface it by saying that Im not here in an official
capacity. But I can be if I want.

I dont understand.

You will. It depends on your answers.

Then get on with your questions.

That was the problem. The first question was like a first
step down a path of no return. He closed his eyesthe doctor
couldnt see, anywayand began.

You have a patient who lives in a cottage off the road to
Gallotta, a man who flipped his tractor and

Yes.

Do you know the Good Shepherd Clinic, which is two
and a half miles from

What kind of questions are these? Of course I know it. I
go there often. So what? Are you going to recite a list of my
patients?

No. No list of patients. Lomu ceccu di consiguenza. And
you, that night in your SUV, with your heart racing madly, your blood
pressure soaring because of what you were doingsince you had to

deposit the helmet and backpack in two different placeswhat roads
did you take? The ones you knew best! It was almost as though you
werent driving the car, but it was driving you...

I just wanted to point out to you that Susannas helmet
was found near the path leading to your patients house, and
the backpack was recovered almost directly in front of the
Good Shepherd Clinic. Did you know?

Yes.

Matre santa! Bad move! The inspector would never have
expected it.

And how did you find out?

From newspapers, the television, I dont remember.

Impossible. The newspapers and television never mentioned
those discoveries. We succeeded in letting nothing leak
out.

Wait! Now I remember! You told me yourself, when we
were sitting right here, on this very bench!

No, Doctor. I told you those objects had been found, but
I didnt say where. And you know why? Because you didnt
ask me.

And that was the snag which at the time the inspector had
perceived as a kind of hesitation and couldnt immediately explain.
It was a perfectly natural question, but it hadnt been
asked, and actually stopped the flow of the discussion, like a
line omitted from a printed page. Even Livia had asked him
where hed found the Simenon novel! And the oversight was
due to the fact that the doctor knew perfectly well where the
helmet and backpack had been found.

But ...but Inspector! There could be dozens of possible

explanations for why I didnt ask you! Do you realize what
kind of state I was in at the time? You want to construct God-
knows-what out of the flimsiest of

the flimsiest of spiderwebs, perhaps? You have no idea
how apt the metaphor is. Just think, initially my construction
rested on an even flimsier thread.

Well, if youre the first to admit it . . .

Indeed I am. And it concerned your niece. Something
Francesco, her ex-boyfriend, said to me. Do you know Susanna
has left him?

Yes, shes already told me about it.

Its a touchy subject. Im a bit reluctant to broach it,
but

But you have to do your job.

Do you think I would act this way if I was doing my
job? What I was going to say was: But I want to know the
truth.

The doctor said nothing.

At that moment a female figure appeared on the threshold
of the French window, took a step forward, and stopped.

Jesus, the nightmare was coming back! It was a bodiless
head, with long blond hair, suspended in air! Just as hed seen
at the center of the spiderweb! Then he realized that Susanna
was wearing all black, to mourn her mother, and her clothes
blended in with the night.

The girl resumed walking, came towards them, and sat
down on a bench. As the light didnt reach that far, one could
only barely make out her hair, a slightly less dense point of
darkness. She didnt greet them. Montalbano decided to continue
as though she wasnt there.

As often happens between lovers, Susanna and Francesco
had intimate relations.

The doctor became agitated, uneasy.

You have no right ...And anyway, whats that got to do
with your investigation? he said with irritation.

Its got a lot to do with it. You see, Francesco told me he
was always the one to ask, if you know what I mean. Whereas,
on the day she was kidnapped, it was she who took the initiative.

Inspector, honestly, I do not understand what my nieces
sexual behavior has to do with any of this. And I wonder if
you know what youre saying or are simply raving. So Ill ask
you again, what is the point?

The point is that when Francesco told me this, he said
Susanna may have had a premonition ...But I dont believe
in premonitions. It was something else.

And what, in your opinion, was it? the doctor asked sarcastically.

A farewell.

What had Livia said the evening before her departure?
These are our last hours together, and I dont want to spoil
them. Shed wanted to make love. And to think that theirs
was to be only a brief separation. What if it had been a long
and final goodbye? Because Susanna was already thinking that
regardless of whether her plans came to a good or bad end,
they inevitably spelled the end of their love. This was the
price, the infinitely high price, that she had to pay.

Because shed put in her request to go to Africa two
months before, the inspector continued. Two months. Which
was surely when she got that other idea.

What other idea? Listen, Inspector, dont you think youre
abusing

Im warning you, Montalbano said icily. Youre giving
the wrong answers and asking the wrong questions. I came
here to lay my cards on the table and reveal my suspicions . . .
or rather, my hopes.

Why had he said hopes? Because hope was what had
tipped the scales entirely to one side, in Susannas favor. Because
that word was what had finally convinced him.

The word completely flummoxed the doctor, who wasnt
able to say anything. And for the first time, out of the silence
and darkness came the girls voice, a hesitant voice, as though
laden, indeed, with hope: the hope of being understood, to the
bottom of her heart.