The great cast-iron gate, sole opening in the high defense wall surrounding the house, was wide open. In front of it stood Guttadauro the lawyer, bright smile slicing across his face, bowing frantically.
“Go straight, then immediately turn right. There you’ll find the parking lot.”
In the parking area were some ten cars of every kind, from luxury to economy models. Montalbano stopped and got out, as Guttadauro came running up, breathless.
“I never once doubted your sensibility, understanding, and intelligence! Don Balduccio will be most pleased! Come, Inspector, I’ll show you in.”
The start of the entrance lane was marked by two giant monkey puzzle trees. Under each tree, on either side, was an odd sort of sentry box, odd because they looked like playhouses for children. And, in fact, one could see decals of Superman, Batman, and Hercules on their walls. But the sentry boxes also each had a little door and a window. The lawyer intercepted the inspector’s gaze.
“Those are playhouses Don Balduccio had built for his grandchildren, I mean, his great-grandchildren. One of them’s called Balduccio, like him, and the other is Tanino. They’re ten and eight years old. Don Balduccio’s just crazy about those kids.”
“Excuse me, Counsel,” Montalbano asked with an angelic expression on his face, “but that man with the beard who came to the window in the playhouse on the left, was that Balduccio or Tanino?”
Guttadauro gracefully ignored the question.
They were now in front of the main door, a monumental affair of copper-studded black walnut, vaguely reminiscent of an American-style coffin.
In one corner of the garden, all prissy beds of roses, vines, and flowers, and graced by a pool of goldfish (where the hell did the bastard get the water?), was a big, powerful cage with four Dobermans inside. In utter silence, they were sizing up the weight and texture of the guest, with a manifest desire to eat him alive with all his clothes on. Apparently the cage was opened at night.
“No, Inspector,” said Guttadauro when he saw Montalbano heading towards the coffin serving as the front door. “Don Balduccio is waiting for you in the parterre.”
They went towards the left-hand side of the villa. The “parterre” was a vast space, open on three sides, with the terrace of the floor above serving as the ceiling. Through the six slender arches that marked its boundary on the right, one enjoyed a splendid view of the landscape. Miles of beach and sea, interrupted on the horizon by the jagged profile of Capo Rossello. On the opposite side, the panorama left much to be desired: a prairie of cement without the slightest breath of green, and Vigàta, distant, drowning in it.
In the “parterre” were a sofa, four comfortable armchairs, and a low, broad coffee table. Ten or so chairs were lined up against the only wall, for use, no doubt, in plenary meetings.
Don Balduccio, little more than a skeleton in clothes, was sitting on the two-seater sofa with a plaid blanket over his knees, even though it wasn’t cold and no wind was blowing. Sitting beside him in an armchair was a ruddy-faced priest of about fifty in collar and gown, who rose when the inspector came in.
“And here’s our dear Inspector Montalbano!” Guttadauro joyously announced in a shrill voice.
“Excuse me for not getting up,” said Don Balduccio in a faint voice, “but I can’t stand on my own two legs anymore.
He made no sign of wanting to shake the inspector’s hand.
“This is Don Saverio, Saverio Crucillà, who was and still is the spiritual father of Japichinu, my blessed young grandson, slandered and hounded by evil men. It’s a good thing he’s a boy of deep faith; he suffers his persecution by offering it up to God.”
“Having faith is always best!” sighed Father Crucillà.
“If you don’t sleep, you still can rest,” Montalbano chimed in.
Don Balduccio, Guttadauro, and the priest all looked at him in shock.
“I beg your pardon,” said Don Crucillà, “but I think you’re mistaken. The proverb is about the bed, and it goes like this:‘Of all things the bed is best/If you can’t sleep you still can rest.’ No?”
“You’re right, I was mistaken,” the inspector admitted.
He really was mistaken. What the fuck did he think he was doing, cracking a joke by mangling a proverb and paraphrasing the hackneyed line about religion being the opium of the people? If only religion actually was an opium for a murderous thug like Balduccio Sinagra’s precious grandson!
“I think I’ll be going,” said the priest.
He bowed to Don Balduccio, who gestured with both hands in reply, then he bowed to the inspector, who replied with a slight nod of the head, then he took Guttadauro by the arm.
“You’re coming with me, aren’t you, Counsel?”
They had clearly planned in advance to leave him alone with Don Balduccio. The lawyer would reappear later, after allowing enough time for his client—as he liked to call the man who in reality was his boss—to say what he had to say to Montalbano, without witnesses.
“Make yourself comfortable,” the old man said to the inspector, gesturing towards the armchair in which Father Crucillà had been sitting.
Montalbano sat down.
“Have anything to drink?” asked Don Balduccio, extending his hand towards a three-button control panel on the arm of the sofa.
“No, thank you.”
Montalbano couldn’t help but wonder what those other two buttons were for. If the first one rang for the maid, the second probably summoned the in-house killer. And the third? Maybe that one set off a general alarm capable of unleashing something along the lines of World War III.
“Tell me something, I’m curious,” said the old man, readjusting the blanket over his legs. “A moment ago, when you came in, if I‘da held out my hand to you, would you have shaken it?”
Good question, you son of a bitch! thought Montalbano.
He decided at once to answer sincerely.
“No.”
“Can you tell me why?”
“Because you and I stand on opposite sides of the barricade, Mr. Sinagra. And for now, at least—though perhaps not for long—no armistice has been declared.”
The old man cleared his throat.Then he cleared it again, and only then did the inspector realize that Don Balduccio was laughing.
“Not for long?”
“There are already signs.”
“Let’s hope so. But let’s get down to serious matters.You, Inspector, must be curious to know why I wanted to see you.”
“No.”
“Is that all you know how to say: no?”
“To be honest, Mr. Sinagra, I already know everything about you that might interest me as a cop. I’ve read all the dossiers on your case, even the ones that go back to before I was born. As a man, you don’t interest me at all.”
“So then why did you come?”
“Because I don’t rate myself so highly that I can say no to someone who asks to speak to me.”
“Right answer,” said the old man.
“Mr. Sinagra, if you have something to say to me, fine. Otherwise ...”
Don Balduccio seemed to hesitate. He bent his turtlelike neck even further towards Montalbano and stared at him fixedly, straining his glaucoma-glazed eyes.
“When I was a kid, my vision was so good it was scary. Now I see more and more fog, Inspector. Fog that’s getting thicker and thicker. And I’m not just talking about the disease in my eyes.”
He sighed and leaned against the back of the sofa as if to sink down into it.
“A man should live only as long as is right. Ninety years, that’s a lot. Too long. And it gets even harder if you’re forced to pick things back up that you thought you was rid of. And this business with Japichinu’s worn me out, Inspector. I’m so worried I can’t sleep. He’s even gotTB. So I said to him: turn yourself in to the carabinieri, at least they’ll cure you. But Japichinu’s a kid, stubborn like all kids. Anyways, I had to think about taking control of the family again. And it’s hard, real hard. ‘Cause in the meanwhile, time’s gone by and people have changed. You don’t understand how they think anymore, you don’t understand what’s going through their heads. Used to be—just to give you an example—used to be, you had a problem, you could reason about it. Even for a long time, maybe days and days, maybe even till things got hot and tempers flared, but you could still reason. Nowadays people don’t wanna reason anymore, they don’t wanna waste time.”