The Age of Doubt Read Free

hadn’t she ever looked at herself in the mirror?
    “Listen, if you’re not—”
    “And how would we get to your house?”
    “On foot. It’s barely fifty yards from here. It’s going to be hours before anyone gets us out of this jam.”

    As Montalbano, after changing clothes, prepared a
caffelatte
for her and a mug of coffee for himself, Vanna took a shower, put on a dress of Livia’s that was a bit too wide for her, and came into the kitchen, crashing first into the doorjamb and then against a chair. How did she ever get a driver’s license, with eyes like hers? A rather homely girl, poor thing. When she was wearing jeans, one couldn’t tell, but now that she was wearing Livia’s dress, Montalbano noticed that she had bandy, muscular legs. They looked more like a man’s legs than a woman’s. And on top of almost nonexistent breasts and a mousy face, she even had an ungainly walk.
    “Where’d you put your clothes?”
    “I saw a little heater in the bathroom, and I turned it on and put my jeans, blouse, and jacket in front of it.”
    He sat her down and served her the caffelatte with a few of the biscotti Adelina normally bought for him and which he normally never ate.
    “Excuse me a minute,” he said after drinking his first cup of coffee, and he got up and phoned the police station.
    “Ah Chief Chief! Ahh Chief!”
    “What’s wrong, Cat?”
    “Iss the oppocalypso!”
    “What happened?”
    “The wind blew the roof tiles offa the roof in probable cause o’ which the water’s comin’ inna rooms!”
    “Has it done any damage?”
    “Yessir. F’rinstince, alla papers that was a toppa yer desk awaitin’ f’yiz to sign ’em ’sgot so wet they’s turn to paste.”
    A hymn of exultation, deriding the bureaucracy, welled up joyously in Montalbano’s breast.
    “Listen, Cat, I’m here at home. The road into town has collapsed.”
    “So you’s consiquintly outta reach.”
    “Unless Gallo can find a way to come and get me . . .”
    “Wait a sic an’ I’ll put ’im on, ’e’s right here.”
    “What is it, Chief?”
    “Well, I was on my way to the station when I ran into a traffic jam about fifty yards down the road from my house. The storm tides washed away the road. My car is stuck there and can’t move. And so I’m stranded here at home. If you could manage to find a—”
    Gallo didn’t let him finish his sentence.
    “I’ll be there in half an hour, max,” he said.
    The inspector returned to the kitchen, sat back down, and fired up a cigarette.
    “Do you smoke?” he asked the young woman.
    “Yes, but my cigarettes are all wet.”
    “Take one of mine.”
    She accepted and held out her cigarette for him to light.
    “I feel mortified for causing you so much trouble—”
    “Not at all! In half an hour somebody’s going to come by to pick me up. Were you on your way to Vigàta?”
    “Yes. I had an appointment at ten, at the port. My aunt is supposed to be arriving. I came all the way from Palermo. But in this weather, I doubt that . . . I bet she doesn’t come in until this afternoon.”
    “There aren’t any mail boats or ferries that come into the port at ten in the morning, you know.”
    “I know. My aunt has her own boat.”
    The word “boat” got on his nerves. Nowadays when someone says “come and see my boat,” you find yourself looking at a one-hundred-twenty-foot vessel.
    “Rowboat?” he asked, innocent as a lamb.
    She didn’t get the joke.
    “It’s a big boat with a captain and a four-man crew. And she’s always sailing. Alone. I haven’t seen her for years.”
    “Where’s she going?”
    “Nowhere.”
    “I don’t understand.”
    “My aunt likes sailing the high seas. She can afford it. Apparently she’s very rich. When Zio Arturo died, he left her a large inheritance and a Tunisian manservant named Zizì.”
    “So she bought the boat with her inheritance?”
    “No, Zio Arturo already had the boat. He also liked to spend a lot of time at