The Dance of the Seagull Read Free

particular. I’m told the cathedral is a pure marvel. Then we could push on to, I dunno, Modica, Ragusa, Scicli . . .”
    “Nice itinerary, no doubt about it. But . . .”
    “What, don’t you think it’s a good idea?”
    “Well, in a general sense, sure, I think it’s a great idea, absolutely. But we should probably inform ourselves first.”
    “Inform ourselves of what?”
    “Well, I wouldn’t want them to be shooting.”
    “What are you talking about? Shooting what?”
    “I wouldn’t want to run into a film crew shooting an episode of that television series right as we’re walking around there . . . They film them around there, you know.”
    “What the hell do you care?”
    “What do you mean, what the hell do I care? And what if I find myself face to face with the actor who plays me? . . . What’s his name— Zingarelli  . . .”
    “His name’s Zingaretti, stop pretending you don’t know. Zingarelli’s a dictionary. But I repeat: What do you care? How can you still have these childish complexes at your age?”
    “What’s age got to do with it?”
    “Anyway, he doesn’t look the least bit like you.”
    “That’s true.”
    “He’s a lot younger than you.”
    Enough of this bullshit about age! Livia was obsessed!
    Montalbano felt offended. What the hell did youth and age have to do with any of this?
    “What the hell’s that supposed to mean? Anyway, as far as that goes, the guy’s totally bald, whereas I’ve got more hair than I know what to do with!”
    “Come on, Salvo, let’s not fight.”
    And so, to avoid a quarrel, he’d let himself be talked into it.

    “I’m well aware that you reserved a room. Why are you telling me this?”
    “Because you’ll have to come home from the office no later than four o’clock for us to make it there.”
    “That’s not a problem. I’ve only got a few documents to sign.”
    Livia laughed.
    “What’s so funny?”
    “Salvo. You say that as if this were the first time you—”
    She broke off.
    “Come on, finish your sentence. The first time I what?”
    “Never mind. Have you packed a suitcase at least?”
    “No.”
    “Oh, great! It’s going to take you two hours to pack, and at your normal cruising speed we’ll be lucky to get to Ragusa before ten o’clock!”
    “Ah, ‘my cruising speed’! Aren’t we witty today! How long does it take to pack a suitcase? I’ll do mine in half an hour!”
    “Should I start packing it myself?”
    “For heaven’s sake, no!”
    The one time he’d let her pack his bags, he’d found himself on the island of Elba with one brown shoe and one black.
    “What’s that ‘for heaven’s sake’ supposed to mean?” Livia asked, sounding irritated.
    “Nothing,” he said, having no desire to quarrel.
    After a few minutes of silence, Montalbano asked:
    “Tell me something. Do seagulls die in Boccadasse?”
    Livia, who’d been staring at the road in front of her as though still resentful over the business of the suitcase, turned towards him with a look of astonishment and said nothing.
    “Why are you looking at me like that? I simply asked you if seagulls die in Boccadasse.”
    Livia kept staring at him without saying anything.
    “Would you please answer me? Do they or don’t they?”
    “But don’t you think that’s a stupid question?”
    “Can’t you just answer me without assigning an intelligence quotient to my question?”
    “I think they probably die in Boccadasse like anywhere else.”
    “And have you ever seen one die?”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “What do you mean, you don’t think so? It’s not a matter of faith, you know. You’ve either seen one or you haven’t! You can’t go wrong!”
    “Don’t raise your voice. I’ve never seen one! Happy now? I’ve never seen one!”
    “Now you’re the one who’s yelling!”
    “But why do you ask me questions like that? You seem so strange this morning! Are you feeling all right?”
    “I feel great! I feel like a god,