goddammit! Jesus motherfucking Christ, do I feel good! I’ve never felt better in all my life!”
“Don’t use obscenities and don’t—”
“I’ll speak however I want, okay?”
Livia didn’t reply, and he fell silent. Neither of them said another word.
But how was it that they never failed to squabble over the slightest thing? And how was it that it never passed through either of their heads to draw the logical conclusion of the situation, which was to shake hands and break up once and for all?
They both remained silent for the rest of the drive back to Marinella.
Once home, instead of leaving at once for headquarters, Montalbano felt like taking a shower. Maybe it would wash away the agitation that had come over him after quarreling with Livia in the car. She, however, had locked herself in the bathroom upon arrival.
He took off all his clothes and tapped discreetly at the door.
“What do you want?”
“Hurry up, I want to take a shower.”
“Just wait. I’m going to take one first.”
“Come on, Livia, I have to go to the office!”
“But you said all you have to do is sign some papers!”
“All right, but don’t forget that I’ve just made a round trip, Vigàta–Palermo, to go pick you up! I need to take a shower!”
“And haven’t I just come all the way from Genoa? Isn’t that a little farther? So I get to go first!”
So now she’s counting the miles?
He cursed the saints, looked for a bathing suit, put it on, and went down to the beach.
Although the sun was high in the sky by now, the sand under his feet was cool.
The instant he got in the water, the cold nearly gave him a heart attack. The only solution was to start swimming at once, and vigorously. After a good fifteen minutes of breaststrokes, he started floating on the surface.
In the sky there wasn’t a bird to be seen anywhere, not for all the money in the world. As he lay there with his mouth open, a few drops of seawater slid down his face and into his mouth, between his palate and tongue. It tasted strange.
He took a bit of water into his hand and brought it to his mouth. There was no doubt about it: the sea didn’t taste the way it used to. It seemed to lack salt, and tasted bitter and nasty, like stale mineral water. Maybe that was why the seagulls . . . But then why did the mullets he feasted on at the trattoria still have the same delightful fragrance they’d always had?
As he was swimming towards the beach, he saw Livia sitting on the veranda in her bathrobe, drinking coffee.
“How’s the water?”
“Stale.”
When he came out of the shower, he found Livia standing in front of him.
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Do you have to go to the station right away?”
“No.”
“Well, then . . .”
He understood. Hearing a sort of symphony orchestra strike up in his head, he squeezed her tight.
It was a beautiful way to make peace.
“Four o’clock, and I mean it!” she reminded him afterwards, accompanying him to the door.
“Get me Fazio right away,” he said to Catarella, passing in front of his post.
“He ain’t onna premisses, Chief.”
“Has he called?”
“Nossir, Chief.”
“As soon as he gets in, tell him to come to my office.”
There was a veritable mountain of papers teetering on his desk. He felt disheartened. He was tempted to blow it all off. What could they do to him if he didn’t sign them? The death penalty had been abolished, and even life sentences were on the way out. And so? Maybe with a good lawyer he could drag things out until his crime of refusal to apply his signature fell under the statute of limitations. There were even prime ministers who had benefited from this statute of limitations to dodge prosecution for much more serious crimes.
But then his sense of duty won out.
2
Augello came in without knocking or even saying hello. He looked downcast.
“What’s wrong, Mimì?”
“Nothing.”
“Come on, Mimì.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Come on,