Read Online The Brewer of Preston by Andrea Camilleri - Free Book Online Page B

water out, Hoffer noticed that behind him stood a group of motionless, almost statue-like people, consisting of a man of about fifty, a woman of about forty, a youngster of about twenty, and a girl of about sixteen. The two males were wearing woolen undershirts and undershorts. Apparently they had given their clothes to the women, who, being dressed only in nightgowns, were in fact covering their pudenda with men’s trousers and jackets.
    â€œYou liff in dis haus?” the engineer asked the motionless group.
    The group came to life.
    â€œWe’re the Pizzuto family,” the four said in unison.
    The fifty-year-old man took half a step forward and spoke.
    â€œI’m Antonio Pizzuto,” he said in a drawling, whiny voice. “We live on the ground floor of this house. When it caught fire we were sleeping with the windows closed.”
    â€œWith the windows closed,” echoed the others.
    â€œBecause earlier the place had turned into a shithouse,” Antonio Pizzuto continued.
    â€œA shithouse,” repeated the others.
    Engineer Hoffer was dumbfounded, being rather unfamiliar with classical studies. He didn’t realize that the Pizzuto family was essentially composed of a coryphaeus and an accompanying chorus.
    â€œExkuse me?” he said.
    â€œYessirree, a shithouse. With all this bullshit about inaugurating the theatre, carriages started arriving, dozens of them, from Montelusa, from Montechiuso, from Cavàra, from Fela, and wherever the hell else they came from.”
    â€œWherever the hell else they came from,” the chorus chimed.
    â€œFact is, the servants and coachmen, whenever nature called, would come behind the theatre to shit and piss in the little alleyway. And it got to stinking so bad that we had to close the windows.”
    â€œWe had to close the windows.”
    â€œAnd that’s why we didn’t realize in time what was happening. It’s a good thing my son, Nenè, got thirsty and went to drink a glass of water. Otherwise we would have been burnt to death, all of us.”
    â€œBurnt to death, all of us! Oh! Oh!” moaned the chorus.
    Meanwhile the first buckets of seawater were arriving, as the chain of men had been quickly assembled by Lieutenant Puglisi. Now the work could begin. Hoffer’s men took up their positions as if they had trained long and hard. Gripping the pump hose firmly, two of them directed it towards the entrance of the house in flames.
    â€œ
Achtung!
” the engineer shouted. “Prepare to extinkuish!”
    Looking at his men, he felt a lump of emotion rise up in his throat.
    â€œOpen!”
    Nardo Sciascia, hearing the order, opened the cold-water valve. At once a violent jet emerged. The two men holding the hose staggered, then directed the stream towards the blaze. In his excitement the engineer started dancing, first on one foot, then the other, like a bear.

    By dint of curses, obscenities, and shouts, Turiddru Macca managed to get past the cordon of soldiers on horseback. At once he found himself in front of his mother’s burning house, eyes full of tears from sorrow as much as from the gusts of acrid smoke. The fire was still for the most part confined to the ground floor, but evil tongues were rising towards the great window on the story above, where his mother had stood many times and waved at him. Turiddru was crying for fear of the danger his mother was in, but also for the beautiful apartment that was going up in smoke, those three rooms and kitchen where he and his family had hoped to move, out of their hovel and into more comfort and space, after Gnà Nunzia died—at the proper time, of course, in accordance with the will of God.
    â€œWhere’s my mother?” he frantically asked Puglisi. “Where’s Gnà Nunzia?”
    â€œWe haven’t seen her yet,” said Puglisi.
    â€œBut is she alive?”
    â€œHow should I know? We would have to enter the building, but