The Dance of the Seagull

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Authors: Andrea Camilleri
Tags: thriller, Mystery
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well, he was drenched in sweat. Lighting a cigarette, he noticed that his hand was trembling. There was nothing to be done about it.
    What was keeping him on his feet was his anticipation of the fireman’s response after he went down into the well.
    How fucking long were they going to take to strap him in?
    “Can’t they move a little faster?” he said in frustration.
    “Calm down, Salvo. They’re moving as fast as they can.”
    At last they began to lower the fireman into the hole.
Matre santa
, how slow they were doing it! Just taking their merry old time! What, were they doing it just to drive him crazy? He couldn’t stand waiting any longer. Taking a few steps back, he bent down, picked up a rock and threw it against a piece of scrap iron.
    He missed by a good ten feet. He threw another rock and missed again. And again and again . . . After an eternity, he could tell by the sound of the crane that the fireman was coming back up to the surface.
    But when the man got to the rim of the well, he didn’t come all the way out. Only his head was visible. The fire chief drew near and whispered something in his ear. What the hell was this? And at that moment the inspector intercepted a glance between the fire chief and Mimì Augello. It was a matter of a split second, the batting of an eyelash. But enough for him to understand the meaning of it, as though the two had actually spoken.
    “You’ve found him! He’s in the well!”
    He leapt forward, but was blocked by Mimì, who grabbed him and held on tight. Gallo, Galluzzo, and Lamarca, as if by prior arrangement, encircled the two.
    “Come on, Salvo, stop this nonsense,” said Mimì. “Just calm down, for Chrissakes!”
    “Anyway, Chief, we don’t know yet whose body that is,” Gallo interjected.
    “Lamarca, do me a favor and call them all back here: Forensics, the prosecutor, the—” Augello began to say.
    “No!”
    Montalbano shouted so loudly that even the firemen turned around.
    “I’ll tell you when to call them. Got that?” he said, shoving Augello aside.
    Everybody looked at him in bewilderment. Suddenly he no longer felt tired. Now he was standing firm and steady, hands no longer trembling.
    “But why not? We’ll all save time that way,” said Augello.
    “I don’t want any outsiders to see him, all right? I don’t want it! We’ll cry over him first ourselves, and then we can call the others.”

6
    Walking with a decisive step, Montalbano went right up to the edge of the well so that he would be the first to see him. Dead silence fell over the scene, so dense that it weighed tons. The noise made by the crane sounded like a drill.
    The inspector then bent his whole body forward, came back up, turned towards his men, and said:
    “It’s not him.”
    Then his legs gave out, and he dropped slowly to his knees. Augello was quick to catch him before he fell on his face.
    Montalbano then confusedly saw someone seize hold of him and put him in the squad car. He saw them lay him down on the backseat. And this was the last thing he saw, because he immediately fell asleep, or lost consciousness, he couldn’t tell which. Gallo drove off like a rocket.

    After he didn’t know how long, he was woken up by a sudden braking that spilled him onto the floor of the car. He cursed the saints. Then he heard Gallo’s voice, also cursing.
    “Motherfucking dog!”
    To his surprise, he realized he felt rested. As if he’d had a whole night’s sleep.
    “How long have we been on the road?”
    “About an hour, Chief.”
    “So we’re near Montereale?”
    “That’s right, Chief.”
    “Have we already passed the Bar Reale?”
    “We’re just coming up to it.”
    “Good. Stop there.”
    “But, Chief, you need to rest and—”
    “Stop at the bar. I’ve had my rest, don’t you worry.”
    He downed two coffees, gave himself a thorough washing in the bathroom, then got back into the car.
    “Let’s go back.”
    “But, Chief . . .”
    “No arguments.

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