Read Online The Scent of the Night by Andrea Camilleri - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrea Camilleri
Ads: Link
And she smiled. Or, rather, she gave one to imagine she was smiling, as she kept her head bowed, as was only proper in the company of a stranger. The parrot and the sparrow contemplated their baby with satisfaction.
At this point the girl raised her violet eyes and looked at Montalbano as though awaiting his questions. But in reality she was telling him something, quite clearly, without using any words:
Don't waste your time here, she was saying. I can't talk. Wait for me downstairs.
Message received, Montalbano's eyes replied.
The inspector decided not to waste any more time. He pretended to be surprised and put out.
'So you really were already interrogated? And it was all put on the record?'
'Of course.'
'But why haven't I seen anything?'
'Don't ask me. Ask Inspector Augello, who, aside from being totally conceited, is losing his head these days because he's getting married.'
And then there was light. What alerted him were the words 'totally conceited', which, in the presence of her old-fashioned parents, were definitely standing in for the word 'arsehole', far more pregnant in meaning, as literary critics used to say. But absolute certainty came immediately after that. The girl had surely granted her favours (as one says in the presence of old-fashioned parents) and Mimì , having lain with the aforesaid girl, had then disposed of her by revealing that he was engaged to be soon married.
He stood up. They all stood up.
‘I’ m terribly sorry,'he said.
They were all very understanding.
'These things happen’ said the parrot.
A small procession formed, with the girl at the head, the inspector next, then the father and behind him the mother. Watching the undulant movement in front of him, Montalbano felt green with envy towards Mimì ’ After opening the door, the girl extended her hand to him.
'Pleased to have met you,' she said with her mouth. But her eyes said: Wait for me.
He waited a little more than half an hour, the time Michela needed to doll herself up properly and get rid of the redness around her cute little nose. Montalbano saw her appear in the doorway and look around, whereupon he gave a light toot of the horn and opened the car door. The girl walked towards the car with an air of indifference, at a slow pace, but once she'd reached the car she hopped in quickly, shut the door, and said: 'Let's get out of here.'
Montalbano, who managed at that moment to notice that Michela had forgotten to put on a bra, put the car in gear and drove off.
‘I had to put up a fight. My parents didn't want to let me go out; they're worried I’ll have a relapse,' the girl said. Then she asked: 'Where should we go to talk?'
‘ You want to go to the police station?'
'And what if I run into that arsehole? ’
Thus were Montalbano's worst (and best) suspicions confirmed in a single stroke.
'Anyway, I don't like police stations,' Michela added.
'How about a cafe? ’
'Are you kidding? People gossip too much about me as it is. Although with you, I guess, there wouldn't be any danger of that.'
'Why not?'
'Because you're old enough to be my father.'
It would have been better if she'd stabbed him. The car swerved slightly.
'Down and out for the count,' said the girl by way of commentary. It's a strategy that often works to deflate ambitious old geezers. But it depends how you say it.'
Then she repeated it in an even deeper, more gravelly voice:
‘ You're old enough to be my father.' She'd managed to instil her voice with a heady savour of taboo and incest.
Montalbano couldn't help but imagine her next to him in bed, naked, sweaty, and panting. This, girl was dangerous. Not just beautiful, but a bitch.
'So, where are we going?' he asked in an authoritarian tone.
Where do you live?'
'There are people at my place.'
'Married?'
‘ No. Come on, are you going to make up your mind?'
‘I think I know a place,' Michela said. 'Take the second road on the right,'
The inspector quickly turned onto the
At this point the girl raised her violet eyes and looked at Montalbano as though awaiting his questions. But in reality she was telling him something, quite clearly, without using any words:
Don't waste your time here, she was saying. I can't talk. Wait for me downstairs.
Message received, Montalbano's eyes replied.
The inspector decided not to waste any more time. He pretended to be surprised and put out.
'So you really were already interrogated? And it was all put on the record?'
'Of course.'
'But why haven't I seen anything?'
'Don't ask me. Ask Inspector Augello, who, aside from being totally conceited, is losing his head these days because he's getting married.'
And then there was light. What alerted him were the words 'totally conceited', which, in the presence of her old-fashioned parents, were definitely standing in for the word 'arsehole', far more pregnant in meaning, as literary critics used to say. But absolute certainty came immediately after that. The girl had surely granted her favours (as one says in the presence of old-fashioned parents) and Mimì , having lain with the aforesaid girl, had then disposed of her by revealing that he was engaged to be soon married.
He stood up. They all stood up.
‘I’ m terribly sorry,'he said.
They were all very understanding.
'These things happen’ said the parrot.
A small procession formed, with the girl at the head, the inspector next, then the father and behind him the mother. Watching the undulant movement in front of him, Montalbano felt green with envy towards Mimì ’ After opening the door, the girl extended her hand to him.
'Pleased to have met you,' she said with her mouth. But her eyes said: Wait for me.
He waited a little more than half an hour, the time Michela needed to doll herself up properly and get rid of the redness around her cute little nose. Montalbano saw her appear in the doorway and look around, whereupon he gave a light toot of the horn and opened the car door. The girl walked towards the car with an air of indifference, at a slow pace, but once she'd reached the car she hopped in quickly, shut the door, and said: 'Let's get out of here.'
Montalbano, who managed at that moment to notice that Michela had forgotten to put on a bra, put the car in gear and drove off.
‘I had to put up a fight. My parents didn't want to let me go out; they're worried I’ll have a relapse,' the girl said. Then she asked: 'Where should we go to talk?'
‘ You want to go to the police station?'
'And what if I run into that arsehole? ’
Thus were Montalbano's worst (and best) suspicions confirmed in a single stroke.
'Anyway, I don't like police stations,' Michela added.
'How about a cafe? ’
'Are you kidding? People gossip too much about me as it is. Although with you, I guess, there wouldn't be any danger of that.'
'Why not?'
'Because you're old enough to be my father.'
It would have been better if she'd stabbed him. The car swerved slightly.
'Down and out for the count,' said the girl by way of commentary. It's a strategy that often works to deflate ambitious old geezers. But it depends how you say it.'
Then she repeated it in an even deeper, more gravelly voice:
‘ You're old enough to be my father.' She'd managed to instil her voice with a heady savour of taboo and incest.
Montalbano couldn't help but imagine her next to him in bed, naked, sweaty, and panting. This, girl was dangerous. Not just beautiful, but a bitch.
'So, where are we going?' he asked in an authoritarian tone.
Where do you live?'
'There are people at my place.'
'Married?'
‘ No. Come on, are you going to make up your mind?'
‘I think I know a place,' Michela said. 'Take the second road on the right,'
The inspector quickly turned onto the
Similar Books
