Read Online Treasure Hunt by Andrea Camilleri - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrea Camilleri
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the words:
where does the street become tight
.
He got down from the chair, grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper, then climbed back up.
But he couldn’t see much. The sun had shifted and there wasn’t much light coming in through the window anymore.
He got down again, turned on the overhead light as well as the desk lamp, which he shone on the papers. Then he climbed back up on the chair. The desk lamp wasn’t aimed properly.
He got down, positioned it better, then climbed back up. The telephone rang.
He got down, cursing and laughing, feeling as if he were in a Beckett play.
“Ahh Chief, Chief! Ahh Chief!”
Usually Catarella reserved this Greek-choral exordium for telephone calls from the commissioner, the supreme deity, when Zeus manifested himself from Olympus.
“What is it?”
And indeed.
“’At’d be the C’mishner ’izzoner ’oo wants a talk t’yiz immidiotly!”
“Put him on.”
“Montalbano? What is this business?”
“What business, Mr. Commissioner?”
“Dr. Arquà has sent me a detailed report.”
He said he’d do it, and he did it, the motherfucking bastard. Let’s pretend to know nothing about it.
“A report on what, sir?”
“On your request for the Forensic Department’s intervention.”
“Ah, yes.”
“According to Dr. Arquà, you either wanted to play a silly joke on him, his team, Dr. Tommaseo, and Dr. Pasquano . . .”
Jesus, so many doctors! More than in a hospital!
“. . . or you are no longer able to tell the difference between a dead body and an inflatable doll.”
Montalbano decided he needed to summon legalese-bureaucratese to the rescue again
immidiotly
, as Catarella would say.
“Whereas, concerning the second part of the report drafted and just now submitted to you by Dr. Arquà, wherein I am apprised of being the object, not of any circumstantiated impugnment, but of a base and gratuitous insinuation that nevertheless proves prejudicial in my regard, I intend to avail myself of the right to a defense accorded me by august institutional authority in the face of the abovementioned—”
“Listen, it’s just a matter of—”
“Please let me finish.”
Dry and brusque, like someone who has suffered an offense to his dignity and honor.
“As concerns instead the first part, wherein the aforementioned doctor ascribes the occurrence in question to some carnivalesque impulse on my part, I find myself in the position, my better sense notwithstanding, of being forced to inform the cognizant jurisdictional authority of its easily demonstrated personal, incontrovertible accountability in the matter.”
“
Its
meaning whose, excuse me?”
“
Its
meaning yours, Mr. Commissioner.”
“Mine?!”
“Yessir, yours. With all due and unmitigated respect, sir, I would call to your attention that in accepting the Arquà report for perscrutation and then demanding an explanation of me, you effectively impugn me for what is a prejudicially foregone conclusion on your part, and in so doing endorse the hypothesis that I am a person capable of such silly jokes, thereby junking, in a single stroke, a distinguished, exemplary career spanning more than two decades and achieved through sacrifice and absolute devotion to work—”
“Good God, Montalbano!”
“—through hardship and honesty, with never a scam, never a kickback, irrespective of the contingency, notwithstanding the failure to securitize the—”
“Montalbano, stop it! I didn’t mean in any way to offend you!”
Now it was time to pull out the cracking voice, on the verge of tears.
“And yet you did! Perhaps without meaning to, but you did! And I am so pained, so aggrieved that—”
“Listen, Montalbano, hear me out. I really had no idea it would upset you so. Let’s drop the whole thing for now. Next time we have a chance, we can talk about it again, okay? But calmly, without getting excited, all right?”
“Thank you, Mr. Commissioner.”
He congratulated himself. He’d put on a
where does the street become tight
.
He got down from the chair, grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper, then climbed back up.
But he couldn’t see much. The sun had shifted and there wasn’t much light coming in through the window anymore.
He got down again, turned on the overhead light as well as the desk lamp, which he shone on the papers. Then he climbed back up on the chair. The desk lamp wasn’t aimed properly.
He got down, positioned it better, then climbed back up. The telephone rang.
He got down, cursing and laughing, feeling as if he were in a Beckett play.
“Ahh Chief, Chief! Ahh Chief!”
Usually Catarella reserved this Greek-choral exordium for telephone calls from the commissioner, the supreme deity, when Zeus manifested himself from Olympus.
“What is it?”
And indeed.
“’At’d be the C’mishner ’izzoner ’oo wants a talk t’yiz immidiotly!”
“Put him on.”
“Montalbano? What is this business?”
“What business, Mr. Commissioner?”
“Dr. Arquà has sent me a detailed report.”
He said he’d do it, and he did it, the motherfucking bastard. Let’s pretend to know nothing about it.
“A report on what, sir?”
“On your request for the Forensic Department’s intervention.”
“Ah, yes.”
“According to Dr. Arquà, you either wanted to play a silly joke on him, his team, Dr. Tommaseo, and Dr. Pasquano . . .”
Jesus, so many doctors! More than in a hospital!
“. . . or you are no longer able to tell the difference between a dead body and an inflatable doll.”
Montalbano decided he needed to summon legalese-bureaucratese to the rescue again
immidiotly
, as Catarella would say.
“Whereas, concerning the second part of the report drafted and just now submitted to you by Dr. Arquà, wherein I am apprised of being the object, not of any circumstantiated impugnment, but of a base and gratuitous insinuation that nevertheless proves prejudicial in my regard, I intend to avail myself of the right to a defense accorded me by august institutional authority in the face of the abovementioned—”
“Listen, it’s just a matter of—”
“Please let me finish.”
Dry and brusque, like someone who has suffered an offense to his dignity and honor.
“As concerns instead the first part, wherein the aforementioned doctor ascribes the occurrence in question to some carnivalesque impulse on my part, I find myself in the position, my better sense notwithstanding, of being forced to inform the cognizant jurisdictional authority of its easily demonstrated personal, incontrovertible accountability in the matter.”
“
Its
meaning whose, excuse me?”
“
Its
meaning yours, Mr. Commissioner.”
“Mine?!”
“Yessir, yours. With all due and unmitigated respect, sir, I would call to your attention that in accepting the Arquà report for perscrutation and then demanding an explanation of me, you effectively impugn me for what is a prejudicially foregone conclusion on your part, and in so doing endorse the hypothesis that I am a person capable of such silly jokes, thereby junking, in a single stroke, a distinguished, exemplary career spanning more than two decades and achieved through sacrifice and absolute devotion to work—”
“Good God, Montalbano!”
“—through hardship and honesty, with never a scam, never a kickback, irrespective of the contingency, notwithstanding the failure to securitize the—”
“Montalbano, stop it! I didn’t mean in any way to offend you!”
Now it was time to pull out the cracking voice, on the verge of tears.
“And yet you did! Perhaps without meaning to, but you did! And I am so pained, so aggrieved that—”
“Listen, Montalbano, hear me out. I really had no idea it would upset you so. Let’s drop the whole thing for now. Next time we have a chance, we can talk about it again, okay? But calmly, without getting excited, all right?”
“Thank you, Mr. Commissioner.”
He congratulated himself. He’d put on a
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