The Patience of the Spider (2 page)

You must stop pretending youre alive! Shame on you!

How does the poem go?

The poor man, not knowing how much hed bled, / kept on
fighting when in fact he was dead.

But the doctor says nothing and begins to sound his chest with
the stethoscope. As if he hasnt already done this at least twenty
times. Finally he straightens back up, looks over at his colleague, and
asks:

What do we do?

I would let Di Bartolo have a look at him, says the other.

Di Bartolo! A legend. Montalbano had met him a while back. By
now he must be over seventy. A skinny old man with a little white
beard that made him look like a goat, he could no longer conform to
human society or the rules of common courtesy. Once, after examining,
in a manner of speaking, a man known to be a ruthless loan shark, he
told the patient he couldnt tell him anything because he was unable to
locate his heart. Another time, in a cafhe said to a man hed never
seen before, who was sipping a coffee, Do you know youre about to
have a heart attack? And lo and behold, he had a heart attack right
then and there, maybe because a luminary such as Di Bartolo had just
told him it was coming.

But why do these two want to call in Di Bartolo if there is
nothing more to be done? Maybe they want to show the old master
what a phenomenon this Montalbano is, the way he inexplicably
goes on living with a heart that looks like Dresden after the Allied
bombing.

While waiting, they decide to take him back to his room. As
theyre opening the door to push the stretcher through, he hears
Livias voice call out desperately:

Salvo! Salvo!

He doesnt feel like answering. Poor thing! Shed come down to
Vig to spend a few days with him and got this nice surprise instead.

What a nice surprise! Livia had said to him the day before,
when, upon his return from a check-up at Montelusa Hospital,
hed appeared in the doorway with a large bouquet of
roses in his hands. And shed burst into tears.

Come on, dont start! hed said, barely holding back
himself.

Why shouldnt I?

Well, you never have before!

And when have you ever given me a bouquet of roses
before?

He lays his hand on her hip, but gently, so as not to wake
her.

Hed forgottenor else hadnt noticed during his earlier meetings
with himthat Dr. Di Bartolo not only looked but also sounded like
a goat.

Good day, everybody, he bleats upon entering, followed by ten
or so doctors, all dressed without fail in white smocks and crowding
into the room.

Good day, replies everybodythat is, Montalbano, since hes
the only body in the room when the doctor appears.

Di Bartolo approaches the bed and looks at him with interest.

Im glad to see that, despite my colleagues efforts, you can still
understand and know what you want.

He makes a gesture and Strazzera appears beside him and hands
him the test results. Di Bartolo barely glances at the first sheet and then
tosses it onto the bed, does the same with the second, ditto the third and
the fourth. In a matter of seconds, Montalbanos head and torso disappear
under the paper. In the end he hears the doctors voice but cant see
him because the photos of the telecardiogram are over his eyes.

Mind telling me why you called me here?

The bleat sounds rather irritated. Apparently the goat is getting
ornery.

Well, Doctor, Strazzeras voice hesitantly begins, the fact is,
one of the inspectors men told us that a few days ago hed had a serious
episode of...

Of what? Montalbano can no longer hear Strazzera. Maybe hes
telling the next installment in Di Bartolos ear. Installment? This
isnt some soap opera. Strazzera said episode. But isnt a soap
opera installment called an episode?

Pull him up for me, orders Dr. Di Bartolo.

They remove the sheets of paper covering him and gently lift him
up. A circle of doctors in white surround the bed, religiously silent. Di
Bartolo applies the stethoscope to Montalbanos chest, moves it a few
centimeters, then moves it a few more centimeters and stops. Seeing his
face so close, the inspector notices that the doctors jaws are moving continuously,
as if he were chewing gum. All at once, he understands.The
doctor is ruminating. Dr. Di Bartolo actually is a goat. Who now
hasnt moved for a long time. Hes listening, immobile. What do his
ears hear in there? Montalbano wonders. Buildings collapsing? Fissures
suddenly opening up? Subterranean rumbles? Di Bartolo keeps
listening interminably, not moving one millimeter from the spot hes
singled out. Doesnt it hurt his back to stay bent over like that? The
inspector begins to sweat from fear.The doctor straightens up.

Thats enough.

The other doctors set Montalbano back down.

In my opinion, the luminary concludes, you could shoot him
another three or four times, extract the bullets without anesthesia, and
his heart would definitely stand up to it.

Then he leaves, without saying goodbye to anyone.

Ten minutes later, the inspectors in the operating room.Theres a
bright white light. A man stands over him, holding a kind of mask in
his hand, which he places over Montalbanos face.

Breathe deeply, he says.

He obeys. And cant remember anything else.

How is it, he asks himself, they havent yet invented an aerosol cartridge
for when you cant sleep? Something you stick it in your nose
and push, and the gas or whatever it is comes out, and you fall asleep
right away?

That would be handy, an anti-insomnia anesthesia. He suddenly
feels thirsty, gets out of bed gingerly, to avoid waking
Livia, goes into the kitchen, and pours himself a glass of mineral
water from an already open bottle. Now what? He decides
to exercise his right arm a little, the way the physical therapist
taught him. One, two, three, and four. One, two, three, and
four. The arm works fine. Well enough for him to drive with
ease.

Strazzera was absolutely right. Except that sometimes his
arm falls asleep, the way your leg does when you stay in the
same position for too long without moving and the whole
limb feels full of pins and needles. Or armies of ants. He
drinks another glass of water and goes back to bed. Feeling

him slip under the covers, Livia murmurs something and turns
her back to him.

Water, he implores, opening his eyes.

Livia pours him a glass, holding his head up with her hand at the
base of the skull so he can drink.Then she puts the glass back on the
nightstand and disappears from the inspectors field of vision. He
manages to sit up a little in bed. Livias standing in front of the window,
and Dr. Strazzera is beside her, talking to her at great length.
Montalbano hears a little giggle come from Livia.What a witty guy,
this Dr. Strazzera! And why is he hanging all over Livia? And why
doesnt she feel the need to take a step back? Okay, Ill show them.

Water!he yells in rage.

Livia jumps, startled.

Why is he drinking so much? Livia asks.

It must be an effect of the anesthetic, says Strazzera. And he
adds: But, you know, Livia, the operation was childs play. I was
even able to make it so that the scar will be practically invisible.

Livia gives the doctor a grateful smile, which infuriates the inspector
even more.

An invisible scar! So he wont have any problem entering the
next Mr. Muscle competition.

Speaking of muscle, or whatever you want to call it ...He
slides over, ever so gently, until his body is pressed up against
Livias back. She seems to appreciate the contact, to judge by
the way she moans in her sleep.

Montalbano extends a cupped hand and places it over one

of her tits. As if by conditioned reflex, Livia puts her hand over
his. But here the operation grinds to a halt. Because Montalbano
knows perfectly well that if he proceeds any further,
Livia will put an immediate stop to it. Its already happened
once, on his first night back from the hospital.

No, Salvo. Out of the question. Im afraid you might
hurt yourself.

Come on, Livia. Its my shoulder that was injured, not
my

Dont be vulgar. Dont you understand? I wouldnt feel
comfortable, Id be afraid to . . .

But his muscle, or whatever you want to call it, doesnt
understand these fears. It has no brain, is not used to thinking.
It refuses to listen to reason. So it just stays there, bloated with
rage and desire.

Fear.Terror. He begins to feel this the second day after the operation,
when, around nine in the morning, the wound starts to throb
painfully.Why does it hurt so much? Did they forget a piece of gauze
in there, as so often happens? Or maybe not gauze, but a ten-inch
scalpel? Livia notices at once and calls Strazzera.Who comes running,
probably leaving in the middle of some open-heart surgery. But thats
how things are now: The moment Livia calls, Strazzera comes run-
ning.The doctor says the reaction was to be expected, theres no reason
for Livia to be alarmed. And he sticks another needle into Montalbano.
Less than ten minutes later, two things happen: first, the pain
starts to subside; and second, Livia says:

The commissioners here.

And she leaves. Bonetti-Alderighi enters the room accompanied by

the chief of his cabinet, Dr. Lattes, whose hands are folded in prayer, as

if he were at a dying mans bedside.
How are you? How are you? asks the commissioner.
How are you? How are you? Lattes echoes him, as in a litany.
The commissioner begins to speak, but Montalbano hears only

scraps of what hes saying, as if a strong wind were carrying away his
words.
. . . and therefore Ive recommended you be given a solemn

citation...
. . . solemn citation... echoes Lattes.
La-de-da-de-da-de-ation, says a voice in Montalbanos head.
Wind.
. . . while awaiting your return, Inspector Augello...
Oh good fellow, good fellow, says the same voice in his head.
Wind.
Eyelids drooping, inexorably closing.

Now his eyelids are drooping. Maybe he can finally fall asleep.
Just like this, pressed up against Livias warm body. But theres
that goddamn shutter that keeps wailing with every gust of
wind.

What to do? Open the window and try to close the shutter
more tightly? Not a chance. It would surely wake Livia up.
But maybe there is a solution. No harm in trying. Instead of
fighting the shutters wail, try to echo it, incorporate it in the
rhythm of his own breathing.

Iiiih! goes the shutter.
Iiiih! goes the inspector, softly, lips barely open.
Eeeeh! goes the shutter.

Eeeeh! echoes the inspector.
That time, however, he didnt keep his voice down. In a

flash, Livia opens her eyes and sits up in bed.
Salvo! Are you unwell?
Why?
You were moaning!
I must have been doing it in my sleep. Sorry. Go back to

sleep.
Goddamned window!

2

A gelid blast is blowing in through the wide-open window. Its always
that way in hospitals.They cure your appendicitis and then make you
die of pneumonia. Hes sitting in an armchair. Only two days left,
and he can finally go back to Marinella. But since six oclock that
morning, squads of women have been cleaning everything: corridors,
rooms, closets, windows, doorknobs, beds, chairs. Its as if a great cloud
of clean-up mania had descended on the place. Sheets, pillowcases,
blankets are changed, the bathroom sparkles so brightly its blinding;
you need sunglasses to go in there.

Whats going on? he asks a nurse whos come to help him get
back in bed.

Some big cheese is coming.

Who?

I dont know.

Listen, couldnt I just stay in the armchair?

No, you cant.

A little while later, Strazzera shows up, disappointed not to find
Livia in the room.

I think she might drop in later, Montalbano sets his mind at
rest.

But hes just being mean. He said might just to keep the doctor

on tenterhooks. Livia assured him shed be there to see him, only a lit

tle late.

So whos coming?

Petrotto.The undersecretary.

What for?

To congratulate you.

Fuck.Thats all he needs.The honorable Gianfranco Petrotto, former
chamber deputy, now undersecretary of the interior, though once
convicted for corruption, another time for graft, and a third time let off
the hook by the statute of limitations. An ex-Communist and ex-
Socialist, now a triumphant member of the party in power.

Couldnt you give me a shot to knock me out for three hours or
so? he implores Strazzera.

The doctor throws his hands up and goes out.

The honorable Gianfranco Petrotto arrives, preceded by a powerful
roar of applause that echoes through the corridor. But the only
people allowed to enter the room with him are the prefect, the commissioner,
the hospital superintendent, and a deputy from the politicos
retinue.

Everyone else, wait outside! he commands with a shout.

Then his mouth opens and closes, and he begins to talk. And
talk. And talk. He doesnt know that Montalbano has plugged his
ears with surgical cotton to the point where they feel like theyre about
to explode and cant hear the bullshit hes saying.

Its been a while now since the shutter stopped wailing. He
barely has time to look at the clockfour forty-fivebefore
he falls asleep at last.

In his sleep he could faintly hear the telephone ringing and
ringing.

He opened one eye, looked at the clock. Six oclock. Hed
slept barely an hour and fifteen minutes. He got up in a hurry,
wanting to stop the ringing before it reached Livia in the
depths of her sleep. He picked up the receiver.

Chief, whadd I do, wake you up?
Cat, its six in the morning. On the dot.
Actually my watch gots six oh tree.
That means its a little fast.
You sure bout that, Chief?
Absolutely.
Okay, so Ill put it tree minutes slow. Tanks, Chief.
Youre welcome.
Catarella hung up. Montalbano did likewise, then headed