a minute. Want me to go first to Brucale's and buy you a new shirt?'
'Yeah, thanks, and get me three while you're at it. But how'd you guess I needed shirts? Now you're the one with magical powers who talks to spirits!'
'No need to talk to spirits, Chief. I can see you didn't change your shirt this morning, and you really should have, 'cause one of the cuffs is stained with dried paint. Green paint,' he emphasized with a little smile, going out
Miss Michela Manganaro lived with her parents in a ten-storey public housing unit near the cemetery. Montalbano thought it best not to forewarn her of his coming, either by telephone or even via the intercom He'd just finished parking the car when he saw a man coming out of the main door.
'Excuse me, could you tell me what floor the Mang anaros live on?'
'Fifth floor, damn it all!'
'What have you got against the Manganaros?'
Tor a week now the lifts only go up to the fifth floor. And I live on the tenth! I have to climb those stairs twice a day! They've always been lucky bastards, those Manganaros. Just imagine, a few years ago they even won the numbers!'
'Did they win much? ’
'Small potatoes. But can you imagine the self-satisfaction?'
Montalbano went into the lift and pressed the button for the fifth floor. The lift went up and stopped at the third floor. He tried everything, but the thing wouldn't budge. Forced to climb up two flights of stairs, he consoled himself with the thought that at least he'd been spared the other three.
‘ Whoozat?' an elderly woman's voice called out from behind the door.
'Montalbano's the name. I'm a police inspector.' 'What do you want from us?'
‘I need to talk to your daughter Michela. Is she at home? ’
'Yes, but she's lying down. Got a touch of the flu. Wait just a minute while I call my husband.'
There followed a shout that momentarily startled Montalbano.
‘ Fili! Com'ere! There's some guy here says he's a police inspector!'
Apparently he hadn't succeeded in convincing the lady, to judge by that 'says'.
Then, still behind the locked door, the woman said:
'Talk loud 'cause my husband's deaf!'
'Whoozat?' said a man's voice this time, sounding irritated.
‘I’ m with the police, open up!'
He'd yelled so loudly that, even as the Manganaros' door remained stubbornly closed, the other two doors on the landing opened, and two spectators, one at each door, appeared: a little girl of about ten who was eating a morning snack, and a man of about fifty in a vest with a patch over his left eye.
'Speak louder, Manganaro's deaf,' was the friendly advice of the man in the vest.
Even louder? He did a few breathing exercises to ventilate his lungs, as he'd once seen a champion underwater diver do, and, having stored as much air as possible, he yelled:
‘P olice!'
He heard doors open simultaneously on the floors above and below, as some agitated voices began to ask:
What's going on? What's happening?'
The door to the Manganaro flat opened very very slowly, and then a parrot appeared. Or that, at least, was the inspector's first impression. Long yellow nose, purple cheeks, big, dark eyes, loud green shirt, and a tiny crest of red hair on his head.
'Come in,' the parrot muttered 'But please be quiet, my daughter's asleep. She doesn't feel so good.'
He showed the inspector into an incongruously Swedish-looking living room. Perched on a stand was Mr Manganaro's twin brother, who at least had the honesty to remain a bird and not pass himself off as a man. Manganaro's wife, a kind of injured sparrow accidentally or maliciously riddled with buckshot who dragged her left leg, entered the room carrying with difficulty a tiny tray with a demitasse of coffee.
It's already got sugar ’ she said, sitting down and making herself comfortable on the little sofa.
It was obvious her curiosity was eating her alive. She probably didn't have many opportunities to amuse herself, and she was settling in to enjoy this one.
Seeing how things are,
'Yeah, thanks, and get me three while you're at it. But how'd you guess I needed shirts? Now you're the one with magical powers who talks to spirits!'
'No need to talk to spirits, Chief. I can see you didn't change your shirt this morning, and you really should have, 'cause one of the cuffs is stained with dried paint. Green paint,' he emphasized with a little smile, going out
Miss Michela Manganaro lived with her parents in a ten-storey public housing unit near the cemetery. Montalbano thought it best not to forewarn her of his coming, either by telephone or even via the intercom He'd just finished parking the car when he saw a man coming out of the main door.
'Excuse me, could you tell me what floor the Mang anaros live on?'
'Fifth floor, damn it all!'
'What have you got against the Manganaros?'
Tor a week now the lifts only go up to the fifth floor. And I live on the tenth! I have to climb those stairs twice a day! They've always been lucky bastards, those Manganaros. Just imagine, a few years ago they even won the numbers!'
'Did they win much? ’
'Small potatoes. But can you imagine the self-satisfaction?'
Montalbano went into the lift and pressed the button for the fifth floor. The lift went up and stopped at the third floor. He tried everything, but the thing wouldn't budge. Forced to climb up two flights of stairs, he consoled himself with the thought that at least he'd been spared the other three.
‘ Whoozat?' an elderly woman's voice called out from behind the door.
'Montalbano's the name. I'm a police inspector.' 'What do you want from us?'
‘I need to talk to your daughter Michela. Is she at home? ’
'Yes, but she's lying down. Got a touch of the flu. Wait just a minute while I call my husband.'
There followed a shout that momentarily startled Montalbano.
‘ Fili! Com'ere! There's some guy here says he's a police inspector!'
Apparently he hadn't succeeded in convincing the lady, to judge by that 'says'.
Then, still behind the locked door, the woman said:
'Talk loud 'cause my husband's deaf!'
'Whoozat?' said a man's voice this time, sounding irritated.
‘I’ m with the police, open up!'
He'd yelled so loudly that, even as the Manganaros' door remained stubbornly closed, the other two doors on the landing opened, and two spectators, one at each door, appeared: a little girl of about ten who was eating a morning snack, and a man of about fifty in a vest with a patch over his left eye.
'Speak louder, Manganaro's deaf,' was the friendly advice of the man in the vest.
Even louder? He did a few breathing exercises to ventilate his lungs, as he'd once seen a champion underwater diver do, and, having stored as much air as possible, he yelled:
‘P olice!'
He heard doors open simultaneously on the floors above and below, as some agitated voices began to ask:
What's going on? What's happening?'
The door to the Manganaro flat opened very very slowly, and then a parrot appeared. Or that, at least, was the inspector's first impression. Long yellow nose, purple cheeks, big, dark eyes, loud green shirt, and a tiny crest of red hair on his head.
'Come in,' the parrot muttered 'But please be quiet, my daughter's asleep. She doesn't feel so good.'
He showed the inspector into an incongruously Swedish-looking living room. Perched on a stand was Mr Manganaro's twin brother, who at least had the honesty to remain a bird and not pass himself off as a man. Manganaro's wife, a kind of injured sparrow accidentally or maliciously riddled with buckshot who dragged her left leg, entered the room carrying with difficulty a tiny tray with a demitasse of coffee.
It's already got sugar ’ she said, sitting down and making herself comfortable on the little sofa.
It was obvious her curiosity was eating her alive. She probably didn't have many opportunities to amuse herself, and she was settling in to enjoy this one.
Seeing how things are,
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