TE23 Double Feature

A Conspiracy of Talkers

Gaetano Savatteri

missing a hand—a stump stuck out of one sleeve. He stepped forward obsequiously. “ Prego , Signor Lieutenant. I speak English.” “ Non si preoccupi, parlo italiano ,” Adano replied, and continued in Italian. “Is City Hall nearby? First thing tomorrow morning, I have to see the mayor.” The man’s eyes opened wide. Surprised and maybe disappointed, thought Adano, by my perfect Italian. “The mayor?” He tried to catch Semino’s eyes. Then he turned back to Adano. “The mayor, you said?” “The mayor, Signor Farrauto.” Adano reached for his leather portfolio. He’d read and reread the documents. He was sure. Baldassare Farrauto, appointed in August 1943, was mayor of this town. The proprietor of the hotel gasped, glancing around at the deserted street. He approached Semino and whispered something incomprehensible, a gesture more than a word. Semino remained expressionless, with the same blank face he wore while half of the jeep was dangling in midair off a turn on the mountain road near Vicari. 326

“The mayor had an accident. Two hours ago. They shot him, duiuandersten , Signor Lieutenant? He’s dead.”

3

A light coughing fit. Vincenzo Picipò didn’t open his eyes, because he’d never closed them. In the damp, cold darkness he turned towards Pino, his youngest son, lying on his side. The child was asleep, the delicate outline of his face pressed into the pillow. No, he hadn’t awakened. Another coughing fit, more severe. Pino was sick. Over the summer, the cough seemed to dry up, but now with the dampness that formed crusts of salt on the plaster walls, with the rain turning the streets to mud, it returned worse than ever. The doctor said the little boy was weak, white as an angel, a bit anemic. An angel. A plaster angel like the ones in the shrine of the Madonna. 327