Rounding the Mark by Andrea Camilleri Read Free Book Online

across on two big boats that were shipping water and about to crash into the rocks at Lampedusa. From what I could gather, their guides abandoned them at sea and escaped on a dinghy. They were all about to drown, poor things. You know something, Montalbà? I don’t think I can stand to see any more of these wretched people. They—”
    “Tell it to your pals in the government.”
    Fazio came back with a pair of glasses.
    “The left eye’s a three, the right eye, two and a half.”
    Montalbano passed this information on.
    “Perfect,” said Riguccio. “Could you send them over to me? The patrol boats are docking right now.”
    For whatever reason, Montalbano decided to take them himself, personally in person, as Catarella would say. All things considered, Riguccio was an excellent fellow, and it wasn’t the end of the world if the inspector got to Ciccio Albanese’s house a little late.
    He was happy not to be in Riguccio’s shoes. The Montelusa commissioner’s office had asked the harbor authority that they be informed every time a new group of illegal immigrants arrived, and whenever this happened, Riguccio would head off to Vigàta with the requisite convoy of buses, police vans full of policemen, ambulances, and Jeeps, and was greeted every time by the same scenes of tragedy, tears, and sorrow. There were women giving birth, children lost in the confusion, people who’d lost their wits or fallen ill during endless journeys outside on the deck, exposed to the wind and the rain, and they all needed help. When they disembarked, the fresh sea air wasn’t enough to dispel the unbearable stench they carried with them, which was a smell not of unwashed bodies but of fear, anguish, and suffering, of despair that had reached the point beyond which lies only the hope of death. It was impossible to remain indifferent to all this, and that was why Riguccio had admitted he couldn’t stand it any longer.
    When he got to the port, the inspector noticed that the first patrol boat had already lowered its gangplank. The policemen had lined up in two parallel rows, forming a kind of human corridor all the way to the first bus, which was waiting with its motor running. Standing at the bottom of the gangplank, Riguccio thanked Montalbano and put the glasses on. The inspector got the impression his colleague was so intent on supervising the situation that he hadn’t even recognized him.
    Riguccio then gave the signal to begin the disembarkation. The first person to come out was a black woman with a belly so big she looked like she might give birth at any moment. She was unable to walk on her own. A sailor from the patrol boat and a black man helped her along. When they got to the ambulance, there was some shouting when the black man wanted to get in with the woman. The sailor tried to explain to the police that the man was surely her husband, since he’d had his arms around her the whole time on the boat. Nothing doing, it couldn’t be allowed. The ambulance pulled away with its siren wailing. The black man started crying, and the sailor took his arm, accompanying him to the bus and talking to him all the while. Feeling curious, the inspector approached them. The sailor was speaking a dialect; he must have hailed from Venice or somewhere thereabouts, and the black man didn’t understand a thing, but clearly felt comforted by the friendly sound of the sailor’s words.
    Montalbano had just decided to go back to his car when he saw a group of four refugees stumble and stagger as though drunk when they reached the end of the gangplank. For a moment he didn’t understand what was happening. Then he saw a small boy, not more than six years old, dart out between the legs of the four men. But the child disappeared as suddenly as he had appeared, passing through the formation of policemen in the twinkling of an eye. As two officers began to give chase, Montalbano saw the kid heading, with the instinct of a hunted animal, towards the