The Potter's Field

The inspector went into the kitchen and instinctively flipped the light switch. And the light came on. He filled a glass, turned to go back, and froze in the doorway, paralyzed. He was a statue, the kind they make nowadays, which could have been called Naked Man with Glass in Hand.

The room was lit up, but the commissioner was no longer there. Sitting in his place was a short, stocky man with a coppola on his head, whom Montalbano recognized at once. Totò Riina! He’d been freed from prison! So Bonetti-Alderighi hadn’t gone mad after all! What he’d said was the unvarnished truth!

“Evenin’,” said Riina. “Sorry to burst in on you like dis, an’ at dis hour, but I don’t got much time, and ousside dere’s a helicopter waitin’ a take me to Rome to form the new guv’ment. I already got a few names: Bernardo Provenzano for vice president, one of the Caruana brothers for foreign minister, Leoluca Bagarella at Defense . . . So I come here wit’ one quession for you, Inspector Montalbano, an’ you gotta tell me yes or no straightaway. You wanna be my minister of the interior?”

But before Montalbano could answer, Catarella appeared in the room. He must have come in through the open front door. He was holding a revolver in his hand and aiming it at the inspector. Big tears rolled down his cheeks.

“Chief, if you say yes to this ’ere criminal, I’m gonna kill you poissonally in poisson!”

Talking, however, distracted Catarella, and Riina, quick as a snake, whipped out his own gun and fired. The light in the room went out, and . . .

Montalbano woke up. The only real thing in the dream he’d just had was the storm rattling the shutters, which he had left open. He got up and closed them, then got back into bed after looking at the clock. Four in the morning. He wanted to seize hold of sleep again, but found himself arguing with the other Montalbano behind his stubbornly closed eyes.

What was the meaning of that dream?

Why do you want to find a meaning in it, Montalbà? Don’t you very often have dreams that don’t mean a goddamn thing?

That’s what you think, because you’re an ignorant beast. They may mean nothing to you, but go tell that to Dr. Freud, and you’ll see what he can pull out of them!

But why should I tell my dreams to Freud?

Because if you’re unable to explain your dream, or have it explained to you, you’ll never get back to sleep.

Oh, all right. Ask me a question.

Of all the things in the dream, what made the strongest impression on you?

The change.

Which one?

When I come out of the kitchen and find Totò Riina in Bonetti-Alderighi’s place.

Explain.

Well, in the place of the representative of the law, there’s the numero uno of the Mafia, the boss of people who are outside the law.

So, what you’re telling me is that in your own living room, in your own home, there with all your things, you found yourself playing host to the law and to people outside the law.

So what?

Could it be that in your mind the boundary between the law and those outside the law has been getting a little more blurry each day?

Cut the shit!

All right, let’s look at it another way. What did they ask of you?

Bonetti-Alderighi asked me to help him, to hide him at my house.

And did that surprise you?

Of course!

And what did Riina ask you?

He asked me to be his minister of the interior.

And did that surprise you?

Well, yeah.

Did it surprise you as much as the commissioner’s question? Or did it surprise you more? Or less? Answer sincerely.