Death in Sardinia Read Online Free PDF Page B

be amused in his company. He said Jesus Christ was just a poor fanatic who had read too much Plato, and that was exactly why he liked him.
    But to believe he was the son of God was a bit much. Despite the sophistication of his arguments, Cayman cursed like a docker, and when he wasn’t talking he looked like the coarsest of them all. He had survived five years of mines and bombs only to die at the hands of a drunken Pole after the war had ended. Stabbed twice in the back for an empty wallet. Bordelli saw again the train that had taken Cayman back home: a train full of corpses crossing half of Italy, dropping off more dead at each stop. A dirty train driven by dirty men. But there was also something cheerful about it, because it travelled through a country free at last of Nazis and home-grown Fascists, a destroyed, shattered country that nevertheless hoped for something better than having to deal with pricks like Badalamenti.

16 December
    When he opened his eyes that morning, the first thing he thought of was his beating heart. Putting his hand on his chest, he had the impression it was more sluggish than usual. But it was only an impression, he told himself. It was already nine o’clock. Getting up out of bed, he immediately felt dizzy, but for only a second or two. No need to worry, Inspector, you’re just a little tired. You really ought to take some time off every now and then. A proper holiday. It’s probably been ten years since you last lay down on the sand by the sea, thinking of nothing …
    He went into the kitchen in his underpants to make some coffee, then drank it slowly, looking out the window. The sky was clean. He felt strange and ached a bit all over, but perhaps he’d only slept badly. He slowly got dressed and went into the bathroom to shave. Grabbing the shaving brush, he moistened it, slapped it across the soap a few times, and before lathering up his face, stood there with his hand in the air … He’d often heard such things as: He lathered up his face, started shaving, when suddenly, pow! He collapsed on the floor . No, he wouldn’t like that. He rinsed the brush and put it back in its cup. No shave today, he thought, looking at himself in the mirror … No shave, no heart attack. Not that he really believed it, but that morning he simply preferred not to shave, nothing more.
    He went out into the street and pulled his trench coat tightly around him. The sun was shining brightly, but it was cold. He bought a newspaper in Piazza Tasso and started walking towards Badalamenti’s building. On the front page blared the headline: the most amazing feat in aeronautics history: rendezvous in space . Gemini 6 and Gemini 7 had met up in weightless space, and the astronauts had waved ‘hello’ through their portholes. Everything had gone quite smoothly, and the Americans had reconfirmed their supremacy in matters of space travel.
    Bordelli folded up the newspaper and stuck it under his arm. Before long they would be travelling to the moon, while back on earth, loan sharks still preyed on honest people.
    There was only one week left before Christmas, and the shop windows were full of blinking lights and colourful festoons to enchant children of all ages. He absolutely had to remember to get a present for his friend Rosa, a former prostitute. He knew how much it meant to her. Even at her age, Rosa was as innocent as a child, and she loved getting presents. But Bordelli lacked imagination when it came to such things, and he feared that on the evening of the 24th he would still be wandering about the centre of town without any idea of what to get her.
    When he got to Badalamenti’s building, he opened the front door with a key and climbed the stairs to the top floor, feeling winded. Bloody cigarettes. He removed the seals and pushed the door open. The sickly-sweet smell of death was still strong and seemed to stick to his skin.
    He started wandering lazily about the flat. The rooms were rather large and had