into the kitchen to drink a little water.”
Montalbano had noticed some time ago that he didn’t hear as well as he used to. Nothing serious, but his hearing, like his vision, had dimmed. His ears used to be so keen he could hear the grass growing. Damned age!
“How’s your hearing?” he asked Gallo.
“I got sharp ears, Chief.”
“Try and see if you can hear anything.”
Gallo lay flat on the ground, belly down, and stuck his head inside the pit.
“I think I heard something.”
He covered his ears with his hands, took a deep breath, lowered his hands, then stuck his head into the pit again. Less than a minute later, he raised it and turned to look at Montalbano, a contented expression on his face.
“I heard him crying. I’m sure of it. He may’ve hurt himself when he fell. But it sounded really, really far away. How deep is this pit?”
“Well, injured or not, at least we know he’s alive. And that’s very good news.”
At that moment Ruggero reappeared, said mrrrow, blithely hopped into the hole, and disappeared.
“He went to visit him,” said the inspector.
Gallo made as if to get up, but Montalbano held him back.
“Wait a minute,” he said.“Try and see if you can still hear the kid crying.”
Gallo obeyed. He listened a long time, then said:
“No, I don’t hear anything anymore.”
“You see? Having Ruggero there comforts him.”
“What do we do now?”
“Now I’m going into the kitchen to have myself a beer. You want one, too?”
“Nah, I think I’ll have an orangeade. I saw some in the fridge.”
They felt satisfied, even though they still had a long and difficult task ahead of them trying to pull the little boy out of the hole.
Montalbano drank his bottle of beer slowly, then called Livia.
“He’s alive.”
He told her the whole story. When he’d finished, Livia asked:
“Should I tell Laura?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to be so easy to pull him out, and the firemen aren’t even here yet.You’d better not tell her anything yet. Is Guido still there with you?”
“No, he drove us to Marinella and now is on his way back to you.”
One could immediately tell that the captain of the six-man squad of firemen was someone who knew how to do his job. Montalbano explained to him what he thought had happened, mentioned the shift in the ground that had occurred several days earlier, and told him of his impression that the house was listing slightly.The captain pulled out a spirit level and a plumb line and checked.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s listing.”
Then he got down to work. First he tested the ground around the house with a sort of steel-tipped stick, then he looked around inside the house, stopping to examine the crack in the living room floor through which the cockroaches had entered, then he came back outside. He stuck a sort of flexible metal measuring tape into the pit, let it play out a long way, then rewound it, stuck it back in, then rewound it again. He was trying to find out how deep the pit might be.
“There’s a sort of inclined plane in there,” he said after doing some math, “which begins almost directly under the smaller bathroom window and ends under the window of the bedroom, about twenty feet down.”
“You mean the depression runs the full length of this side of the house?” asked Guido.
“Exactly,” said the fire chief. “Which is a very strange path for it to follow.”
“Why?” asked Montalbano.
“Because if the depression was caused by rainwater, that means there is something underneath that diminished the water’s force of penetration, preventing it from spreading entirely through the ground and being for the most part reabsorbed. The water came up against an obstacle, a kind of solid barrier, which forced it to follow an inclined plane.”
“Can you handle it?”
“We need to proceed with extreme caution” was the fire chief ’s reply.“Because the soil
Montalbano had noticed some time ago that he didn’t hear as well as he used to. Nothing serious, but his hearing, like his vision, had dimmed. His ears used to be so keen he could hear the grass growing. Damned age!
“How’s your hearing?” he asked Gallo.
“I got sharp ears, Chief.”
“Try and see if you can hear anything.”
Gallo lay flat on the ground, belly down, and stuck his head inside the pit.
“I think I heard something.”
He covered his ears with his hands, took a deep breath, lowered his hands, then stuck his head into the pit again. Less than a minute later, he raised it and turned to look at Montalbano, a contented expression on his face.
“I heard him crying. I’m sure of it. He may’ve hurt himself when he fell. But it sounded really, really far away. How deep is this pit?”
“Well, injured or not, at least we know he’s alive. And that’s very good news.”
At that moment Ruggero reappeared, said mrrrow, blithely hopped into the hole, and disappeared.
“He went to visit him,” said the inspector.
Gallo made as if to get up, but Montalbano held him back.
“Wait a minute,” he said.“Try and see if you can still hear the kid crying.”
Gallo obeyed. He listened a long time, then said:
“No, I don’t hear anything anymore.”
“You see? Having Ruggero there comforts him.”
“What do we do now?”
“Now I’m going into the kitchen to have myself a beer. You want one, too?”
“Nah, I think I’ll have an orangeade. I saw some in the fridge.”
They felt satisfied, even though they still had a long and difficult task ahead of them trying to pull the little boy out of the hole.
Montalbano drank his bottle of beer slowly, then called Livia.
“He’s alive.”
He told her the whole story. When he’d finished, Livia asked:
“Should I tell Laura?”
“Well, I don’t think it’s going to be so easy to pull him out, and the firemen aren’t even here yet.You’d better not tell her anything yet. Is Guido still there with you?”
“No, he drove us to Marinella and now is on his way back to you.”
One could immediately tell that the captain of the six-man squad of firemen was someone who knew how to do his job. Montalbano explained to him what he thought had happened, mentioned the shift in the ground that had occurred several days earlier, and told him of his impression that the house was listing slightly.The captain pulled out a spirit level and a plumb line and checked.
“You’re right,” he said. “It’s listing.”
Then he got down to work. First he tested the ground around the house with a sort of steel-tipped stick, then he looked around inside the house, stopping to examine the crack in the living room floor through which the cockroaches had entered, then he came back outside. He stuck a sort of flexible metal measuring tape into the pit, let it play out a long way, then rewound it, stuck it back in, then rewound it again. He was trying to find out how deep the pit might be.
“There’s a sort of inclined plane in there,” he said after doing some math, “which begins almost directly under the smaller bathroom window and ends under the window of the bedroom, about twenty feet down.”
“You mean the depression runs the full length of this side of the house?” asked Guido.
“Exactly,” said the fire chief. “Which is a very strange path for it to follow.”
“Why?” asked Montalbano.
“Because if the depression was caused by rainwater, that means there is something underneath that diminished the water’s force of penetration, preventing it from spreading entirely through the ground and being for the most part reabsorbed. The water came up against an obstacle, a kind of solid barrier, which forced it to follow an inclined plane.”
“Can you handle it?”
“We need to proceed with extreme caution” was the fire chief ’s reply.“Because the soil
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