The Marshal and the Madwoman Read Online Free PDF Page B

lovely table set—candles and everything. Mimmo played the accordion and we danced a bit after. Clementina danced. She had the time of her life—' He stopped, remembering, and shot another glance at the lifeless Clementina.
    'She . . . she had a drop too much and her face was red ... we even managed to get her to lay off cleaning for a bit.' He had dropped his voice as though afraid she might defend herself against such slander. 'We got her dancing. The lads were reckoning to fight over her—all in good fun, you know, no harm meant.'
    'Didn't it sometimes go a bit too far?'
    'No, no, I wouldn't say that.'
    'Franco says so,' the Marshal said, quick to take advantage.
    'He does? Well, if anything, the youngsters get carried away at times, but they weren't at the supper, they have better things to do at their age than eat with the old folks. They didn't come roaring back on their mopeds until after midnight. They might have teased her a bit but nothing more than usual. I mean, for her to have called you in the middle of the night like that. . .'
    Again this call business that the famous Franco had mentioned on the phone. For the moment he kept quiet about his ignorance of this call. Better check up on it with his boys first.
    'Go on with what happened this evening. You thought she must have had a hangover, is that it?'
    'Something like that. Or even a stomach upset. She did herself well last night and she's not used to eating so much. Anyway, seeing as the window was open and the scaffolding there . . .'
    'You climbed in.'
    'Did I do wrong? What if she'd needed help? Franco said—'
    'No, no. You did quite right, I'm sure.'
    'Franco would have done it himself but he's on the heavy side and though I say it myself, I'm pretty fit. I can still kick a ball around. In fact—'
    'So you climbed up here. Tell me exactly what you saw.'
    'I looked in the living-room and then the bedroom—the bedroom door was open—and then—' 'When you looked in the bedroom was the bed made?'
    'No, it was rumpled.'
    'Did you touch it?'
    'No, I didn't even go in, seeing as she wasn't there.'
    That, at least, was something.
    'Would she leave her bed unmade all day, do you think?'
    'Clementina? You're joking!'
    'I'm asking.'
    'You don't know her!'
    'No. Then if she'd been alive this morning she'd have made her bed?'
    'I should say so! Oh ... I see now what you're getting at. You think that all this time ... I mean since last night
    'Go on.'
    'Where was I? Oh, I came in here then and I saw her. She was half lying, half kneeling there,' he pointed to the cooker, 'with her head inside and the gas turned on.'
    The Marshal looked at the small window.
    'Was that open?'
    'No, I opened it. That was the first thing I did because of the smell—no, I went and touched her first. She looked dead but I'm no expert and you never know. So then I opened the window—'
    'Didn't you turn off the gas?'
    He hesitated. 'You're right, the gas, I suppose I must have done . . .' He looked at the cooker as if to make sure. 'I must have done . . . and then I opened the window and came back to get her head out of there. That was when I realized . . . she was going stiff. I've never had much to do with . . . you know what I mean. My mother died in the house but then you send for the woman that lays them out and until it's all been done you don't ... I came across a dog once—must have been run over—that was going stiff like that. I managed to drag her away from the oven. I suppose I was thinking of putting her on the bed but in the end I couldn't manage it with her being—anyway I covered her face up and then went to the front window and shouted to Franco to come up. I opened the door for him.'
    'Did he touch anything?'
    'Nothing at all. He said not to. As a matter of fact, he said I shouldn't have moved her but I—'
    'Don't worry.' The Marshal's opinion of Franco improved.
    'What if there'd been a chance, you see—'
    'You did your best. How long do you think you were in