Judge Surra (2 page)

“What are those cakes called?” he said to a waiter behind the counter.

“
Cannoli
, Excellency.”

Could they possibly have recognised him already?

“I'll have one.”

He ate it standing at the bar. Madonna! It was really good.

“I'll have another.”

He went over to the till to pay, but the cashier waved him away. “It's been paid for.”

“Paid for? By whom?” The judge could not conceal his disbelief.

“By Don Nené Lonero.”

The judge turned and looked around the room. At one table four men were seated, one with a beret and two with hats. A stocky fifty-year-old man, with fair skin and reddish hair, rose to his feet, removed his hat and said: “Accept it as a gesture of welcome.”

Without replying, the judge turned back to the cashier and stared him straight in the face. The cashier felt a cold quiver run down his spine. What eyes that man had! Blue and ice-cold, like the sky on a winter's morning. Then, without another word, Surra placed a large coin in front of him. The cashier, head bowed, gave him his change. The judge moved slowly over to the table where Don Nené was still on his feet, glowering at the snub. Inside the caffè, there fell a silence that could have been cut with a knife.

“Are you Emanuele Lonero?”

“I am.”

“I'd like to take advantage of this opportunity,” the judge said, with a courteous smile.

“To do what?” Don Nené asked.

“Be patient one moment.”

He took the anonymous letter from his pocket, opened it out, took his glasses from his waistcoat pocket, calmly put them on and finally spoke in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear: “I do not know who each of you is, and I have no wish to know, but it appears that you have unlawfully taken the records of the hearings of proceedings against Milioto, Savastano, Curreli and Costantino. Be good enough to return them to the court within the next twenty-four hours.”

He replaced the letter in his pocket, took off his glasses, returned them to his waistcoat, turned his back on Don Nené, who stood rooted to the spot, and went out.

He understood immediately that he had committed a bad mistake.

He should have taken only one
cannolo
, not two. If he went to lie down straightaway, with his stomach bloated by the ricotta, he would never get to sleep. There was nothing for it but to walk about for at least an hour.

The third time he came back up the
corso
, two well-dressed men coming towards him changed direction slightly so that one of them almost brushed against him.

It was at that point that the judge heard a voice say almost in a whisper, “Bravo! You deserve respect.”

He stopped in his tracks, astounded. Had someone really said to him – Bravo! Why? What had he done? He could find no explanation. Perhaps eating two
cannoli
one after the other was a proof of virility in these parts? It would be no easy feat to understand them, these Sicilians.

HE WAS AWAKENED AT SIX BY AN EAR-SPLITTING YELL FROM THE
street below. He jumped out of bed, threw open the window and looked down. The shout came from a peasant holding under his arm a basket filled with eggs. The yell rang out once more. In the house opposite, a woman leant over a balcony ringed with flowers and lowered down a basket attached to a length of rope. The peasant picked out the cash inside, replaced it with four eggs and continued on his way. The judge was about to close the window again when a doleful female howl sounded along the street. He turned back to see an aged woman dressed in rags selling vegetables. What made them wail in that way when advertising their wares?

He noticed that along the street they were erecting stalls for the market. He went back to bed for a little before getting up to wash and dress. At seven-thirty, he heard a knock at the door. He went over to open it.

“At your service. My name's Pippina.”

She was stout, smiling and pleasant, and inspired trust. The judge asked how much she would expect on a monthly basis for her work, and received in reply an incredibly low figure. The judge told her what he preferred to eat at lunch and dinner and gave her money for the purchases. He also gave her the house keys, he himself already having another set. When the woman left, he wrote a letter to his wife, and at quarter to nine got ready to go out. He opened the door and found Attanasio standing there.

“I was just coming, Excellency.”

“I haven't any time for the dog now.”

“I'm not here about the dog,” Attanasio replied, brusquely.

“What, then?”

“This morning, it'd be better for Your Excellency to take the carriage to the court.”

“Why? It's not raining. It's a lovely day.”

“Trust me. Take the carriage.”

The judge grew irritated. What absurd airs this Attanasio was giving himself!

“That's enough. I've decided to go on foot.”

“Then will Your Excellency allow me to accompany you?”

“No,” he replied firmly.

Attanasio stretched out his arms in resignation, and let him pass.

The street was now very busy. There were not only women but also many men circulating among the stalls. At one, there
were some highly coloured cakes on sale. He hesitated a moment, then gave a deep sigh.

The street was on a slight incline, and the stalls ended at a curve in the road. Three men were standing there chatting among themselves, with another five further on who seemed to have nothing to do, but who appeared to be waiting for somebody or something. One of the three came forward with a bow.

“Good morning, Judge Surra.”

Who could he be? Surra returned the greeting, raising his hat for a moment then replacing it.

Just as he took away his hand, the hat was blown away violently, as though caught by a sudden gust of wind.

At the same time, he heard a dry crack, like a branch snapping, coming from somewhere high above him, to one side.

He thought he saw a vase of flowers falling from a balcony towards his head.

He leapt to one side, went over to pick up his hat and replaced it on his head.

Now there was no-one on the street.

All vanished in a trice. How could that be? How odd!

*

Nicolosi, the head clerk, was standing at the door of the court to receive him. He introduced him to the three assistant clerks and the two ushers. Lined up one alongside the other, the six immediately broke into applause. Taken aback, the judge could do no more than mutter a word of thanks.

“Your hat, Excellency,” Nicolosi said respectfully.

The judge, even more astounded, took it off and gave it to him. What strange habits they had in these parts! What curious rituals!

“We should place it in a glass display case, like a relic,” Nicolosi went on.

Were they mad? Or was this a joke in dubious taste? Or was it part of some ceremony of welcome?

“But I need my hat,” the judge protested.

“You need a new one, because this one … Don't you see, Excellency?”

And he showed it to him. Only then did the judge notice that a piece was missing from the back rim. Clearly, when it had blown off, it had ended up against some sharp edge. A pity, for he had had it no more than three months.

“Is everyone else here?”

“Every one of them, Excellency. They're waiting for you in the meeting room.”

“The carabinieri?”

“They're here too. They're clearing out three rooms on the far side of the yard for use as their offices.”

“Good. Take me to meet them, will you?”

*

The meeting was fairly short, no more than an hour. More than anything else, it was an opportunity for each side to get to know the other. Just as they were winding up, two men came
in to receive an enthusiastic greeting from those present. Paolantonio, presiding judge in the local divisional court, introduced them to Surra. The newcomers were two further judges, Moresco and Colla, who had decided to cooperate.

“After all that's been going on, we felt we really ought to be here,” Colla said, shaking his hand.

What had been going on? Surra was bewildered, but he preferred to remain silent.

The meeting broke up, but there was a general willingness to press on with unfinished work. They agreed to meet again at the same time the following day.

Judge Surra had asked Nicolosi to draw up an inventory of all that was required to get the court in working order. He would make a withdrawal from the budget set aside in the prefecture.

Nicolosi handed it to him and the judge then asked if he could visit the court building itself.

The disorder was indescribable. Cabinets thrown open with registers and folders hanging out, case notes and files spilling out from them onto the floor … dossiers everywhere, in the corridors, on the windowsills, in the packed cupboards … complete chaos.

Even on the most optimistic assessment, it would take the minimum of a week to make any headway.

“Get the ushers and carabinieri as well as the clerks to give you a hand. If need be, call in some men to do the heavy lifting work. And hire some women to clean up.”

He had scarcely left himself enough time to buy a new hat before returning home for lunch.

*

Which was simple but delicious. That Pippina knew her business – the apartment had been thoroughly tidied too. He took a little rest, then wrote minutes of the morning meeting. He freshened himself up before going over to the stables.

“Attanasio, do you know where President Fallarino lives?”

“Yes, Excellency. He has a villa outside the town.”

“Let's go there.”

*

“To what do I owe this honour?”

Ex-President Fallarino was a tall, fair, thin, severe and imposing man. He received Surra in a book-lined study.

“In the first place, I regarded it as a duty to come and pay my respects.”

“And in the second place?”

If he imagined he would cause Surra to lose his composure by his abrupt manners, he was mistaken. “To ask if you would have the courtesy to assist me.”

“Me, assist you? But you must know who I am …”

“Your Honour,” the judge interrupted him firmly, “I am aware of your political convictions and, although my ideas are opposed to yours, I admire the consistency of your conduct. But we do have one thing in common.”

“That is?”

“A sincere, respectful love of justice.”

“I will not return to the court,” Fallarino replied after a brief pause.

“I do not ask that of you. But justice is done by men, and I do not know the men who have chosen to resume service with me.”

“In the meeting this morning, did you tell them you'd be coming to see me?”

So he knew about the meeting!

“I did not consider it advisable.”

“That was wise.”

“Why?”

“Not all of them would have approved. You know better than me that a court of law works best when there is mutual respect and esteem among the men at every level. Here, especially recently, that esteem has been in short supply, and incomers have been put in charge.”

“It's the same everywhere.”

“Yes, but more so here than elsewhere. At any rate, you will appreciate that I cannot assist you. Some of those who were there this morning were my most ferocious accusers. Any judgement on them coming from me would be liable to be viewed as partisan. I am grateful for your trust, but my reply is – I can be of no assistance.”

“Give me at least one name. Among those who attended today's meeting, who would be most opposed to my coming here?”

Fallarino's face softened momentarily into the faintest of smiles.

“You are very shrewd. Paolantonio.”

“May I ask one more favour and then I'll leave you in peace. Read this.”

He pulled the anonymous letter from his pocket and handed it to Fallarino, who read it and gave it back.

“What do you think?” Surra asked.

“It's puzzling.”

“Why?”

“Because the anonymous writer does not explain exactly how things went. It was this that led you astray last night in the Caffè
Arnone
when you asked Don Nené to return the papers which had been unlawfully removed.”

The judge was taken aback. So he knew this too!

“And how did things go exactly?”

“Don Nené Lonero courteously requested these papers from one of our judges, who with equal courtesy acceded to the request.”

“But this is a very serious crime!” Surra said. “Why did those papers interest him?”

“Presumably because they related to trials for murder or kidnap, very serious crimes indeed. I had instituted the enquiries myself. Against members of the brotherhood of which Don Nené is head.”

“And what is this brotherhood?” the judge asked.

“You are plainly unaware of the report drawn up by Don Pietro Ulloa, the procurator general at Trapani. It is highly instructive, and the situation has not changed in any way since then.”

He got to his feet, walked over to his bookcase and came back with a book in his hand.

“Let me make you a present of it. I have another copy.”

He remained standing, indicating that the visit was over. Surra too got up.

“You cannot refuse to give me the name of the person who gave the papers to Lonero. That would constitute conspiracy.”

“I have already given you one name. That will suffice.” Fallarino smiled again and offered him his hand.

HOWEVER, HE INSISTED ON ACCOMPANYING HIM TO THE CARRIAGE
.

“Come and see me any time you wish,” he said, once again shaking his hand.

“Thank you. I will take advantage of that invitation.”

Just as the carriage was beginning to move off, Fallarino stepped onto the footboard, leant forward and looking Surra in the face said quietly: “I wish I'd had your courage.”