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.”
And he got down.
The judge was shaken by that expression. Clearly, to bring the court to a point where it could operate normally would require clarity of thought, perseverance, determination, patience … but courage? That was overdoing it! What a weighty word! Yes, Sicilians tended to exaggerate, to dramatise, as he was beginning to understand.
“Where now?” Attanasio asked.
“To the prefecture.”
It took less than a quarter of an hour for the news of the shots fired at Judge Surra to spread all over the town.
The only one who was unaware of it was Surra himself, but it did not occur to a single soul that he had not understood that he had been the object of an attempt on his life, and in consequence his behaviour enlivened the discussion that afternoon at the Nobles’ Club.
“It’s exactly the same as a game of chess,” Don Agatino Smecca said. “One of the players is none other than our judge Surra who, at the Caffè Arnone, issued a public challenge to Don Nené Lonero. It was the judge who made the first move by asking for the return of the papers. A bold challenge, there’s no denying it. And one which the recipient accepted, and this morning he made his move by having Surra shot at.”
“That’s right,” Don Clemente Sommartino replied. “But you’ve got to add that the second move should be described as interlocutory. It was a warning, because it’s obvious to the whole world that if Don Nené wanted him killed, he was a dead man.” “Right enough,” Professor Sciacca said, “but this time I don’t think Don Nené is going to find it so easy to win this particular game. I would even go so far as to say there’s no way of knowing who’s going to come out on top. Judge Surra might look as though he’s nothing, but he must have balls of iron.”
“Iron! Reinforced steel!” Don Arturo Siccia cut in. “Listen to me. Did you hear what the eye witnesses recounted? After the shots were fired, as fresh and cool as a quartered chicken on a block, he bent down, picked up his hat, stuck it on his head without deigning even to glance at it, and went on his way to the court without uttering a word. What does he have in his veins? Ice?”
“If you want to know, I was there during the scene the other evening in the Caffè Arnone,” Doctor Piscopo said. “Mother of God, you should have seen him, icy-cold he was as he ordered Don Nené to hand back the papers. He even had a smile on his lips as he spoke.”
“That’s a man who’s not afraid of a living soul! And he’s going to give Don Nené just enough rope to hang himself,” Don Agatino Smecca said.
They all nodded.
*
The prefect was not at home. He was out of town and due back late. The judge took the money for the repairs to the courtroom to hand over to Nicolosi, but before returning home, he stopped at the Caffè Arnone to get them to wrap up two cannoli for him. So what if they would lie heavily on his stomach?
As he made his way home, he could not fail to notice a certain change in the attitude of passers-by towards him. Some, a clear majority, greeted him with evident warmth and even gave him a friendly smile, while a minority ostentatiously ignored him, turning away or hurriedly crossing the street to avoid him.
He could not understand what was going on.
God Almighty, was he not the same Surra he had been the night before? What was different about him? He had done nothing to justify such clear evidence of hostility from some and of friendliness from others.
A friend in Turin, himself a Sicilian, had warned him that Sicilians are much more volatile than they wish to appear. But how far did this go? Was there something amiss in his own behaviour? Perhaps some people were upset at his excessive fondness for cannoli, while others were pleased at his appreciation of a local product?
Ah well! He would never manage to fathom them!
He dined at home and intended to start reading the book which Fallarino had given him.
But he changed his mind and set to thinking how he should conduct himself with regard to Presiding Judge Paolantonio.
Two hours later, he believed he had come up with a solution and went to sleep.
*
“I am sorry to have to tell you that your request to be readmitted to judicial service has been rejected.”
Paolantonio turned pale.
“May I ask why?”
“You are fully entitled to know. You took possession, unlawfully, of court papers relating to a case which was still sub judice and thus covered by requirements of confidentiality, and you handed them to a third party when requested. I have no doubt you were perfectly aware of the gravity of the crime you were committing.”
The judge found it hard to reply. He wiped his sweating forehead with a handkerchief.
“There are some matters which … even against your own will …”
“There can be no justification for what you have done,” Surra cut him short. “I would also advise you that I consider it my duty to institute proceedings against you for this offence.”
Paolantonio’s face turned ashen.
“I … I beg you to spare me this …”
Judge Surra stared at him. Paolantonio trembled and fell silent.
“There might be a solution.”
“Tell me and I’ll …”
“Have the papers returned and bring them to me. Within the next two hours. You can take two of the clerks with you.”
He left the man struggling to rise from his seat, and went into the meeting room where they were all waiting for him.
“I apologise for being late, but I have just had a conversation with Judge Paolantonio. I informed him that his request for readmission to judicial duties has been refused. I believe you all know, or at least can guess, the reasons. Now, to work.”
As the meeting was breaking up, Nicolosi approached to whisper something in his ear. They agreed to meet again the following morning. For the moment it was better to leave the offices free to allow the cleaning ladies to get on with their work.
“Would Judges Moresco, Colla, Di Betta and Consolato be kind enough to come with me?”
They followed him out.
The four files which had gone missing were there on Judge Surra’s desk. They seemed to be in perfect order.
“Gentlemen, these are the case reports which were illicitly removed and which I have had brought back.”
The four judges glanced at each other stunned and amazed. What manner of man was this?
“Did you call in the carabinieri?” Colla asked.
“There was no need.”
He had managed to intimidate a man like Don Nené, on his own, without the backing of the police!
“I would like each of you, as soon as we are able to operate properly, to take responsibility for one of these four cases. I would like you to give them absolute priority. For the moment, I consider it prudent to keep these folders here, in my office, in the green cabinet, the only one for which I have a key. Good day, gentlemen.”
When the judges left the room, he called two clerks, asked them to clear one shelf of the green cabinet behind his desk, and had them place the four folders there. He locked it and put the key in his pocket.
The clerks went out. Surra stayed on a little to check the parcel with the stamps which had just arrived from Turin.
As he got up, the high back of his chair knocked against the doors of the green cabinet.
He moved the chair and the doors swung open.
How was this possible? He had locked it himself!
He attempted to lock it again and only then did he realise that the key turned round and round without engaging. He could not leave the files here, where anyone could get at them. They must be of great importance if the president of a divisional court had been prepared to risk prison to get hold of them.
He went into the corridor. The court offices were empty. Everyone was out at lunch. He noticed that a few metres from his door there was a massive black cupboard. He tried to open it. It was locked, and who knows where the key had ended up?
He had a moment of inspiration.
He went back to his office, took out the key of the green cabinet, put it into the keyhole of the black cupboard and turned it.
The cupboard opened. It was completely empty.
He tried the key again. It worked perfectly.
He moved the files into the black cupboard in the corridor and locked it. In his own office, by stuffing pieces of folded paper at the bottom of the doors, he managed to get them to close.
Then he went off home.
*
As the judge, savouring every mouthful, tasted for the first time Pippina’s fresh ricotta dessert, the news of the dismissal of Judge Paolantonio and of the return of the files went round the town.
Everyone considered Judge Surra’s moves to be ingenious and agreed that he had shown himself to be a skilled, astute and cool-headed gambler.
Perhaps the only man capable of making Don Nené lose his head.
“Don’t get a rush of blood, and above all don’t do anything rash,” were the very words spoken by Senator Pasquale Midulla to Don Nené, who stood trembling before him.
“But I can’t allow this bastard to spit in my face in front of everybody! I’ve got to do something. Don’t you understand? Otherwise I’ll lose face.”
He was almost foaming at the mouth.
“Let’s go about it this way,” the senator said. “Give him a second warning. And if he continues not to understand, I’ll have a word with him myself.”