The Brewer of Preston by Andrea Camilleri Page A

sects.’”
    â€œWhat I would like to know—” said Cosimo Bellofiore, who until that point of the meeting had been completely silent.
    â€œJust another minute,” the Roman silenced him, already brandishing another document, “while I read a statement by the prefect of Montelusa, and I quote: ‘The discontent has now reached its peak. It has permeated every level of the citizenry, because no advantage, after more than a decade, has come of the many, very exacting sacrifices that Sicily has suffered for the sake of the unity of Italy, unless one excepts the moral and abstract gain of becoming part of a great nation—meagre consolation for those who have no more bread to appease their own or their families’ hunger.’”
    He put the document back, removed his spectacles, and ran a hand over his eyelids.
    â€œI’m done, but I could go on and keep citing the words of our enemies, which are exactly the same words we might ourselves use. Let’s make no mistake: Italy is a volcano ready to explode. And they know it and are scared. They put our comrades in jail, they find our weapons caches, they confiscate them or burn them up, but the next day new ones crop up, as many as were destroyed. And if we Mazzinians, here in Vigàta, don’t take advantage of the opportunity provided us tonight, we’re fools.”
    â€œWhat opportunity?” asked Cosimo.
    â€œThe opportunity we were given tonight, one hour ago, just as I said. When the people of Vigàta revolted against the prefect.”
    â€œSome revolt!” said Mazzaglia. “That was just an act of spite by certain people, a momentary thing.”
    â€œAnyway, ‘the people,’ as you call them, stayed home,” added Prestìa. “They didn’t go to the opera. The folks attending the opera were professionals, merchants, boat owners. The people, the ones who work in earnest, had already gone to bed.”
    â€œYou may well be right. But we must take advantage of the situation, make it bigger, make it irreparable. Let me explain. If things are left as they are, you can say all you want, but two days from now it will all be forgotten by everyone. But if we make this thing really big, everyone will be forced to talk about it, and not only here in Vigàta. Do you see what I mean? It has to become a national incident.”
    â€œHow?” asked Decu Garzìa, suddenly attentive. Any time there was trouble to be made, he was always ready to rush to the front of the line, even if he didn’t give a damn why the trouble had arisen in the first place.
    Traquandi wiped his lips and looked at each of them, one by one.
    â€œWe’re going to burn down the theatre.”
    Mazzaglia jumped out of his chair.
    â€œAre you joking? Anyway, look, the wind is blowing hard tonight, even assuming we were in agreement about burning down the theatre.”
    â€œWhat do you mean, the wind is blowing?”
    â€œThe flames could spread to other buildings, where people are sleeping.”
    â€œWhat the fuck do I care who’s sleeping? If somebody has to die, so much the better. It’ll create an even bigger stir.”

You know how I feel about this
    â€œY ou know how I feel about this,” Prefect Bortuzzi said sternly, frowning and leaning against the high back of his armchair. He was displeased with the back-and-forth discussion he had been having for the past half hour with his interlocutor, who, courteously but firmly, hadn’t budged a millimeter from his position.
    What do you expect from a Piedmontese?
thought Bortuzzi.
Piemontese falso e cortese
, as the saying went.
    â€œAnd you, likewise, know how
I
feel about it,” brutally replied Colonel Aymone Vidusso, commanding officer of the Royal Forces at Montelusa, looking Bortuzzi straight in the eye, and adding: “I find what is happening utterly senseless.”
    â€œSenseless?”
    â€œYes indeed,