Judge Surra Read online

  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.

  3

  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, lean
t 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 cupb
oard. 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.”

  4

  JUDGE SURRA OPENED THE MEETING BY ANNOUNCING TWO ITEMS of news.

  The first was that head clerk Nicolosi had managed to locate the register of the trials underway at the time of the interruption of the court’s activities, and that consequently the present session would be devoted to an examination of the register, without prejudice to the commitment already made to prioritise the four cases where the files had been removed but then returned.

  The second piece of news was that two other magistrates, Di Cagno and Martorana, had applied to be re-admitted to the justiciary, and they would be in attendance at the following day’s meeting.