[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
.TheMountie ordered a second right away.One of the women smiled and patted hisarm. I don t suppose any of you would remember Martin Galea? I asked them. The man who was killed? one of the younger women asked. Yes, that one.They looked suspiciously at me. I knew him in Canada, I said. Verywell-known architect.I& We, thought if he had family here, we d express ourcondolences, I lied.This seemed to allay their suspicions, but I could feelthe Mountie s law-abiding eyes boring into my back. There are lots of Galeas around here, but I don t remember anyone calledMartin, one woman said.She spoke to the older women and asked them somethingin Maltese.They all shook their heads.One woman added something, and theothers all nodded. You should go and see il Qanfud, the& What s the name in English? The&Hedgehog, the woman said.The Mountie and I looked at each other. Where might we find this& Hedgehog?he asked.The woman pointed us down the hill to an old man sitting in a chairoutside one of the shops. Take him a beer.His favorite is Cisk lager.He ll talk your ears off, oneof the women said.They all laughed. A bit crazy, but harmless enough, another added. What would we call him, if not Hedgehog? I asked.Page 49ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html Grazio, one woman replied.We thanked them and started down the hill towardthe Hedgehog. Why would you call someone a hedgehog? the Mountie asked no one inparticular. Beats me.But beer sounds like a good idea, I replied. You re driving, he said severely. Although come to think of it, I m notsure how you tell the drunk drivers from any others on the road.Takes apoliceman s breath away, the way they drive around here.We stopped and bought six cold Cisk lagers, and approached the man with adegree of caution.The Hedgehog was sitting in a battered lawn chair at thefoot of a flight of stone stairs leading to an upper part of the village.Hewas wearing a very old plaid shirt, a tattered tan cardigan, and ratherrumpled beige trousers, bare feet thrust into old sandals.He wore dark-rimmedglasses with very thick lenses, had grey hair and a rather grizzledappearance. Hello, I said in what I hoped was my nicest voice. Is your nameGrazio? Who s asking? he said suspiciously. My name is Lara, and this is Rob.We re looking for the family of someone weknew back in Canada, and the women at the bakery told us to look for someoneby the name of Grazio who knew just about everybody, I said in aningratiating tone. I doubt they called me Grazio, he said. More likely they called me ilQanfud. That s true, I said. Would you like a beer?His eyes lit up. Take a load off your feet, dearie, he said, gesturingtoward the steps behind him,  and tell me who you re looking for. How d you get a name like Hedgehog? the Mountie dared to ask as we plunkedourselves down on the steps near the old man. Skond ghamilek laqmek,  he replied. Your nickname reflects your behavior.Or something else about you, he added.We both nodded sagely. We re looking for friends or family of Martin Galea, I said, pronouncing it,as Martin had, Ga-lay-ah, with the emphasis on the second syllable. What kind of name is that? he grunted. Here we say Galea. He pronounced itGal-ee-ah, with emphasis on the first syllable. And Martin, that soundsBritish to me, he said, flicking his hand in dismissal. I m a Mintoff man.Don t like the British.Rob and I looked at each other and then him. Gal-ee-ah would have left here at least fifteen years ago, I said. He wentto Canada and became a famous architect. Did he now? Is he the dead Galea? the Hedgehog asked. The one who turned upin a box? Yes, we said in unison. Saves the expense of a coffin, I guess.So why do you want to know abouthim?I gave him my by now standard response about consoling the family. I don t know a Martin, replied the old man, apparently satisfied by myexplanation [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]