than fanatics. A dog didn't choose to go mad.
She sniffed and gave voice to the perennial pacifist platitude: 'War is not the answer.'
Depends on the question.
'Oh, Jason,' she said with an imploring look, 'I am frightened. I've never been shot at before, never had people want to kill me. It is not a good feeling.'
No shit.
It might have been her look of desolation, of utter helplessness, or it might been something more biological; Jason never knew nor cared. He took her back into his arms, squeezing her close. His lips brushed hers. For an instant she drew back and then pressed her mouth against his.
In seconds clothes were flying and the two were writhing on a bed amid moans, grunts, and sounds defying description.
Later, Jason lay on his back, watching the room's Venetian blinds paint zebra stripes on Maria's bare back as she snuggled into the hollow of his armpit. This was not the first time since Laurin's death he had found sexual release, but it was the first time he had felt no guilt, no sense of betrayal.
Suddenly, he realized he had no independent recollection of his wife's face. He could recall thousands of shared incidents, but every time she appeared in his memory, he saw a face from one of many photographs. Maybe he was finally letting go; maybe Laurin was finding peace.
Maybe…
A sharp rap on the door sprang him out of bed, his hand reaching for the SIG Sauer in its holster.
Weapon in hand and back against the wall next to the door, he nodded to Maria. 'Ask who it is.'
Maria rattled off a question in Italian. A woman's voice, muffled by the door, replied.
'The maid. She wants to know if we want the beds turned down.'
Jason let out a deep breath he had not known he had taken. 'Later.'
As he returned to the rumpled bed, Maria began to weep again, silent tears leaving shiny trails on each cheek.
Jason sat beside her, reaching out.
She pushed him away. 'No.'
'But…?'.
'Jason, I care for you-care for you a lot more than I ever wanted to.'
'And I you,' he admitted. 'That's a reason to cry?'
She nodded wearily. 'No matter how I feel about you, Jason, we are finished after I've helped you with Dr. Calligini as I said I would.'
'But-'
She put a finger across his lips. 'It will not be easy getting over you, Jason. I do not… what did we used to say in America? I do not fall for guys that often. I might even learn to accept what you do, even if it makes me sick. Even sicker because you enjoy it. Some Old Testament sense of vengeance, I suppose. I gave up on one man because he was a cheat, a liar. I might learn to accept what you do, but I cannot bear to be there for you when you do not outdraw the other fellow at the OK Corral, the time when you do not see it coming.'
'Maria-'
She silenced him with a kiss as her hands reached for his groin.
The next day they rented a car and drove to Palau, a small port town a few kilometers north. Seated in front of a trattoria across the tree-lined street from the crescent- shaped harbor, they lunched on stewed baby octopus washed down by an astringent white wine that originated in the nearby hills. They watched ships come and go.
A table away, four young men in navy whites made no effort to disguise their admiration of the pretty woman seated with the American. Several made remarks, the tone of which Jason understood, if not the words. Just as Jason was wondering whether chivalry required him to flatten each of them, Maria turned. Radiating charm, she spoke in machine-gun Italian. The sailors' faces went from surprise to embarrassment. They quickly finished their beers and left.
'What the hell did you say?' Jason wanted to know.
Maria tossed her head, treating him to that Wife of Bath smile. 'I told them their mothers would be ashamed of them for saying things about a woman closer to her age than theirs. Italian men always worry what Mama might think. Even long after she is dead.'
'Even if they don't live with her anymore?'
As an Italian, Maria was fully aware that many Italian men never left, simply bringing a wife to their childhood home.
'They are from that ship.' She pointed toward the harbor where a white, military-looking ship rode at anchor. 'The new Italian navy.'
Jason nodded. 'No doubt equipped with a glass bottom so they can see the old Italian navy.'
He ducked the half loaf of bread she threw at him.
After lunch, they took the ferry across the Golfo dell' Asinara to empty, wooded hills. A single road led to the crest that held the tomb of the unifier of Italy, Giuseppe Garibaldi. People stood in line at souvenir and refreshment stands to enter the small building. Instead, Maria led Jason up a slight rise and into a rare copse of dense foliage.
'Wha…?'
He never finished the question; her lips were pressed too tightly against his. Oblivious to the crowd screened by folage only fifty feet or so away, they made love even more passionately than the night before.
Afterward, as they returned to the parking lot, Jason was certain some of the people were staring at them. If so, Maria didn't notice.
They made the ferry from Cagliari to Naples with only minutes to spare. During the drive, she pointedly changed the subject whenever he mentioned any future beyond the next few days.
JOURNAL OF SEVERENUS TACTUS
I know not how many days I remained in the tiny painted room, my only companions my fears and such spirits as might visit. On two occasions, cowled priests entered my cell to inquire as to my father, the more easily to summon his shade. ^1
From the darkness, I knew it was early morning when two young boys brought me forth from the painted room to sacrifice a ewe. By the light of a torch, a priest examined the liver of the animal and pronounced the signs to be favorable. I was removed to another room, this one much larger, where I was bathed in herb-scented water ^2 and given peculiar- tasting drinks I did not recognize.
Once so purified, I was clad in a white toga and my hair bound with white ribbon. I was girded with a belt with a bronze sword and given a golden branch of mistletoe to carry in my hand. ^3 To my surprise, the ancient crone, the Sibyl herself, appeared, Tobed in scarlet, to guide me on my journey.
Behind us came the priests, dressed in black with pointed headdresses and only slits through which to see. They drove the livestock I had purchased to he sacrificed at various stages.
We had gone but a short way along a dark and descending pathway when we reached the Dividing of the Ways. To the left went a return to the world, should I choose it. To the right, the final descent into Hades. I had come this far to consult the spirit of my father, and chose to continue into dark and the increasing heat and stench of sulfur. ^4
We took a turn, and, to my amazement, the sheep and cattle that had been following us were now awaiting our arrival! We paused for another sacrifice and another study of the liver before proceeding down a sharp incline. As we progressed, the odor of sulfur grew stronger, along with other noxious smells. At least twice we passed a sparse type of bush that immediately burst into flame but did not burn. ^5
The deeper we went, the hazier my vision became and the more uncertain my step. At last we reached a point where the black-hooded priests stood aside, framing the place where the River Styx impeded further progress. Between them I could see Charon standing in his small coracle. ^6 Though I could not see the dog, I could hear the howling of Cerberus.
The boatman wore only a ragged cape that looked as though it had never been cleansed, a supposition