'Anyone who can make her own music is way ahead of me. All I can play is the radio. Sit down, Sofia,' Anne urged, glad of some activity that might replace the fits and starts of conversation. Sofia was an appreciative but quiet guest, and the dinner was more subdued than Anne was used to or entirely happy with, although it was pleasant enough. 'Did the tuner do a decent job or did we simply contribute to the general reek of Puerto Rican corruption?'
'No, truly, I can't recall a single piece,' Sofia pleaded.
Her demurrer was dismissed, firmly but kindly, and although she was rusty, pieces came back to her. She lost herself for a few minutes, becoming reacquainted with the instrument, but only for a few minutes. She rose and would have made an excuse to leave, but George reminded her of the peach melba and she decided to stay a bit longer.
As they ate dessert, Anne urged her to come back any time to use the piano but knowing Sofia's attitude, she added, 'I have to warn you. Jimmy Quinn comes down for dinner now and then, so you may run into him after hours.' And then, as though it hadn't been on her mind all afternoon, 'We have another mutual acquaintance, by the way. Do you remember Emilio Sandoz?'
'The linguist. Yes, of course.'
'That was your cue to exclaim 'Small world! He's the reason we're here actually,' George said, and he sketched out the story of their coming to Puerto Rico.
'You are missionaries, then,' Sofia said, trying not to sound as horrified as she was.
'Oh, God, no! Just plain old bleeding-heart, pain-in-the-ass liberal do-gooders,' Anne said. 'I was brought up Catholic but I drifted away from the Church years ago.'
'Anne can still work up some Catholicism, with a couple of beers in her, but I'm a flat-out atheist. Still,' George admitted, 'the Jesuits do a lot of good work…'
They spoke for a little while about the clinic and the Jesuit Center. But then the talk veered off toward Sofia's work at the dish, Anne falling uncharacteristically silent as George explained a series of technical procedures to the young woman. There was a lightning brightness to the girl when she was working that made an interesting contrast to a rather appealing awkwardness in social things.
Yes, Anne thought, watching them, there it is. Now I see the attraction.
Later that night, in bed, Anne nestled in close to George, who found himself a little breathless. Damn, he thought, I've got to start running again.
'Oh, sweet mystery of life at last I've found you,' Anne sang. George laughed. 'Lovely girl,' Anne remarked, her mind shifting suddenly to Sofia, who was one of the few women Anne had ever met who merited the word exquisite: tiny and perfect. But so closed. So guarded. She had expected more warmth in a girl who'd attracted both Emilio and Jimmy. And probably George as well, if Anne was any judge, and she was. 'Very bright. I can see why she set Emilio back on his heels. And Jimmy, too,' she added as an afterthought.
'Hmmm.' George was almost asleep.
'I could be a Jewish mother, if I put my mind to it. The real trouble with Jesus,' Anne decided, 'was that he never found a nice Jewish girl to marry and have a family with, poor thing. That's probably blasphemy, isn't it.'
George got up on an elbow and looked at her in the dark. 'Keep out of it, Anne.'
'Okay, okay. I was only kidding. Go to sleep.'
But neither of them did for a while, each thinking thoughts in the dark.
9
NAPLES:
APRIL 2060
John Candotti was awake and dressing when he heard the knock, just after dawn.
'Father Candotti?' It was Brother Edward, calling quietly but urgently in the hallway. 'Father, have you seen Emilio Sandoz?'
John opened the door. 'Not since last night. Why?'
Behr, rumpled and pudgy, looked almost angry. 'I just came from his room. His bed wasn't slept in and he's sicked up and I can't find him.'
Pulling on his sweater, John pushed past Brother Edward and headed for Sandoz's room, unable to believe the man wasn't there.
'I cleaned up the mess. Lost everything he ate yesterday,' Edward called behind him, wheezing, as they hurried down the hallway. 'Although that was little enough. I already checked in the lavatories. He's not in there, I tell you.'
John stuck his head into the room anyway and caught the lingering odor of vomit and soap. 'Damn,' he whispered fiercely. 'Damn, damn, damn. I should have expected something like this! I should have been nearby. I would have heard him.'
'It was my place to be here, Father. I don't know why I didn't insist on the room next door. But he doesn't usually need me at night anymore,' Edward said, trying to explain his lapse to himself as much as to Candotti. 'I would have looked in on him last night but I didn't want to interfere if he was—He told me he wanted to talk to you. I thought he might—'
'I thought so, too. All right, look. He can't be far away. Have you checked the refectory?'
Trying not to panic, they searched the building, John, for one, half-expecting to find Sandoz's body at each turn. He'd begun to wonder about contacting the Father General, or the police, when it occurred to him that Sandoz was from an island and might be down by the water. 'Let's look outside,' he suggested, and they left the main building on its western side.
The sun had hardly begun to climb and the stone balcony was still in shadow, as was the shoreline far below. Stunted trees, contorted by the prevailing winds off the Mediterranean, were covered with a gold and green haze, and farmers were already plowing, but the spring had been gray and cold—Vesuvius, everyone said. Anxiety and chill combined and John began to shiver as he leaned over the wall, eyes sweeping the coast.
Then, awash with relief, he spotted Sandoz and shouted against the wind, 'Brother Edward? Brother Edward!' Edward, hunched against the cold with round arms crossed over his barrel chest, had headed for the garage to count the bicycles. He heard Candotti's voice indistinctly and turned back. 'I see him,' John yelled, motioning downward. 'He's on the beach.'
'Shall I go down and bring him back?' Edward called on his way back to the balcony.
'No,' John yelled. 'I'll get him. Grab a coat for him, okay? He must be freezing.'
Brother Edward trundled off to get three coats. Returning minutes later, he helped John into the biggest one, handed him another to bring to Sandoz and pulled one on himself as John started down the long line of stairs that zigzagged downhill to the Mediterranean. Before he'd gotten far, Brother Edward stopped him with a shout.
'Father? Be careful.'
What an odd thing to say, John thought, wondering for a moment if Brother Edward was concerned about his slipping on the damp stone stairs. Then John remembered the way Sandoz had come at him, that first day, back in Rome. 'I will. It'll be okay.' Brother Edward looked doubtful. 'Really. If he hasn't done anything to himself, I don't think he'd hurt anyone else.'
But he sounded more sure of that than he was.
The wind was carrying the sound of his footsteps away from Sandoz. Not wanting to startle him, John cleared his throat and made as much noise as he could, scuffling through the gravelly sand. Sandoz didn't turn but he stopped moving and waited near a large stone outcropping, part of the geological formation that had tithed its substance to the ancient buildings on the hill behind them.
John stopped as he drew even with the man and looked out over the water himself, watching shorebirds wheel and dip and settle on the gray water. 'I have been suffering from horizon deprivation,' he declared conversationally. 'Feels good to be able to focus on something that's far away.' John's own face and hands ached with cold. He was shuddering now and did not understand how Sandoz could be so still. 'You gave us a scare, man.
