‘Look at me, Ruggiero,’ ordered Zia Rosa. ‘Look into this face from which you have received thousands of kisses. Look at me.’
Ruggiero raised his eyes, and looked at Zia Rosa, and allowed his feelings to drain out of him. He could feel the light go from his eyes as he stared at what was in effect nothing more than an ugly old woman, her skin like an uncooked chicken, her eyes full of despair turning to hate. If he concentrated on that alone, he could suspend all sympathy.
‘I have not seen Enrico,’ he repeated, using his standing position to try to stare her down. ‘I have not seen him. You cannot ask me if I have seen him.’
The moaning sound that came from the old woman at the table seemed to fill the entire room. With a sudden scream, she leaped up and went for his face, clawing at him with her hands, slicing his lips and bloodying his gums with her nails, spitting, biting, pulling his hair and hurling maledictions into his face. She screamed curses against his health, his reason, his prick, balls, gut, the follicles in his head, the shit in his intestines, the ice in his blood; she invoked deformities and pain on his children and his children’s children, and called down every human and animal disease upon the whole Curmaci family. She begged God to blast him, men to rape him, burn him, scatter his parts, and she called upon the wind to sweep him away as if he had never been.
He accepted all this, and even willed her to strike him harder, but she was too feeble. Across the table, his mother was weeping.
Ardore
Massimiliani was standing in a field of white flowers, three policemen wearing reflective jackets by his side.
‘We’re near, but there’s no sign of anyone,’ said Massimiliani. He looked at her again. ‘You’re different in person. I saw your file.’
‘What about a helicopter? Searchlights, a full team?’ she demanded.
Massimiliani puffed out his cheeks. ‘We’re not looking for a missing child. And I’m not even in charge here. I am about to call in extra help, though.’
Something nuzzled her knee, and she glanced down to see a white Labrador. The handler, dressed in blue fatigues, was grinning at her.
‘How many dogs are out here?’
‘Two,’ said the handler.
‘And this is one of them?’ she pointed to the Labrador, which was lolling in the grass and licking her shoes. ‘Why isn’t he helping?’
‘It’s a she,’ said the handler. ‘She’s not much use at this sort of thing.’
Caterina pointed at an unleashed black dog walking slowly away from her across the field. ‘And that one?’
‘That’s a cadaver dog,’ said the handler, following her gaze. ‘It sniffs out, well, it’s self-explanatory.’
‘And the Labrador?’
‘She’s great with scent articles. You know, a piece of clothing or something worn by the victim.’
‘By the missing person,’ corrected Caterina.
‘Yeah, whatever. But there is nothing belonging to the victim for her to use… so.’ He shrugged.
‘Wait…’ Caterina pulled open her bag, and started fumbling around in it. ‘Did no one here think to bring a fucking torch?’
‘Use your mobile phone,’ said the handler helpfully.
‘This is a night-time search and no one… Hold on.’ She dropped to her knees and the Labrador raised its face and looked at her expectantly, then, out of sheer friendliness, gave her mouth a lick. Caterina cupped her hands and the dog stuck its nose into them.
The handler caught the dog by the collar and dragged it away. ‘Hey! What do you think you’re doing? What are you giving her?’
‘It’s his watch. He only wore it for a short time, but — it might work, mightn’t it?’
‘A watch? That’s not ideal. What you really want is a piece of cloth. And if he only wore it…’
‘But he kept it in his pocket for months, used it like it was a pocket watch.’
The handler dropped to his knees and ushered Caterina away. ‘OK, but I’ll do this. She’s still young and a bit stupid, but she’s good.’
‘It’s a full moon,’ said Massimiliani. She jumped, having forgotten about him, being completely focused on the handler and his stupid Labrador, who were now running back and forth through the flower stalks for all the world like they were playing a game.
‘Anyway,’ said Massimiliani, ‘here’s the torch you were looking for, though we hardly need it.’
Caterina looked up at the moon. That was why she could see the Labrador and the handler so well.
The Labrador barked and the handler cried out, ‘She’s got something.’
Hadn’t he asked for a new moon, a dark night and stars? But the moon would do just fine. He couldn’t see it yet, but it was lighting the patch of sky he was watching. Soon he would have moonbeams for company. In the morning, he would think about ways of getting water out of the soil. Or he might crawl back into the hole.
A shadow blocked out the view through the hole he had made, and Blume felt immeasurable sadness at the loss of sky. The shadow vanished, then suddenly popped back and poked a face in. An animal. A goat? It must be a goat.
The goat barked. The sound was very loud as it echoed down the walls of his prison. It barked and barked and barked. The clamour was tremendous, overpowering. If he had any voice, he would have shouted back, and they would have created a feast of noise.
The lid came off and a bright light shone straight down into his face. He gazed up at it, too lazy to blink. If it was Curmaci, or some other demon, the odds were not good.
‘Alec? Alec!’
His throat and tongue were too swollen and dry for him to speak. There was the ladder, coming down from the sky. A second person was holding the light now. Ah, someone on the ladder now. He would have liked to stand up for the occasion, if only to check that it was real. The pain in his shoulder, the cramp in his legs were reassuring in this respect. Dreams tended to gloss over the body’s pains.
A woman in blue was descending towards him, and Blume stared up at her beautiful smiling face, illuminated from above.
‘Let’s go home, Alec,’ she said.
