Will flew back on his motorcycle. You see, he thought to himself, you see, it’s possible. The Allies were virtuous in their bringing of peace. There was suffering that didn’t need to happen, violence that they could prevent. But it took someone of Will’s acuity and daring to bring it about, to align insight and action and bloody well do something. He sped through the burning air rehearsing in his mind the words he would use when he apprehended Albanese. They were coolly understated and commanding. I’m afraid that we’re going to have to have a word or two … I’m sorry, Mr Albanese, but I’m going to have to … I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mr Albanese.
50
The door was unpainted, the wood raw and dry. It looked like he could pick splinters out of it with his thumbnail. The surface of the door was subdivided into four sections, four rectangles separated by narrow raised sections. Ray wasn’t sure why that was, maybe for reinforcement. He stood close enough to the door to listen beyond it.
The handle was high up on the left side. It was made of slender brass, notched along the edges, and curved in a rapid flourish like a line in someone’s signature. The notches gave it a texture you would feel.
I won’t die if I open the door. If I open the door I will not die.
Ray saw his hand reach out and hold the handle, four fingers and a thumb, the lines of bones under the skin, the frill of dark hairs at his wrist. He opened the door and on the other side the narrow staircase plunged down. It was as steep as a ladder. Ray stepped through, holding his breath, out onto the first stair and then the next, carefully clambering down into the rest of the world.
In the main house, perspectives travelled into depth through arches of doorways. No telling where Princess Luisa was in all that. He might miss her entirely.
Ray walked among paintings and curved, decorated furniture that stood up on the balls of its feet. Unharmed, unhindered, he found the large staircase and descended. In the large vestibule, under silent painted clouds, he looked right and left. He turned right and walked into a set of sunlit rooms.
In the third large room he came upon Luisa at a large table eating breakfast with an old man, presumably her father. There was a woman servant who looked at Ray then dropped her head, reddening. Luisa’s eyes were wide and tried to communicate something — fear, a plea, a warning. Ray realised that he would not be able to say goodbye in the way he’d intended. Now the old man was standing up and addressing him. Ray interrupted him.
‘I’m sorry to disturb you, sir. I got separated from my unit a while back in the fighting. I’ve been lost.’
‘You’ve been lost a long time.’
‘I’ve been lost a long time. Can you tell me the road for Palermo?’
‘And how did you get in?’
He could feel Luisa’s gaze pressing against him.
‘I came in. I walked in. I’m sorry to disturb you. I didn’t realise it was still early.’
‘You should walk out the same way you came in then turn right on the road and keep going for a day or so.’
Luisa said something to the old man in Italian, under her breath. The old man sighed and said, ‘The first town you go through, the town not the few separate houses, there are people there who can help you.’
‘Thank you, sir. Thank you, sir. Thank you.’ Ray looked at Luisa who looked down at her plate. She seemed angry. There was nothing he could say.
As he walked out of the room, Luisa looked up again to see his back retreating. He had tried to make his uniform as neat as possible. The beard on his face had looked so thick in the light, black as beetles. She was stuck to her chair, losing him. Nothing she could do, no power. And even if she could run after him, what would she be able to say? If she moved to Paris she might have a life, or Rome. Here in this life there was nothing. She had on her plate two peaches from the garden. She picked up her knife, trembling.
51
The world blazed into Ray’s eyes full of a million things. Light poured down. The sound of insects pulsed out of trees and bushes. He tried to whistle with his dry mouth, tried to remember how soldiers walked. His legs were shaking. After the gloom of the attic, the light was blinding. It hurt like diamonds crushed into his eyes. He hung his head and walked, the road around him leaping up in explosions that didn’t happen. If you’re not dead you carry on. He said, George, I’m coming. Wind raced against his skin. He kept walking.
A noise getting louder behind him: the crunch of footsteps. Ray assumed the final end. He closed his eyes. His shoulders stiffened. His hands closed. He heard his name. ‘Ray. Ray.’ It was her voice.
It was strange to see the Princess outside, in the real light of day. She stood in front of him, small and blinking. Her hair moved in the wind. She seemed very clear and separate. Her skin was paler than indoors. She raised a hand of delicate fingers to her forehead to make a visor against the sun.
‘Where are you going? You should say goodbye. You shouldn’t just go like that.’
‘I’m sorry. I did. I wanted to.’
‘It’s not nice just to go like this.’
Her voice sounded different. She stood there detached from the long dream of his days in hiding.
‘I wanted to say thank you to you.’
‘Where are you going?’
‘I said. I have to go to Palermo. I have to go back. I’m sorry.’
The Princess was looking down, her eyes in her hand’s shadow. The soft flesh of her lower lip was caught between her teeth.
‘But …’
‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘You’ve been so kind to me.’
‘It doesn’t matter. You have to go. I don’t know what I’m doing following you. I don’t know what I’m doing.’
‘I’m really grateful.’
‘Are you? Wait. Will you wait? I’ve had an idea. I can drive you to Palermo. I can get the car and a driver. I can take you all the way.’
‘You don’t have to …’
‘I know I don’t but I want to. Will you wait? Will you stay here?’
‘Sure.’
‘Stay here.’
The Princess turned and hurried away. Ray watched her go. She went with rapid steps that lifted and broke into a run that was awkward to maintain against her long skirt. In that effort and urgency, Ray saw something. Maybe he was wrong, but it looked like love. For him. For another person. For no reason, just given, just happening. It was love that made her hurry. He couldn’t keep it; it wouldn’t last. He had to get back to Palermo and do whatever came next but there it was. It would keep him safe a little while longer, for this journey in her car.
52
Everything was very clear.
Angilù sat opposite the church and waited. A lizard flickered onto the wall beside him, quick on its tiny fingers, its small tail lashing. It froze, picked up its head, the flat mouth fixed in a smile. Angilù saw its throat pulse. It darted away. Making the decision had been difficult, like stepping through a flaming doorway and out through an avenue of burning trees. But now he was beyond, he was calm. He could see everything.
Blind Tinu was folded in the shadows of the church doorway. Always there, empty as a clock, feeling the passing of the hours, hearing the clatter of the bell. Tinu was never a witness. He never said anything, never made sense. You gave him a coin or a piece of bread and it was like tossing it into a well, his reaction just splash and echoes and silence again.