It was then that Hacket burst into the cockpit. ‘Farrell. There’s been an accident. That damned mule. Can you land as soon as possible?’
‘What’s happened?’ I asked. I was banking now, turning away to the sea, clear of the lava.
‘It’s that doctor fellow. He’s badly hurt. The mule kicked him.’
‘Kicked Sansevino?’ I suddenly wanted to laugh. ‘That mule’s got sense.’
‘Don’t be a fool, man. He’s pretty bad.’
I straightened the plane up, flying along the coast, headed towards Naples. ‘What happened?’ I asked. ‘The mule couldn’t have kicked him unless he was behind it.’
‘It was when you hit that updraught of air. Sansevino had got to his feet to see that Maxwell was all right. Then he lost his balance, the plane tilted and he went slithering down between the mule’s legs to the back of the fuselage. The mule was lashing about and whinnying. If he’d lain still he’d probably have been okay. But he tried to get to his feet. The mule caught him as he got up. He’s lying there now close against the rubber dinghies. He’s unconscious and it looks as though his head’s badly battered. We can’t get to him because of the mule.’
‘Well, for God’s sake don’t try and shift the mule,’ I said. ‘Wait till we’ve landed.’
‘Okay. But hurry. He looks bad.’
I was swinging in towards the Vomero now and all Naples lay below me, grey with ash, the roads out of the city blocked with traffic. ‘Go and sit down,’ I said. ‘And see that everybody’s got their safety belts fixed. We’ll be landing at Pomigliano in a few minutes now.’
He left then and I heard the connecting door to the fuselage slide to. I sat there, my hands on the controls, staring out ahead, searching for the airfield, and there was a feeling of complete calm within me. I think I knew Sansevino was dead. I felt as though a chapter of my life was closed now, as though the hand of God had been stretched out and had closed it for me. The past was dead. A new life stretched ahead. I had only to land the plane safely….
I saw Pomigliano then, a grey, flat circle like a huge arena. I thrust forward the undercarriage level. Through my side window I saw the port wheel come down into position. ‘Check that your wheel is down,’ I called to Hilda. She glanced back through her window and nodded. I circled the airport, losing height. I felt no sense of nervousness. The calmness that had come over me with the news of what had happened to Sansevino was still with me. But through that calmness I was conscious of an aching tenseness in all my muscles.
There was no aircraft on the runway or lined up for take-off. I swung away towards Vesuvius, banking for a westward run-in. Then I had the flaps down and we were coming in to land. There was little wind and the plane was quite steady. I misjudged slightly and had to come in rather steep. The grey edge of the landing ground came rushing towards me. For a moment I felt a sense of panic. Then I pulled back on the control column. The wheels slammed on the concrete. The plane lifted. Then the wheels were firm on the deck and I was braking. We stopped well short of the runway end and I taxied in towards the airport buildings. A truck came out to meet us. I stopped the engines and sat there for a moment in a sort of daze, a cold nausea sweeping over me. I think I was sick. I know I fainted for when I came to I was lying stretched out on the canvas seats in the fuselage and Hilda’s voice, very far away, was saying in Italian, ‘Nervous exhaustion, that’s all.’
After that I had only moments of half-consciousness in which I was being bumped about in a smell of disinfectant. I could feel that somebody had hold of my hand. The fingers were cool and safe and I kept trying to tell them not to hurt the mule. After that I remember nothing till I woke up in a room full of soft furnishings and the cool of blinds drawn against the daylight.
Somebody moved in the shadows and then I saw Zina bending over me.
‘Where am I?’ I asked her.
‘At the Villa Carlotta. It is all right, Dick. Everything is all right.’
‘Hilda?’ I asked.
‘I tell her to get some sleep. Now you must also go to sleep.’ Her hands were stroking my forehead. My eyes closed. From far away I thought I heard someone say, ‘Goodbye, Dick.’ Then I slept again.
I woke to sunshine and the friendly bulk of Hacket sitting beside me. I rubbed my eyes and sat up. I felt damnably weak, but my head was clear. ‘How long have I been out?’ I asked him.
He said, ‘Well, between drugs and sleep you’ve had about fifty hours.’
‘Good God!’ I said. And then I remembered Sansevino.
But when I asked about him, Hacket shook his head. ‘You can forget him now,’ he said. ‘He’s dead. They buried him as Walter Shirer. Maxwell’s orders. He thought it was easier that way.’
‘And the others?’ I asked.
‘Maxwell’s doing fine. He’s in the next room. He insisted on staying here. The Countess has gone to Rome to join her husband. Some nuns are looking after the little Italian kid and all the others are fine.’
‘What about George?’ I asked. ‘They didn’t — do anything to the mule, did they?’
He had risen to his feet. ‘You don’t have to worry about George,’ he said with a grin. ‘I guess George saved every one a lot of trouble. Right now he’s stabled in the summerhouse here. You’re at the Countess’s villa, by the way. And the eruption is over.’ He turned towards the door. ‘Now I must get the nurse.’
I heard the door close and I lay there for a moment blinking at the sunlight that showed through the slits of the Venetian blinds. Then I pulled back the bedclothes and put my foot to the floor. The tiles were wonderfully smooth and cold to the touch. There was no grit in the room. It was clean and clear of ash. The left leg of my pyjamas had been cut off short and I saw that the stump of my leg had been bandaged. I got hold of the back of a chair and manoeuvred myself to the window. I hung there for a moment, panting with the effort and feeling very weak. Then I pulled up the blind and sunshine flooded into the room.
For a moment I was blinded. Then as I got accustomed to the glare I saw the sea glittering below me and away to the left the ash-heap of Vesuvius. It was no longer a pyramid. It seemed to have been distorted into the shape of a camel with two enormous rounded humps of ash. It looked remote and unreal without even a wisp of gas coming from the crater. It was hard to believe that those twin hills had been spouting fire and ash only a few hours ago. The scene was placid, tranquil. The whole thing was like a nightmare dimly remembered.
And then in the garden below I saw the mule. His neck was stretched out and he was eating the wisteria that still cascaded over the summerhouse as it had done that day I met Zina to go out to Casamicciola. So little time had passed and so much had happened.
The door opened behind me and I turned to see Hilda and her father. ‘What are you doing out of bed, Dick?’
I started to move towards the bed, not wishing her to see me standing there with only one leg. And then I stopped for I saw she had on a white overall and carried an enamel tray with bottles on it.’ Have you been nursing me?’ My voice sounded angry.
‘You and Max — yes.’
My hand touched the stump of my leg. It was she who had put the bandages there. A sort of thankfulness swept over me. I didn’t even have to worry about that any more. I reached for the bed and sank into it, feeling as though I wanted to cry. Jan Tucek came forward and his hand gripped mine. He didn’t say anything and I was glad. I couldn’t have borne it if he’d said anything. He was very pale and the bones of his skull seemed to stare through the fleshless skin. But his eyes were quite different. They were no longer haunted, but full of confidence. And Hilda, who had put down her tray and was holding on to his arm, was different, too. The harassed look was gone. Instead, it was the smiling face of the photograph on her father’s desk that looked down at me.’ You were right,’ I said to Tucek. ‘She’s got freckles.’