*
Sean reached the kitchen to find it empty. He cursed himself for ever suggesting backgammon, cursed Malcolm for getting in the way, cursed Annie for betraying their plan. It was not to be, no matter what he did. The house, the artichokes, the relic, none of these had been enough. He thought of his wife, dancing in some tropic zone, and then he saw himself as he was, alone, in a cold house, his desires thwarted.
He walked back to the basement door and listened. The television was still on. Malcolm was still sitting before it, thunderstruck. Sean turned away, determined to leave Malcolm there all night, but as soon as he did so he stopped where he was. For in front of him, wearing nothing but a man’s long T-shirt, was Annie.
*
Upstairs, ears pricked, Maria was waiting for Annie to come back to bed. Annie had just gotten into bed when suddenly she crawled out again, saying she was going downstairs for a glass of water. “Drink from the tap in the bathroom,” Maria suggested, but Annie said, “I want a glass.”
After all this time, even after the kiss on the train, Annie was still shy. She was so nervous, she had gotten into bed and jumped right out again. Maria knew exactly what was going through her friend’s mind. She crossed her arms behind her head. She stared up at the decorative plasterwork of the ceiling and felt the weight of her body sinking into the mattress, the pillows. A great calm came over her, a solidity, a sense that now, at last, her wishes were going to come true and all she had to do was wait.
*
Malcolm stood up and turned off the television. He moved across the room to the billiard table. He took out a ball, rolled it across the felt, and watched it careen off the sides of the table. He caught it again and repeated the action. The ball made soft thumps against the cushions.
He was thinking about what Sean had told him. He was wondering what it all meant.
*
To get away before Malcolm came up, Sean led Annie to his study. On the way, he picked up his suitcase, which he had left in the front hall. Once he had closed the door of the study behind them, he told Annie in a whisper to be absolutely silent. Then, with an air of solemnity, he bent down to open his suitcase. As he released the metal latch, he was aware that Annie’s naked thighs were only inches from his face. He wanted to reach out and take hold of her legs, to pull her toward him and fit his face into the bowl of her hips. But he didn’t do that. He only took out a gray woolen sock from which he extracted a thin yellow bone less than three inches long.
“Here it is,” he said, showing it to her. “Direct from Rome. Saint Augustine’s index finger.”
“How long ago did he live, again?”
“Fifteen hundred years.”
Annie put out her hand and touched the sliver of bone, as Sean gazed at her lips, cheeks, eyes, hair.
*
Annie knew he was about to kiss her. She always knew when men were about to kiss her. Sometimes she made it difficult for them, moved away or asked them questions. Other times she merely pretended not to notice, as she did now, examining the saint’s finger.
Then Sean said, “I was afraid our little meeting wasn’t going to happen.”
“It was hard getting away from the heretics,” said Annie.
*
Malcolm came into the kitchen, looking for Sean. All he found were the plates the girls had thoughtfully washed, stacked next to the sink. He strolled about the kitchen, warmed his hands by the smoldering fire, and, seeing that the artichokes he had left on the floor were still there, set them on the table. Only after doing all these things did he go to the kitchen window and look out to the backyard.
*
When Maria saw them they were bent over something, their heads almost touching. Immediately she understood what had happened. Annie had come down to get a glass of water and Sean had waylaid her. She had arrived just in the nick of time to save her friend from an awkward situation.
“What’s that?” she said, and boldly, triumphantly, walked into the room.
*
Maria’s voice was the voice of the fate he could not escape. At the very moment of victory, as his desires were just about to be satisfied (he and Annie were cheek to cheek), Sean heard Maria’s voice and his hopes shrank before it. He said nothing. All he did was stand mute as Maria approached him and took the relic into her cold hand.
“It’s Saint Augustine’s finger,” Annie offered in explanation.
Maria examined the bone a moment, then handed it back to Sean and said, simply, “No way.” The girls turned (together) and moved toward the door. “Good night,” they said, and, motionless, Sean heard their voices blend into an excruciating unison.
*
“You didn’t believe him, did you?” Maria asked once they were alone in their room. Annie made no reply, only got into bed and closed her eyes. Maria switched off the light and fumbled through the darkness. “I can’t believe you could fall for that. The finger of Saint Augustine!” She laughed. “Guys will do anything.” She crawled into bed and pulled the covers over her, then lay staring into the dark, thinking about the trickery of men.
“Annie,” she whispered, but her friend didn’t reply. Maria moved closer. “Annie,” she said, a little more loudly. She moved farther across the sheets. She touched her hip to Annie’s hip. And called again: “Annie.”
But her friend didn’t return her greeting, or amplify the pressure of hip on hip. “I’m going to sleep!” Annie said, and turned away.
*
Sean was left holding the counterfeit finger of an illustrious saint. In the hallway he thought he heard the girls giggle. Next came the sound of their feet on the stairs, the creak and knock of the bedroom door closing, and then—silence.
The bone was coated with a film of white powder that flaked onto his open palm. He wanted to fling the bone across the room, or drop it and crush it beneath his heel, but something deterred him. Because as he stared at the bone he began to feel as though someone were watching him. He looked around the room but no one was there. When he looked back at the bone, a curious thing happened. The finger appeared to be pointing at him. As though it were still attached to a living person, or was infused with intelligence, and was accusing him, condemning him.
Fortunately, the feeling lasted only an instant. In the next moment the finger stopped pointing. It became just a bone again.
*
The moon had risen, and, in its light, Malcolm could make out the garden, a pale blue circle at the end of the grass. He looked back at the remaining artichokes lying on the table. Then he walked to the back door, opened it, and went out.