Gradually, the square began to fill with townspeople. Teenage boys sat astride their mopeds outside the ice cream parlor; a group of men started up a hard-fought game of boules in the center of the dusty esplanade. Shortly after six, about twenty people, old women mainly, came filing down the steps of the church. Among them was the signadora. Her gaze settled briefly on Gabriel, the unbeliever; then she disappeared through the doorway of her crooked little house. Soon after, two women came calling on her—an old widow dressed head to toe in black and a distraught-looking girl in her mid-twenties who, doubtless, was suffering the ill effects of the occhju.
A half hour later the two women reappeared, along with a boy, about ten years old, with long curly hair. The women made for the ice cream parlor, but the boy, after pausing a moment to watch the game of boules, came over to the café where Gabriel was sitting. In his hand was a slip of paper, pale blue and folded in quarters. He placed it on the table before Gabriel and then scurried off as though he feared he might catch something. Gabriel unfolded the slip of paper and in the fading light read the single line that had been written there: I must see you at once.
Gabriel inserted the note into his coat pocket and sat there for several minutes debating what to do. Then he left a few coins on the table and headed across the square.
When he knocked on her door, a reedy voice invited him to enter. She was seated sleepily in a faded wing chair, her head lolling to one side, as though she were still suffering from the exertion of absorbing the evil that infected her previous visitors. Despite Gabriel’s protests, she insisted on rising to greet him. This time there was no hostility in her expression, only concern. She touched Gabriel’s cheek without speaking and stared directly into his eyes.
“Your eyes are so very green. You have your mother’s eyes, yes?”
“Yes,” said Gabriel.
“She suffered during the war, did she not?”
“Did Keller tell you that?”
“I’ve never spoken to Christopher about your mother.”
“Yes,” said Gabriel after a moment, “terrible things happened to my mother during the war.”
“In Poland?”
“Yes, in Poland.”
The signadora took one of Gabriel’s hands in hers. “You’re warm to the touch. Do you have fever?”
“No,” said Gabriel.
She closed her eyes. “Your mother was a painter like you?”
“Yes.”
“She was in the camps? The one that was named for the trees?”
“Yes, that’s the one.”
“I see a road, snow, a long line of women in gray clothing, a man with a gun.”
Gabriel withdrew his hand quickly. The old woman’s eyes opened with a start.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“Why did you want to see me?”
“I know why you came back here.”
“And?”
“I want to help you.”
“Why?”
“Because it is important that nothing happens to you in the days to come. The old man needs you. So does your wife.”
“I’m not married,” Gabriel lied.
“Her name is Clara, is it not?”
“No,” said Gabriel, smiling. “Her name is Chiara.”
“She is an Italian?”
“Yes.”
“Then I will keep you in my prayers.” She nodded toward her table where a plate of water and a vessel of olive oil stood next to a pair of burning candles. “Won’t you sit down?”
“I’d rather not.”
“You still don’t believe?”
“I believe,” he said.
“Then why won’t you sit? Surely you’re not afraid. Your mother named you Gabriel for a reason. You have the strength of God.”
Gabriel felt as though a stone had been laid over his heart. He wanted to leave at once but curiosity made him stay. After helping the old woman into her chair, he sat opposite her and dipped his finger into the oil. Upon striking the surface of the water, the three drops shattered into a thousand before disappearing. The old woman nodded gravely, as if the test had confirmed her darkest fears. Then, for the second time, she took Gabriel’s hand in hers.
“You’re burning,” she said. “Are you sure you’re not unwell?”
“I was in the sun.”
“At Christopher’s house,” she said knowingly. “You drank his wine. You have his gun on your hip.”
“Go on.”
“You’re looking for a man, the man who killed the English girl.”
“Do you know who he is?”
“No,” she said. “But I know where he is. He’s hiding in the east, in the city of heretics. You must never set foot there. If you do,” she said firmly, “you will die.”
She closed her eyes, and after a moment began to weep softly, a sign that the evil had flowed from Gabriel’s body into hers. Then, with a nod, she instructed Gabriel to repeat the test of the oil and the water. This time the oil coalesced into a single drop. The old woman smiled in a way that Gabriel had never seen before.
“What do you see?” asked Gabriel.
“Are you sure you want to know?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I see a child,” she replied without hesitation.
“Whose child?”
She patted Gabriel’s hand. “Go back to the villa,” she said. “Your friend Christopher has returned to Corsica.”
When Gabriel arrived at the villa, he found Keller standing before the open refrigerator. He wore a dark gray suit, wrinkled from travel, and a white dress shirt open at the neck. He withdrew the half-drunk bottle of Sancerre, gave it a demonstrative shake, and then dumped several inches of the wine into a glass.
“Rough day at the office, honey?” asked Gabriel.
“Brutal.” He held up the bottle. “You?”