“What an odd fellow,” said Thomas as they drove away.
“Errands indeed!” scoffed Jack, in English so the carabiniere couldn’t understand. He raised an eyebrow at Thomas. “Nero is an extraordinary-looking boy. One doesn’t expect to see that coloring down south.”
“There’s something not quite right about that man,” said Thomas, scratching his head. “I’d hate to think what he got up to at Oxford. The happiest days of his life indeed! What the devil were we there for? A cup of tea? To listen to him boring the pants off us about his family and the stars?”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t know. Baffles me.”
“I’ll tell you one thing. He had a hell of a good reason for asking us up there today and, what’s more, one way or another we have satisfied him.”
10
T he shadows lengthened and the scent of pine thickened in the evening air. The people of Incantellaria emerged from their homes and gathered in front of the little chapel of San Pasquale. There was a sense of anticipation. Thomas stood outside the farmacia as instructed by Immacolata and waited with growing apprehension for Valentina. He noticed that many of the townspeople held small candles that flickered eerily in the fading light. A grubby hunchback weaved in and out of the crowd like a purposeful dung beetle as everyone touched his back for luck. Thomas had never witnessed such a scene before and he was intrigued. Finally the crowd seemed to part and Valentina floated toward him with her dancing walk. She wore a simple black dress imprinted with white flowers and she had put up her hair, decorating it with daisies. She smiled at him and his heart stumbled, for her expression was warm and intimate. It was as if they had already declared their feelings, as if they had been lovers for a long time.
“I’m glad you have come,” she said when she reached him. She held out her hand and he took it. Then he did something impulsive: he pressed her palm to his lips and kissed it. He gave her a long, intense stare as his mouth savored the feel of her skin and the now familiar scent of figs. She dug her chin into her chest and laughed. He had never heard her laugh. It made him laugh too, for it bubbled up from her belly and tickled her with delight.
“I’m glad I have come too,” he replied, not wanting to let go of her hand.
“Mamma is one of the parenti di Santa Benedetta,” she said.
“What is that?”
“One of the saint’s descendants. That is why she sits by the altar to witness the miracle.”
“What is meant to happen?”
“Jesus weeps blood,” she told him, her voice turning solemn and the smile dissolving into an expression of the utmost reverence.
“Really?” Thomas was incredulous. “And what if he doesn’t?”
Her eyes widened with horror. “Then we will have bad luck for the following year.”
“Until the miracle happens again?”
“Exactly. We light candles to show our respect.”
“And touch the hunchback for luck.”
“You know more than I thought,” she said, the laughter returning to her face.
“Just an educated guess.”
“Come, we want to get near the front.” She took him by the hand and led him through the crowd.
It was dark when the doors to the chapel opened. It was small and rustic, decorated with frescoes of the birth and crucifixion of Christ. He suspected that anything of any value had been stolen by the Germans, or looters, so there were only simple candlesticks on the altar and a plain white cloth. Behind, the marble statue of Christ on the cross remained intact.
A heavy silence, filled with fear, uncertainty, and expectation vibrated in the air like the muted sound of violins. Thomas didn’t believe in miracles but the spirit of this one was infectious and he began to feel his heart accelerating with those of the believers. He sensed many pairs of eyes upon him, some of them hostile, for there were those in the congregation who thought his presence might prevent the miracle from taking place. Or perhaps they didn’t like the fact that Valentina had caught the attention of an Englishman. He noticed an elderly woman glower at Valentina, then look away with a disapproving sniff. He hoped he hadn’t compromised her by coming.
Although curious, he longed for the ceremony to be over, so he could take Valentina somewhere quiet where they could be alone. Just as he was envisaging their first kiss, the heavy wooden doors reopened and a gust of wind blew in three small women draped in long black dresses and diaphanous veils. Each held a candle which lit up her wizened face to eerie effect. Immacolata walked a little in front of the other two, who shuffled in behind her like maids of honor at a grim wedding. Their heads were bowed while Immacolata’s chin was up and proud, her small eyes fixed on the altar with self-importance. Even the priest, Padre Dino, walked behind them, carrying rosary beads and mumbling prayers. A little choirboy accompanied him, gently waving a thurible, filling the air with frankincense. Everyone stood.