At dusk the three of them set off into town. Ma only just managed to squeeze her large bottom through the door of Romina’s car and wound up sitting on the gear stick so that Luca had to ask her to move every time he changed gear.
‘If I had known we’d be squashed into a baked bean tin I wouldn’t have come,’ she complained.
‘Courage, dear lady,’ said Caradoc from the back. ‘Ring in the valiant man and free, The large heart, the kindlier hand.’
‘The large behind, the wandering hand,’ said Ma as Luca reached under her trousers for the gear stick. ‘Now is not the time for Tennyson, professor. They shouldn’t make cars so small, it’s insulting.’
‘Why don’t you hire a big car, Luca?’
‘Laziness, I suppose, or just the need to be free of all belongings.’
‘Being free is having a nice big car to spread out in,’ said Ma. ‘Hiring a car won’t impede your spiritual quest, I assure you. And it’ll certainly enhance mine!’
‘Spirituality isn’t giving up material things, it’s not giving them undue importance. Don’t let money be your god but your slave.’
‘I hope you’ve taken all that in, Luca,’ said Ma. ‘Caradoc’s a little cranky but he’s a wise old bird. I’m just an old bird. Now what are we to expect tonight, I wonder?’
‘Entertainment,’ said Luca. ‘At least, I’m hoping for something spectacular.’
‘A weeping statue that hasn’t wept for half a century,’ said Ma. ‘I’m not putting my money on that.’
‘A town in the grip of religious madness,’ said Caradoc fruitily. ‘Mass hysteria, I suspect.’
‘Thank God we haven’t got any hangers-on,’ said Ma. ‘With you, Luca, speaking the language so fluently, we can blend in.’
Luca glanced at her to check whether she was serious. Ma wasn’t the sort of woman who blended, ever.
They parked the car near the quay and walked up the narrow streets to the square of San Pasquale where the people of Incantellaria gathered in front of the chapel holding small candles. The air was thick with the smell of wax and incense and charged with anticipation as they waited impatiently for the great doors to open. Luca saw Rosa immediately; her red dress and shawl stuck out of the crowd, shouting to be noticed. Children clustered around her and she was with a man who was presumably her husband. Then he saw Cosima, dressed in black, her face obscured once again by a lace veil. She was too far away for him to make out her expression. She stood beside a tall man with long grey hair and a kind face. Occasionally, he put his arm around her shoulder and drew her close, bending down to whisper something in her ear. Luca’s fury melted to make way for pity that a woman so young and pretty should waste away for love.
Rosa couldn’t stand still for the excitement. There was nothing she enjoyed more than a ceremony followed by a party. If Christ didn’t weep they’d celebrate anyway, in remembrance of the original miracle. She looked around her; she knew most people. Then she spotted Luca staring at her cousin and Panfilo and felt her excitement ebb away. Cosima was a compelling sight in her mourning dress and veil. He must have felt her eyes for he shifted his gaze to look at her. She smiled jubilantly and gave a small wave. Luca waved back.
‘Who are you waving at?’ Ma demanded to know.
‘The waitress from the trattoria.’
‘Is she pretty?’
‘She’s married.’
‘That never stopped anyone.’
‘Luca’s a man of honour!’ said Caradoc. ‘Though her beauty could launch a thousand ships.’
Ma squinted and identified Rosa. ‘By the expression on her face I’d say she’s already launched a fair few.’
The great doors opened with a loud clank and the people hurried inside, eager to find the best seats. Ma linked arms with the professor, who leaned on her gratefully. He liked full-bodied women. Luca noticed that they had begun to attract attention. He sensed the locals knew they came from the palazzo and were both fearful and intrigued. Children were less subtle, pointing and whispering behind their hands.
The little church was ablaze. On every ledge and surface there were clusters of ivory candles, their yellow flames flickering in the dusk. The smell of incense filled the air. The gold leaf glittered and the statue of Christ glowed eerily as if lit up from inside. Luca found three chairs together near the back, beside the aisle, and stood aside as Ma and Caradoc settled themselves. Cosima was at the very front with Rosa and the rest of her family. The children wriggled on their chairs and looked around to wave at friends, except Cosima’s son, who was playing in front of the altar using a white feather as a sword, stabbing the air. No one seemed to mind that he wasn’t sitting. The townspeople continued to file in, crossing themselves before the altar and ignoring the little boy.