who has auditioned for him at some time? No, that cannot be, for
then he would have recognised her voice. He easily forgets faces,
but never voices. Perhaps she has mistaken him for someone else.
‘Know is perhaps an exaggeration, but we do have
something in common,’ she responds cryptically. Confused, the
priest searches his memory for clues, staring helplessly at her
meanwhile.
Her dark blue eyes betray her disappointment.
She offers him her hand. It is cool and yet, at the same
time, feels warm to his touch. A shudder passes through him.
‘Goodbye, Antonio Vivaldi,’ she whispers softly, leaning subtly
towards him. That perfume, the scent of her skin! It brings her
back to him from the darkest depths of his memory. As her hand
glides out of his he holds it fast for an instant, examines
tremulously the long, slim fingers, hardly able to believe his eyes.
Those hands, Santa Maria, it is she!
He stares at her, wide-eyed with wonder. He opens his
mouth, but no sound emerges. Sweat pours from his forehead and
down over his face, giddying him. ‘I must go,’ he stammers. ‘It is
the heat, it is…’
As fast as his legs can carry him he makes his getaway,
pushing and shoving past people who swap bemused looks at this
rude and distraught priest, elbowing them aside without apology.
Behind him, the woman takes a deep breath and watches
him go. Should she follow? No, of course not. Her pride will not
allow it. But will he come back? Or will he, as before, ignore the
whole episode as if nothing has happened?
‘Paolina,’ shrills one of the washerwomen, ‘what are you
doing daydreaming over there? We’re waiting for you.’ Paolina
packs up her things and calls her little sister to her side.
It is the warmest night of the summer so far. At least, so it seems
to Antonio. His afternoon nap was disturbed today when he awoke
with a shock. The woman visited his dreams. It is years since this
happened. He used to meet her here in his dream world under every
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