dominating the interior of Sicily. At Enna, they turned onto the expressway and drove northwest toward the coast.
“You’re not frightened,” commented Fundling after they had been driving in silence for a long time.
“Should I be?”
“Everyone here is frightened of something. Most don’t show it, but you can sense it. You could see it in their eyes at the baron’s funeral.”
“You were there, too?”
He nodded.
“I didn’t see you.”
“I wasn’t at the family vault. I’m only the driver.”
“What are they afraid of?”
“The Hungry Man.”
“Who’s he?”
“You’ll soon find out.”
She shrugged and didn’t reply.
He waited a moment, then glanced sideways at her. “You’re not curious.”
“No.”
They drove on again without another word. Only after a while did Rosa ask, “Are you always like this? Acting like you’re not interested in other people, then suddenly trying to feel them out by simply making a statement? You’re not frightened. You’re not curious. ”
She could see that she had taken him by surprise. He looked almost angry.
“We don’t either of us like to talk about ourselves,” he said matter-of-factly. “You don’t like to either.”
“What do you want to know?”
“If it’s true. That you’re not frightened.”
She thought of her lost stapler. And what had happened back before that. “Not at the moment,” she finally replied.
“I am,” he said. “I’m often frightened.”
“Of this… Hungry Man?”
He shook his head. “Have you ever wondered who’s in the gaps in the crowd?”
She glanced at him in surprise. Maybe she’d been wrong, and he was more than just a little odd.
“Gaps in the crowd?” she repeated.
“If there are a lot of people all in one place, a hundred or a thousand or more, there’ll still be some empty spaces. Gaps right at the front. Or in the middle. Or on the outside. You just have to look carefully to see them.” He shifted gears as two heavy trucks appeared side by side ahead of them. “Those are the gaps in the crowd. And if you look very closely, you notice that they’re moving about. Just like the people around them.”
Rosa pressed her lips together and said, “Hmm,” as if she understood what he was talking about.
“They’re weird,” he said.
“The gaps?”
“Because they’re not really empty.”
“No?”
“No, they aren’t. They’re always there, and in other places, too. Around us, but invisible. It’s only in a crowd you can see them. No one can move into the places where the gaps are.” On the backseat, Sarcasmo sneezed. “No dog either.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you? What is this—some kind of initiation ceremony? Let’s see how stupid the little blonde is.”
He made a sudden movement as if she had nudged him hard in the ribs. Her old belligerence was back, replacing the contentment that had made her way too friendly and forthcoming.
She waited for an answer. Waited a long time.
“Sorry,” he said at last.
Then he didn’t say another word for the rest of the drive.
ISOLA LUNA
T HE YACHT PLOWED THROUGH the sparkling, inky blue water. The Tyrrhenian Sea, the part of the Mediterranean off the north coast of Sicily, was a gently rippling expanse under a cloudless early autumn sky. The vapor trail left by a solitary aircraft up there was dispersing like a reflection of the Gaia ’s wake in the air.
The Carnevares’ 130-foot yacht was sailing northeast with a ten-man crew. Besides the captain and his men, there was a barkeep, a cook, and a steward. Isola Luna lay thirty miles off the coast; they would be there around midday.
However, there was still no land in sight ahead. Apart from a tiny sail on the horizon, it was as if the Gaia had the sea all to itself. It had three decks above the surface and a fourth below. The hollow sound of Europop on the sundeck, with its bubbling Jacuzzi and glazed viewing lounge, floated down to the
“You’re not frightened,” commented Fundling after they had been driving in silence for a long time.
“Should I be?”
“Everyone here is frightened of something. Most don’t show it, but you can sense it. You could see it in their eyes at the baron’s funeral.”
“You were there, too?”
He nodded.
“I didn’t see you.”
“I wasn’t at the family vault. I’m only the driver.”
“What are they afraid of?”
“The Hungry Man.”
“Who’s he?”
“You’ll soon find out.”
She shrugged and didn’t reply.
He waited a moment, then glanced sideways at her. “You’re not curious.”
“No.”
They drove on again without another word. Only after a while did Rosa ask, “Are you always like this? Acting like you’re not interested in other people, then suddenly trying to feel them out by simply making a statement? You’re not frightened. You’re not curious. ”
She could see that she had taken him by surprise. He looked almost angry.
“We don’t either of us like to talk about ourselves,” he said matter-of-factly. “You don’t like to either.”
“What do you want to know?”
“If it’s true. That you’re not frightened.”
She thought of her lost stapler. And what had happened back before that. “Not at the moment,” she finally replied.
“I am,” he said. “I’m often frightened.”
“Of this… Hungry Man?”
He shook his head. “Have you ever wondered who’s in the gaps in the crowd?”
She glanced at him in surprise. Maybe she’d been wrong, and he was more than just a little odd.
“Gaps in the crowd?” she repeated.
“If there are a lot of people all in one place, a hundred or a thousand or more, there’ll still be some empty spaces. Gaps right at the front. Or in the middle. Or on the outside. You just have to look carefully to see them.” He shifted gears as two heavy trucks appeared side by side ahead of them. “Those are the gaps in the crowd. And if you look very closely, you notice that they’re moving about. Just like the people around them.”
Rosa pressed her lips together and said, “Hmm,” as if she understood what he was talking about.
“They’re weird,” he said.
“The gaps?”
“Because they’re not really empty.”
“No?”
“No, they aren’t. They’re always there, and in other places, too. Around us, but invisible. It’s only in a crowd you can see them. No one can move into the places where the gaps are.” On the backseat, Sarcasmo sneezed. “No dog either.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You’re making fun of me, aren’t you? What is this—some kind of initiation ceremony? Let’s see how stupid the little blonde is.”
He made a sudden movement as if she had nudged him hard in the ribs. Her old belligerence was back, replacing the contentment that had made her way too friendly and forthcoming.
She waited for an answer. Waited a long time.
“Sorry,” he said at last.
Then he didn’t say another word for the rest of the drive.
ISOLA LUNA
T HE YACHT PLOWED THROUGH the sparkling, inky blue water. The Tyrrhenian Sea, the part of the Mediterranean off the north coast of Sicily, was a gently rippling expanse under a cloudless early autumn sky. The vapor trail left by a solitary aircraft up there was dispersing like a reflection of the Gaia ’s wake in the air.
The Carnevares’ 130-foot yacht was sailing northeast with a ten-man crew. Besides the captain and his men, there was a barkeep, a cook, and a steward. Isola Luna lay thirty miles off the coast; they would be there around midday.
However, there was still no land in sight ahead. Apart from a tiny sail on the horizon, it was as if the Gaia had the sea all to itself. It had three decks above the surface and a fourth below. The hollow sound of Europop on the sundeck, with its bubbling Jacuzzi and glazed viewing lounge, floated down to the
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