boyâa servant? her acolyte?âsquatting in the corner, who had the same penetrating look as she, more eloquent because halved.
Iâm curious to learn how exactly you proceed. Do you read cards or consult the entrails of animals or chew on bitter leaves and fall into a tranceâ
You are impatient, my lord. A true son of the north.
How interesting, the Cavaliere thought. The woman is no fool. She wants to converse with me, not merely show me her tricks.
Efrosina lowered her head for a moment, sighed, then nodded to the boy, who took something wrapped in a malachite-green cloth from the corner cupboard and set it down on the trestle table between them. Under the cloth, which she removed slowly, was a lidless box of thick milky glass. Staring fixedly at the box, she laid the cloth over her bosom like a bib, muttered some inaudible words, made a few passes in the air, then crossed herself and bowed her head. The performance had started. Ah, said the Cavaliere, encouragingly.
I see too much, she whispered.
The Cavaliere, who always wants to see more, smiled to himself, relishing the contrast.
She lifted her face, eyes gone wide, her mouth twitching.
No, I do not want to see disasters! No!
The Cavaliere nodded in appreciation of the drama of the struggle against knowledge being concocted for his benefit. Sighing, she raised the cube with both hands before her face.
I see ⦠I see water! Her voice had gone hoarse. Yes! And the bottom of a sea strewn with open chests, spilling out their treasure. I see a boat, a colossal boatâ
Oh, water, he interrupted. Then earth. Then air, and I suppose we shall get to fire before nightfall.
She set the cube down. Her voice returned to its normal insinuating smoothness. But His Excellency likes water. All Naples enjoys seeing him out in his boat through the long day fishing in our splendid bay.
And I climb the mountain. This is known, too.
Yes, His Excellency is admired for his bravery.
He did not reply.
Perhaps His Excellency is interested in his death after all.
Death, death. He was closing the valves of his attention.
If I cannot reassure you, she was saying, can I frighten you, my lord?
I am not easily frightened.
But you have already, more than once, just missed being struck by a fiery missile. You could lean over and lose your balance. You could descend and not be able to climb out.
I am very surefooted.
You know how temperamental the mountain is. Anything can happen from one moment to the next.
I am very adaptable, he said. And to himself: I am observing, I am collecting evidence. He shifted his weight in the cane chair.
I am breathing, he said.
The closeness of the room was making him groggy. He heard her whispering, the boy leaving the room, a large clock ticking, a fly buzzing, a dog barking, church bells, a tambourine, a water sellerâs cry. A magma of sounds that fell away to reveal a silence, and behind that but more distinct, as if separately wrapped, the clock, the voices, the bells, the dog, the cry, the boy returning, the sound of his own heartbeat, and then silence. The Cavaliere was trying to hear a voice, a very faint, barely audible voice, while this large full-bodied voice droned on about the dangers of the mountain. He is still trying to hear the voice. Determined in his pursuit of experience, the Cavaliere is good at paying attention. You pivot your mind, train it on something fixedly: mental staring. Easy once you know you can do it. It neednât be dark. Itâs all inside.
Are you awake?
I am always awake, declared the Cavaliere. He had closed his eyes.
Now you are really listening, my lord.
From far inside his head he remembered to wonder why he was sitting here, and then recalled that it would be amusing to relate this exploit to his friends.
Shall we start with the past? Efrosinaâs voice asked.
What? he said querulously. The question was repeated. He shook his head. Not the past!
Even, she said, if I
Iâm curious to learn how exactly you proceed. Do you read cards or consult the entrails of animals or chew on bitter leaves and fall into a tranceâ
You are impatient, my lord. A true son of the north.
How interesting, the Cavaliere thought. The woman is no fool. She wants to converse with me, not merely show me her tricks.
Efrosina lowered her head for a moment, sighed, then nodded to the boy, who took something wrapped in a malachite-green cloth from the corner cupboard and set it down on the trestle table between them. Under the cloth, which she removed slowly, was a lidless box of thick milky glass. Staring fixedly at the box, she laid the cloth over her bosom like a bib, muttered some inaudible words, made a few passes in the air, then crossed herself and bowed her head. The performance had started. Ah, said the Cavaliere, encouragingly.
I see too much, she whispered.
The Cavaliere, who always wants to see more, smiled to himself, relishing the contrast.
She lifted her face, eyes gone wide, her mouth twitching.
No, I do not want to see disasters! No!
The Cavaliere nodded in appreciation of the drama of the struggle against knowledge being concocted for his benefit. Sighing, she raised the cube with both hands before her face.
I see ⦠I see water! Her voice had gone hoarse. Yes! And the bottom of a sea strewn with open chests, spilling out their treasure. I see a boat, a colossal boatâ
Oh, water, he interrupted. Then earth. Then air, and I suppose we shall get to fire before nightfall.
She set the cube down. Her voice returned to its normal insinuating smoothness. But His Excellency likes water. All Naples enjoys seeing him out in his boat through the long day fishing in our splendid bay.
And I climb the mountain. This is known, too.
Yes, His Excellency is admired for his bravery.
He did not reply.
Perhaps His Excellency is interested in his death after all.
Death, death. He was closing the valves of his attention.
If I cannot reassure you, she was saying, can I frighten you, my lord?
I am not easily frightened.
But you have already, more than once, just missed being struck by a fiery missile. You could lean over and lose your balance. You could descend and not be able to climb out.
I am very surefooted.
You know how temperamental the mountain is. Anything can happen from one moment to the next.
I am very adaptable, he said. And to himself: I am observing, I am collecting evidence. He shifted his weight in the cane chair.
I am breathing, he said.
The closeness of the room was making him groggy. He heard her whispering, the boy leaving the room, a large clock ticking, a fly buzzing, a dog barking, church bells, a tambourine, a water sellerâs cry. A magma of sounds that fell away to reveal a silence, and behind that but more distinct, as if separately wrapped, the clock, the voices, the bells, the dog, the cry, the boy returning, the sound of his own heartbeat, and then silence. The Cavaliere was trying to hear a voice, a very faint, barely audible voice, while this large full-bodied voice droned on about the dangers of the mountain. He is still trying to hear the voice. Determined in his pursuit of experience, the Cavaliere is good at paying attention. You pivot your mind, train it on something fixedly: mental staring. Easy once you know you can do it. It neednât be dark. Itâs all inside.
Are you awake?
I am always awake, declared the Cavaliere. He had closed his eyes.
Now you are really listening, my lord.
From far inside his head he remembered to wonder why he was sitting here, and then recalled that it would be amusing to relate this exploit to his friends.
Shall we start with the past? Efrosinaâs voice asked.
What? he said querulously. The question was repeated. He shook his head. Not the past!
Even, she said, if I
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