Adam Foulds - In the Wolf's Mouth

She struck him with her heels and he stepped forwards. A small crater twenty yards away. There were scattered things that she slowly understood, parts of a man spread out. A body full of incomprehensible space. There were long flutes of exposed bone and a torso with a small, burned, peevish head. Its eyes were empty. The noise of flies was the noise of the chaos in her head. Luisa’s lungs couldn’t take in air. She yanked the reins over and Ezio plunged around. She kicked and kicked.

Back home, she ran up to her room and emptied the pitcher of water on her washstand over her head, a crash of coldness on her crown that fell down her neck and around her forehead. She stared into the ewer and breathed. She caught sight of her own mouth wide open in the mirror. Her skin was tight and yellow. Her eyes were flat. She wouldn’t meet them, wouldn’t look into them. She smoothed her hair to her head and went up to the attic, checking for sounds of anyone else. She opened the door and found the American again on his hands and knees.

‘God help us. It’s like a wet weekend in Margate.’ Swatting his book against his thigh, Will stepped outside to where Samuels and Travis were playing cards at a rusty table. In the twilight, the little scratchy garden was violet and lemon-grey but it wouldn’t be for long. The colours were changing, flaring and sinking.

‘We can deal you in, if you like.’

‘No, thank you.’

Will sat on a small stone bench by the wall. Behind him, the bricks released the stored heat of the day, a very comfortable fading of the sun into his neck and shoulders. He closed his eyes and relaxed.

The thrip of playing cards. Travis’s voice. ‘Ha-ha! Come to mother, little coins.’

The breeze was the perfect temperature and speed over Will’s skin. He opened his eyes to see the glowing garden, a white butterfly tumbling around some purple flowers. A wonderful ease filled him. Something was happening, the heat, the light, the sound of voices. Everything was exquisite. Everything blended. And from this harmony something else seemed to emerge, to arrive. There was a completeness to the moment that felt like a presence. It was … what was it? It was kind, reassuring. It felt enduring. It felt like a refutation of Lucretius and his granulated universe crashing against itself. Will couldn’t explain it. He was for that moment at ease and perfectly happy. He was cared for.

Too strange, though. He didn’t have time for it. Will took out and lit a cigarette. ‘It’s nice out here,’ he said.

‘Then leave it out.’

‘Very droll. We haven’t met this prince yet, have we?’

‘The big landowner.’

‘No. His chap changed a lot of money, though. Same chap who came in ranting about his house.’

‘Did you ask Albanese about that?’

‘Not yet. Another denunciation of him came in today. Anonymous. He’s a thief apparently.’

‘But he’s not a Fascist.’

‘Fascists wouldn’t have him.’

‘Oh, that’s useful.’

‘What is?’

‘The eight of clubs Travis just threw out.’

‘I think I should go and talk to this prince.’

‘Probably you should.’

Will blew smoke upwards into the sky. It was starting to darken. Travis said, ‘What time is it?’

Samuels said to Will, ‘He’s got a woman in town, you know. They meet at night. I believe they discuss the progress of the war and read their favourite passages from the Bible to each other.’

‘Have you been following us?’

‘Just another poor girl who likes a soldier.’

‘Excuse me, an intelligence officer,’ Travis objected.

‘My pass is access all areas. All areas.’

Will flicked away his cigarette end, a zooming light into the grey of the garden. ‘Edifying as this is, I think I’m going to go and read.’

The attic was a tent of shadows suspended from the light of a single candle. When a draught pulled at the flame, all the shadows swayed. Outside was nothing, was night-time. Inside, their voices were small and secret and careful, crossing the air between them. Their faces were a golden blur.

‘It shouldn’t have still been there,’ Luisa said. ‘People here … someone must have seen it and yet no one did anything, no one ever does anything.’

‘Him.’

‘What?’

‘Not “it”. Him.’

Luisa clapped her hand to her mouth. ‘Him. I’m sorry.’

‘Or “it”,’ Ray said. ‘It’s an it now.’

Luisa didn’t know what to say. She looked down at her fingers tangling together. A question occurred to her. ‘Did you see …’ but she stopped herself. There was something wrong in wanting to know, something greedy and obscene. But she did want to know, she wanted to touch the life that he had lived. ‘Did you see many people killed?’

A breeze caught the candle flame. Ray stared as it streamed sideways with a bubbling sound then fluttered upright again.

‘There is nothing after that I can see. I never saw any sign of it, no reason to believe it. It all stops. Just stops.’

Luisa nodded, waiting. Into the silence she said, ‘People here are always killed but I never see it. Once when I was very small one of the peasants died outside in the courtyard. I have a memory, I don’t know if I saw it or imagined it, this old man lying down like he’s asleep. That’s all.’

‘It’s not like sleep.’

‘No.’

Luisa looked at the young American, at his soft inward eyes. His neck was so tense that his head trembled sometimes. Luisa could see the arcs of sinew inside rising out of his shoulders.

‘You’ve seen some terrible things.’

Ray was tracing a pattern on the floor with his fingertip. His face opened in a laugh but he didn’t look up. ‘I’ve seen some terrible things. Yes, I have.’ The smile went from his face again. He frowned down at his moving hand. ‘Not a lot I can do about it. And you have too, now.’ He looked up at her, his mouth hanging open in sorrow.

Luisa smiled at him, a new thought amusing her. ‘I like you so much,’ she said. ‘I don’t know why. I don’t know you really. People I know very well I don’t like the way I like you.’

It was the darkness that made these words possible, the night and their clandestine solitude. There was nothing familiar or ordinary there. They were alone. Luisa could have such thoughts and there was nothing to prevent her from saying them out loud. She was free.

‘That’s nice,’ Ray said. ‘You’re very kind to me.’

‘It’s because I like you,’ Luisa insisted. Mauro Vecchio, with all his power and position, saluted by people as he passed, didn’t have what this American boy had. It was suffering, the authority of pain. His pain was the dark beautiful flower of the deepest experience.

‘I like you so much,’ Luisa went on, ‘that if you wanted to I would let you kiss me.’

Ray looked up. ‘You what?’

‘I’d let you kiss me.’

Ray felt his heart sink down inside his chest. He looked at the Princess. She was smiling at him. She was glittering and fragile as new ice. The flaw was in her eyes, their gaze slightly fractured with fear. The moment was breakable. It was his responsibility to handle it with care. Ray said, ‘I can’t stay here for ever.’

The Princess was sitting very straight. Evidently she was waiting.

‘Now?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Why not? Why shouldn’t he? Only for some reason he hesitated. It was too much. But she was waiting. Ray moved onto his hands and knees and started crawling towards her.

Luisa watched him coming, prowling closer. His mouth was open. His eyebrows were knitted together in concentration. He looked passionate.