“Coming,” Alan looked at his watch. Five, the crickets would start singing soon. He walked on, the sweat pouring into his eyes. Knowing she had opened the bottle of mineral water. Would she let him catch up with her? An even greater misery seized him. It reminded him of the night he made himself drunk on the rough local wine his parents bought in the village. His heart had ached then, too, and his sense of loss had increased as he relived each minute of a day when Tom and Alice had seemed to draw closer and closer together.
He walked faster. Here, a few miles away on the bare mountainside, there was arid space, and the olive groves, clustered in the stone-cluttered valleys below.
“Come on!”
“Coming.”
Alan strode doggedly on, looking down at his red, peeling legs, thinking of Tom’s strong, straight, brown ones.
Suddenly he had turned the corner by the stone shelter. He could see her waiting for him. If Tom were here, they would be together, mocking him, looking at each other, leaving him alone. As he strode self-consciously on Alan focused his mind on her.
“Where’re we going to camp?” She was sitting on an outcrop, her slim body supple and salt-caked. Her legs were swinging and he longed to run his hands over them. Instead he imagined Tom doing that and hot, angry tears filled his eyes.
“Let’s go,” said Alan quickly.
“How far is it?” she asked. “I’m whacked.”
“Half an hour.”
“Can we eat them?” Her voice was a little plaintive. Alan noticed with satisfaction that she was becoming dependent on him again. But he knew that once they were off the mountain she would be with Tom. For a crazy moment he imagined Alice with himself living in the mountain valley together. Always. Trapped perhaps by some magical force that wouldn’t let them leave.
The monastery was square-roofed, austere，with barrack windows. There were fish tanks at the back and a terrace on which the monks would have walked.
Their feet on the stones made the only sound. Santa Caterina was utterly still. A swift rose soundlessly over the slate roof and the heat shimmered on the roughcast walls. They lay down, their rucksack still on their backs, passing the water bottle, almost dozing.
Suddenly she sat up and looked him with surprising tenderness. Alan’s black mood eased slightly.
“Have they all gone then?” asked Alice.
“Yes. I don’t know when. A long time ago.”
She was lying back, her eyes closed. He could talk to her now. They could both talk the problem and solve it. They would reach each other. But he couldn’t make the move.
“It would be terrible if it is pulled down,” Alice said idly, her eyes still closed.
“It won’t be.”
“How do you know that?”
“They patch it up from time to time.”
“Why don’t they live here?”
“Don’t know. Maybe it’s too remote.”
The desire to punish her had gone. But he daren’t touch her. He daren’t break the enchantment.
“The heat in the day. The cool evenings. It would be good to live like that.”
“Live here?”
“Could we ever get permission?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just to see what it was like. I mean—”She half sat up. “Can we get inside?” She ran a finger gently down his peeling cheek.
Alan was taken aback but then he became aware that the crickets had started. How long had they been singing? He wondered. “Let go and see.”
They tramped round but as Alan already knew, there was no way in. In the end they came back and he lit a fire at the side of a small stone building. Other campers had obviously used the space and there were black marks on the walls.
He cooked supper, using half a precious bottle of water to make it. The intimacy was still there but the talking was at an end. Alan could hardly contain his rising excitement. They had night together. Anything could happen.
Alan suddenly realized what he had to do. After supper, in the glow of the scented mountain twilight, he made coffee and they sat in silence. Darkness came slowly; the volume of the crickets seemed to increase. Still he had made no move.
She was lying in front of the fire, her body almost glowing. Alan reached out a hand and temporarily she took it. Then Alice yawned and stretched. “I’m turning in now,” she said.
“More coffee?” asked Alan miserably.
She kissed him on the forehead. “No thanks”
Had he ever loved his brother Tom? He must have done sometime. Certainly he had always been jealous of him as a child. He the introvert；Tom the extrovert. Alan thought about his introverted personality. He could see quite clearly how he had failed so dismally with Alice and how Tom had taken over so easily. Tom was what she wanted. She didn’t want what he had.
Gloomily, Alan climbed into the sleeping bag and drifted off to sleep. Beside him Alice slept, her breathing seeming to keep in time with the insistent beat of crickets.
Alan dreamt. The crickets had stopped. There was a slight breeze and the luminous hand of his watch registered just after two. Her sleeping bag was empty; Alice had gone. For a while he just couldn’t believe it. He sat up and felt the dark walls of Santa Caterina close in on him.
Then he was on the mountainside, stumbling blindly up the mountain path, hearing their laughter. Softly he crept up on them until he could see their bodies entwined. Alan’s anger rose to fever pitch and he rushed towards them. They fell apart. He sobbed as he had never sobbed since he was a child.
She woke him anxiously shaking at his sunburnt shoulders.
“What’s the matter？” she kept asking over and over again “Alan, what’s wrong?”
He stared up at her, blinking in the glow of the dying camp fire.
“Nothing,” he said automatically. “Nothing really.”
“But—”
“Just a bad dream, that’s all.”
“You were crying.” Her voice was soft, tender, just like she used to be.
Alan turned over in his sleeping bag. “I’m fine.” he said, “Let’s get some sleep.”