"It's Delphine!" says a young voice.

"Yes, I recognize you."

You climb over a gate and join her on the other side.

"I have a surprise for you," she says.

"Really?"

"Yes, really."

"Why are you awake so early, Delphine?"

"Oh, I like to get up early," she says. "So does Sebastian, but Mama sleeps all morning and sometimes keeps him in bed, which is so boring."

She pulls a piece of baguette from her pocket and hands it to you.

"Breakfast," she says.

"Can we share it?" you say.

"No, that's yours-I have these," she says, taking a handful of blueberries from her pocket. Delphine is wrapped in a double-breasted black wool coat, mittens, and a woolen hat. However, underneath the coat she is still wearing pajamas, which she's tucked into her Wellingtons. The pajamas have cartoon frogs on them.

"Have you come to let all the frogs go?"

"Frogs?"

"On your pajamas."

Delphine looks down at her leg.

"No, I need those."

She points at holes in the mud she has carved out with a spoon. "Do you like mice?"

"I love mice," you say.

"Well, Sebastian doesn't, which is why I've made them a home here."

"In the mud?"

"It's where they're happiest."

Delphine leans down and takes one of the plastic mice from its hiding place. It's about the size of your thumb. It has a brown face with a painted-on shirt and tie.

"Does he like it here?"

"It's his home-give me your hand."

You let her take it.

"Can I put your hand in his den?"

"If you'd like."

"You don't mind?"

"No, I don't mind."

"What about mouse plops?"

"Mouse plops?" you say.

"What if there are mouse plops?"

"From him?" you add, pointing at the plastic mouse.

"And his kids."

"It's okay," you say.

"Sebastian said they're bad. I got in trouble. He yelled."

"Mouse plops?"

"Yes, if you touch them-they're poisoning, Sebastian said."

"There are plops in here?"

"Give me your hand, Awnree. Please."

She grips your hand again and guides it down to the tiny hollow in the mud. She puts your hand in and steps back.

"Can you feel them?"

"Who?"

"Not who-the plops."

"Delphine," you say, turning to her, "there are no plops in here."

"No mouse's plops?" she says.

"Can I see that mouse?" you say.

Delphine hands you the mouse. You turn it over and sniff his bottom.

"Delphine, this sort of mouse doesn't plop-and so there are no plops in there."

A look of wild joy on her face.

"Want to play?"

"I'm going for a walk."

"Where are you going?"

"I really don't know."

"Want a blueberry?"

"Okay."

She takes one out of her pocket and gives it to you.

"These mice don't even make plops!" She laughs. Then she takes out another blueberry and eats it herself.

You thank her for the blueberry when her face suddenly darkens. She sticks her fingers into her mouth as if she's trying to make herself sick.

Her eyes bulge with terror and confusion.

Her mouth opens and closes-as if she is singing, but no sound comes out.

You grab her shoulders.

"What's wrong?" you say sternly, shaking her. "Delphine! What's wrong!"

The lines of muscle in her neck are visible.

Her tongue is lolling in and out of her mouth.

You frantically position your clenched fists under her ribcage. Her small body lifts easily and she flies forward-dropping the plastic mouse clenched between her fingers. Her hat and one of her gloves comes off. You position her again-then violently thrust under her ribcage.

Her face is purple.

Her body flies up like a doll, but whatever you're doing is not working.

Then another thrust, and something shoots from her mouth. She is suddenly on the ground, coughing, retching-taking very deep breaths. She spies her mouse in the gra.s.s and slowly reaches for him. Then she lies on the ground with her eyes open wide.

You pull her toward you and hold on tight. You rock her gently.

She is touching the outside of her throat.

At that moment it starts to rain.

She looks at you and smiles.

"We'll get wet," she says.

Then, she pushes off and stands looking at you, not saying thank you, but there's something in her eyes that tells you she understands what happened. Water is running down her face, and you don't realize it immediately, but she's crying.

You watch her disappear toward the house, then get up very slowly. You are covered in mud.

Crows bark in the trees.

Every fiber in your body tingles. You are in the place that was meant for you. Everything had to be arranged like this to get you here.

And you were ready.

It's something you feel, like a weight in both hands; it's the faith that embodies G.o.d but incorporates logic.

And there are hands we live between that open and close.

Once aligned there is nothing to fear.

And the tapping of rain in the fields is the tapping of footsteps pa.s.sing.

You are breathing again. You are with form.

Chapter Sixty.

Heavy clouds drifting.

You circle like Daedalus, the doomed father of Icarus.

And then you realize it's not cloud, but smoke from an ancient fire.

Your plane cuts the silent plume of Mount Etna. From the mouth of a volcano a white scarf is unfurling.

By the time Daedalus arrived in Sicily, his child had already fallen into the sea. You look down and imagine two feathered wings, each the length of an arm.

The city of Catania.

It shimmers from above like coins in the rocks.

Waiting for your suitcase everyone stares at one another.

A child is watching you as the belt shudders forward. She is inching toward it. She wants to touch. Her father puts down his cell phone and calls out to her.

"Valeria! Valeria!"