But no, the woman he's now slipping into is Flavia Camporesi. And nothing about their coupling resembles the identical, restrained services performed for Valeria S. and Rosanna Vitale and Cristina M. and Dora and Beatrice T. and the dozens of other women whose names he has forgotten. For the first time in his life, Rene is making love with all of his muscles, not just his pelvis, and his head isn't able to formulate coherent thoughts.

He closes his eyes to regain control, but he's struck by a burst of blinding red flashes, gunfire and explosions everywhere. Then he's back in the room, without slowing down for a second. This isn't how you do it; this isn't what the clients want; this isn't what they pay him for. His o.r.g.a.s.m is ready to explode and he can't stop it. Flavia's face is pressed against the mattress. She's breathing heavily or crying, Rene can't tell, but he pushes her head farther down, as if he could make her sink into the sheets. In less than a minute he comes, while the red of the explosions pours from his eyelids and floods the room.

Only later, when they're still lying down, with no bodily contact between them, does Flavia begin talking again. She doesn't waste a single word to label what has just happened, to consider its implications or justify herself. Instead, she wants to hear about the desert, what their days were like and how long their guard duty shifts lasted, what they ate, and who led them to commit the ill-considered act of leaving the base, as if she were asking Salvatore those questions on any ordinary night. She wants to know if her husband still kept his closely trimmed beard or if he sometimes shaved it off, if he mentioned her, and how often, and in what context.

Rene fills her in, patiently. He feels a miraculous absence of embarra.s.sment in talking about the senior corporal major, lying there on his half of the bed after another performance that should be judged awful according to his old criteria but that, on the contrary, has satisfied every nerve in his body. He is equally surprised to find that he doesn't feel guilty about having once again stolen Salvatore Camporesi's place to sleep.

The next night, in the BMW's air-conditioned bubble, he awaits a signal. Everything is repeated in the same order: they have s.e.x like strangers, hypnotized and rank with sweat, and when their bodies are drained of grief they start talking. It goes on like that for the rest of the summer.

On August 6, Flavia grills him about the details of Operation Mama Bear and when she meets with his resistance, she becomes angry and accuses him of being a slave to stupid rules, like all the others. On August 9, she tells him about all the anxiety Salvo kept bottled up inside him, and how he released it only at night after falling asleep, through violent muscle spasms. Had he noticed? No, not really. On August 28, she hammers him about a leather bracelet, which, naturally, Rene doesn't remember at all. Still, he swears he saw it on Salvatore's wrist every single day spent at the FOB, of course, every day, he never took it off. He's forced to lie to her frequently, especially when she keeps asking (August 31, September 7, 9) about the appearance of the body, which they didn't allow her to see. But what can he tell her, that they weren't even sure the remains were Salvatore's and that in any case there was no trace of his hands or his eyes? That her husband had been blended together with the others? On September 13, Flavia gives him a lesson on responsibility and on the consequences that the affection of the people around us have on each of us, whether we care to recognize it or not. Rene only pretends to understand. On September 26, she screams at him to get out and threatens to call the police-what does he want from her anyway? There's nothing for him here, only misery. He should turn his G.o.dd.a.m.n car around and go find someone sunny and cheerful, forget these damaged goods. Rene swallows the outburst with bitter sorrow, but for the first time he considers the possibility that their seeing each other may have to do with something more than loneliness and grief.

On September 30, the marshal stays until morning, because Gabriele has a high fever and Flavia is anxious. In the middle of the night the boy wakes up wailing. He's wet the bed. Rene holds him in his arms while Flavia cleans up. The child's body is smooth and limp, as though lifeless. On October 5, he has to make an extreme effort to talk Flavia out of believing that Zampieri and her driving are completely to blame for what happened. Who knows where she got such an idea-he himself probably suggested it, when he presented his own version of the days in the valley. Other nights he just listens to her cry and when that happens he doesn't try to stop her.

On November 18 they're still awake, listening to the howl of a blizzard outside. Rene feels that something has changed. He's told her everything-everything he could-and there isn't a single corner of the FOB left unexplored for Flavia. He could kiss her good-bye and leave for good; he knows she wouldn't try to hold him back. Instead, he finds the nerve to invite her to dinner again. She replies after a long silence: "Do you know what we're in for?"

"I think so."

"No, you don't know. I'm not alone, Rene. I have a child, if you haven't noticed."

"I like Gabriele."

"The problem isn't whether you like him, but whether he likes you. You see? You already got it wrong."

"I can make it right."

"You don't know anything about it."

"I know all I need to know."

"Rene, let's not get into a mess like that."

A pellet of ice hits the window. "And if I want to get into it?"

Flavia hesitates. "If you want to come into my house, you have to leave the barracks first."

"You know I can't do that."

"Then I can't either. I don't want to have anything to do with war anymore."

"Flavia . . ."

"Either you promise me right now or leave, and starting tomorrow don't come back."

Marshal Rene is about to put up an argument. The army is his whole life; he's sacrificed for years to get where he is. He opens his mouth to object, but suddenly all his aspirations seem to have lost their importance. The unwavering stars that guided him since his youth and led him here, to the room of a woman who doesn't belong to him and her silent child, all those stars are now topsy-turvy, unrecognizable. Rene is ready to let them go in a second.

You'll go back to being the man you were. What happened to that man? He's evaporated, or he's taken a long leave of absence. He's definitely not there with him now. The marshal sees a blank slate before him, a future waiting to be filled in.

"All right," he says. "I'll make the arrangements."

The Evolution of the Species

"Because, look, you're young and you're new here, you don't know how things work in the platoon and not only that-now it all seems perfectly clear to you, you have a plan, you say I'll do this and I'll do that and I'll go straight to where I want to be, maybe you think you'll end up a marshal or a lieutenant, right? How much do you lift at the gym?-two hundred is pretty good, it's not exactly the greatest, but it's good enough for your size. And how do you do on the rifle range?-I watched you, yeah, you have a tendency to ease off the supporting foot and lean backward, you always. .h.i.t too high, but it's a fault that can be corrected, you just have to learn a few tricks-however, there are two or three much more important things you don't know and the first is that you'll never become what you want to become, get that into your head. It's tough to swallow, but you have to accept it sooner or later, better you should know it, it's like aiming too far afield, you follow me? If you're not going to finish that chicken give it to me, plop it right here. Every weapon has its range, see, and you have to know what yours is, you have to aim at the right target, so at least you won't waste any shots and you'll know when the a.s.shole who wants to ha.s.sle you is close enough to fire at. Keeping your feet steady is certainly a big advantage-I can give you a hand if you want, stay and watch me-do you have a girl? That's important, it keeps you anch.o.r.ed, there was a guy here before you, you remind me of him a little-well, this guy looked like you, he too had a long, long head like an eggplant and his eyes-I don't know, you have something in common, who knows what, but the point is that he was a complete washout when it came to girls, too timid, and his timidity screwed him. I mean, he never really tasted the things in life that are the most delectable, as we two know, so I'm glad to hear you have a girl, it's a good start-if you need any advice in that regard just ask yours truly, the Cederna information desk is open twenty-four/seven, I know all about it-hey, we could go have a beer some night, I know a place that's not bad, they have five hundred different types, well-known brands, imported from Belgium and Germany-well, maybe it's because you haven't yet found one that's right for you, in that place you'll find one for sure, they also have British ales-anyway you can drink something else, they don't only serve beer, what the h.e.l.l, that way we can shoot the breeze a little, I'll give you some tips-are you f.u.c.king kidding me? And who is she? Does she handle your calendar? You're still too young to be tied down, give yourself some time, man, explore a little, believe me, you need someone who can teach you how to deal with women, if you give them too much leeway you're done for-go get me another dessert, would you-the same, yeah-so let me tell you, last night I was with my girl, we had just finished . . . Well, you know-what the h.e.l.l do you care what her name is?-Agnese, her name is Agnese, happy now?-so as I was saying we'd finished and I don't know what came over me, you know how it is with us guys, those times when you don't feel like staying there and cuddling and s.h.i.t, when you just can't stand being in that room a minute longer or you might suffocate, you know, right?-you have no idea what I'm talking about, I can tell from your eyes-no, you don't know, but it didn't used to happen to me before either, I was always . . . well, never mind-no, it has nothing to do with not being able to get it up, are you listening to me, d.a.m.n it? This happens later, afterward, when she expects you to hug her and whisper sweet nothings to her, well, so there comes a point when you can't stand being stuck to another body anymore, because what she's demanding of you is too much, it seems ridiculous, I know, but it happens, it's natural evolution, a physical thing, you need some peace and quiet-I left, simple, I put on my shoes and shirt and beat it, cleared out of there to get some air, to breathe the scent of the night a little, at this time of year it's fantastic, you should go out and smell it these nights, it charges you up-some time ago I rented a cabin in the upland valley, it was a time when I didn't feel like seeing anyone, I'd even taken a break from Agnese and I stayed up there all by myself, recharging my batteries, only there was no heat and when winter came, well, with all the d.a.m.n snow I couldn't even get to the barracks-yeah, the pipes even froze, a friggin' disaster-so anyway, I go to spend the night there, minding my own business, and this morning when I get home I find her sitting on the couch, in a snit-the lunatic has been sitting there the whole time, can you imagine?, on the couch, waiting, her eyes red from crying so hard-she tells me, 'If it happens again I'm the one who's leaving, got it?,' and I say, 'No, I don't get it, shut your mouth'-that's how you deal with them-we're getting married next year-what? You say that because you're young and you don't know anything yet, how old did you say you are?-exactly, wait till you hit thirty, you'll see how things change, it's the thirties that back you against the wall and put a gun to your forehead, like this-sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you, you sure are delicate-I could call you that, delicatezza, what do you think?, Delicate Flower, or maybe Eggplant Head-let's get out of here, do you have any change for coffee? I'm broke-anyway, age thirty is the most f.u.c.ked-up time of your life, because you already have some real . . . responsibilities, that's the word, responsibilities that you don't really want but that you can't just shrug off, it's time to start a family and get going with everything else, kids and so on, otherwise it'll be too late and you'll have disobeyed the demands of the species-the human species, kid, you have to be prepared when you get to thirty, you have to be-on the mark-and realistic, you know what realistic means? It means, I don't swallow anybody's stories, that I don't buy into the fantasy about how everything is dandy, I see things as they are and decide my own version-in the end it's all about having b.a.l.l.s, those who don't have them don't survive, it's evolution, Darwin said it-get me one of those too, the chocolate one, I'll pay you back later-there's a whole slew of people who go bonkers after thirty, you can't even imagine, take the commander of our old platoon-no, you didn't meet him, it was before you got here-I told you, you didn't meet him, d.a.m.n it, his name is Rene, Marshal Rene, happy now? Listen to what he did, he went and saddled himself with a family that wasn't his, he took a woman with a kid-a kid who isn't his, Eggplant Head-I mean, it isn't natural, it seems obvious to me, spend a night, okay, but to get hitched-that b.a.s.t.a.r.d took someone else's family, the family of a dead soldier, and now he makes believe it's his-he never shows his face around here anymore, the crummy opportunist-he's a waiter in a restaurant, a dive, I'd never set foot in there, I guarantee you-where was I? I was explaining something important-give me a cigarette-right, age thirty, well, the point is that it's not easy by any means and it's not what you expected, you follow me?, and though it all seems crystal clear to you now, as if you could control each piece and say, Hey, guys, lookie here, look how great I am, and tell yourself that everything will turn out just fine, well, we'll talk about it again in ten years, champ, and we'll see if I haven't told you the G.o.d-awful truth, we'll meet again right here and you'll tell me, You know what, Senior Corporal Major Cederna? You were right on all counts, G.o.dd.a.m.n it! Life gave me a good kick in the a.s.s and landed me where I never thought I'd go-no, she has nothing to do with it, otherwise why would I be getting married?-anyhow, if you need any advice you can come to me, I won't hold back, I can give you a hand, maybe we'll go have that beer we've been talking about-tonight, what do you say?-what about tomorrow?-well, whenever you like, I'm always ready-no, it's that I don't have much to do at night-because a lot of things lose their appeal, that's why, and you can't do anything about it, even though before you liked going out and meeting a million imbeciles like yourself, and every time you went on leave all you thought about was getting as drunk as possible, later on you don't feel like it anymore-it's not you, it's your body that's changed, it's evolution, s.h.i.t, it orders you to quit doing all that c.r.a.p, you know how much I lifted on the bench at your age?, shoot-no, sir, 130 per arm, 260 total, two sets of ten, and if you ask me I could still do it, but I don't feel like it, you know?-anyway, there are too many nights, one after the other, one after the other, nonstop, you don't know how to fill them anymore-you're gonna see a lot of things, kid, things you won't be able to get out of your head anymore, you're young, you're just getting started."

Other Mountains

The disciplinary committee, as it is pompously referred to in the summons, is composed of three members. Two are external: a major and another officer who isn't wearing stripes, both with southern Italian accents-Egitto doesn't know them. The chairman seated in the center is Colonel Matteo Caracciolo, with whom the lieutenant has an a.s.sociation that goes so far back it can easily be mistaken for friendship, though it's characterized by a certain impenetrable distance. In words, at least, Caracciolo is on his side. If Egitto leaves it all to him-the colonel told him yesterday in private-everything will all work out, the incident will soon be reabsorbed (he used that very term, reabsorbed, as if he were talking about a brain trauma). Afterward, however, he refused to clarify the exact nature of the allegations, as if he were embarra.s.sed-but of course Egitto could sleep peacefully! According to Caracciolo, it would be all a bunch of nonsense, the usual minutiae typical of the army.

The colonel continues addressing him familiarly in front of the other committee members, even though they give the impression they don't appreciate the lack of formality. He opened the hearing by making it clear that he finds it completely pointless to rehash circ.u.mstances dating back more than a year, when they're already talking about a new mission for his brigade. But what can you do? The bureaucracy's pace does not necessarily coincide with that of human beings-in fact, the two almost never coincide.

An oppressive pall hangs over the overheated room, whose s.p.a.ce is almost entirely taken up by a rectangular dark wood table. Egitto longs to close his eyes. Despite Caracciolo's rea.s.surances, he didn't sleep at all last night and now he feels sapped, exhausted, irritable. He's afraid this is not the right morning for an investigation into his actions-being tired always makes him disinclined to cooperate. Moreover, he now realizes that he's drawn to the freedom sometimes granted when life is suddenly turned upside down. He's sure he'll find a way of s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g everything up before they even get into the discussion.

The dossier that's been opened on him concerns his actions at FOB Ice during his second tour of duty there and the way in which his conduct may have in part-Caracciolo stresses "in part"-contributed to events in October. For a moment Egitto, distracted, lets his mind pursue that expression. So that's how they decided to dissociate themselves from the men who died in the valley: "events in October," as if equally significant events existed for December, April, June, August . . . He wonders what this month's events will be. For sure, they won't have anything to do with the current investigation.

Caracciolo is careful to list the lieutenant's commendable actions before moving on to the more-here he pauses a moment, searching for the most appropriate adjective, and, after finding it-"controversial"-looks at the other members for approval, which they withhold. He moves on, as he was saying, to the more controversial aspects. He cites an episode of a child zonked out on opium whom Egitto miraculously saved, along with three other less exemplary actions that he's forced to fictionalize a bit. Egitto is not particularly grateful for the favor.

The major, charged with taking minutes, is making very few notes. Egitto is only half listening-they haven't gathered at ten in the morning on this milky gray day to compliment him. He's roused suddenly, though, when Caracciolo mentions First Corporal Major Angelo Torsu being wounded in battle. It's clear to Egitto that they've reached the crux of the discussion.

The soldier's family-which consists only of his father and a host of more distant relatives (first, second, and third aunts, uncles, and cousins) since Signora Torsu recently pa.s.sed away-has filed charges against the lieutenant. With the gathering of testimonies from Torsu's fellow soldiers, it came to light that at the time of the convoy's departure the first corporal major was recovering from a severe case of food poisoning caused by eating local meat, in blatant violation of the health regulations, among other things (an irresponsible act for which the doctor in charge should be held accountable, although, Caracciolo is quick to point out, that charge is not the specific focus of the interview; everyone present understands that demands in the field of operations can't be judged a posteriori, since each of them has been there-they all know that, right?).

But First Corporal Major Torsu . . . that's a h.e.l.l of a problem. Especially given the condition he's now in. It's understandable that the family is looking for someone to blame-let's admit it, a scapegoat. (The major doesn't say those last words, in all likelihood deeming them to be biased.) "The situation," Caracciolo continues, "is complicated by a report drafted by a neutral observer who was visiting the FOB during the period in question."

Egitto's arms jerk involuntarily, just the kind of somatic reaction that should be avoided in such circ.u.mstances. He grips his knees to keep himself anch.o.r.ed. The observer Caracciolo has so mysteriously referred to is actually a she, but Egitto has the distinct impression that he's the only one in the room who knows it. He decides to keep that little detail to himself.

In Irene Sammartino's report the lieutenant is described as being-and here the colonel quotes verbatim-"in an evident state of lethargy, fatigued, not very lucid," which would explain his "injudicious a.s.sessment" of First Corporal Major Torsu's physical condition. Caracciolo adds, on a personal note, that a little exhaustion seems to him the least you could expect after months and months spent in that h.e.l.l; again the major taking minutes stops writing, leaving out the justification.

Lastly, the colonel reminds Egitto that this is a friendly interview. He invites him to take the floor, but Egitto is still absorbed by the image of Irene, sitting at a desk in a darkened room, tapping swiftly on her keyboard and then printing her doc.u.ment. She'd complained that her computer was continually being requisitioned: they must have given it back to her. I'm just staff, Alessandro, like all the others.

"Lieutenant?" the colonel prompts him.

Why did she do it? Was it because he didn't call her? No, that's absurd. She did it because that's her job; she had no choice. She was a.s.signed to submit a report and she wrote it. Irene Sammartino is not the type of professional who shirks her responsibilities. She treats the system's infirmities with a determination that keeps her from having any regard for anyone.

The lieutenant has a sudden feeling of tenderness toward her, for the solitude life has forced on her: transferred from base to base, among strangers, compiling reports for which she is then hated-a stateless individual hopelessly on the outside. Was it because of this similarity of theirs that they clung so tightly to each other in the darkness of the tent? He can imagine the regret his friend must have felt as she reread the report. Maybe she walked into the kitchen, poured a gla.s.s of wine, and swallowed it down in one gulp. He can still clearly picture the ceremonious way she has of tossing her head back when she has a drink, but he can't say he misses her, not really. Not all forms of attachment correspond to longing.

"Do you recognize these?"

The officer to the left of Caracciolo had been silent until now, as if waiting for the right moment to enter the scene. His voice is higher than one might imagine from his imposing physique. Egitto turns to look at him.

He's holding up a transparent plastic bag, the body of proof. It contains a handful of yellow-and-blue capsules: by the looks of it, enough for a month's treatment. Jumbled up in the bag like that they look innocuous, even cheerful.

"Are they yours, Lieutenant?"

"They were mine. Yes, sir."

The officer puts the evidence back on the table, satisfied. The capsules' gentle clatter sounds like a drizzle. The major is feverishly taking notes.

Caracciolo is now studying him with a look of consternation. He shakes his head. "I'm forced to ask you, Alessandro. How long has this situation with the psychotropic drugs been going on?"

Egitto grips his knees even tighter. He sits up straighter. "Please, Colonel, don't you call them that too."

"Why, what should I call them?"

"Anything but that. Antidepressants. Medication. Even tablets is fine. But not psychotropic drugs. It confers a rather hasty moral judgment."

"And don't you think a moral judgment is called for?"

"Why?"

"Because of the fact that you take those . . . those things."

"Drugs," the officer to his left suggests. The major records it: drugs.

Egitto replies slowly: "If you feel the need to formulate a moral judgment about it, you're free to do so."

Suddenly he's out of patience. Not because of the way they're grilling him, not because of the hostility shown by the external members, which they make no attempt to hide, and not because they've waved a bag in front of him containing irrefutable proof of his weakness. The problem is something else. Irene Sammartino, the disciplinary committee, the distant relatives of First Corporal Major Torsu, avid for justice and also for money . . . they're all right, and the realization hits him like a resounding slap. He shouldn't have let him go. He'd left it up to the soldier to decide, believing that Angelo Torsu's body belonged to Angelo Torsu, period, whereas he was his appointed guardian. He'd found it more convenient to look the other way instead, wallowing in a pall of indolence and self-pity. Fatigued, not very lucid. An evident state of lethargy.

It seems that, in the end, his innate inclination to not intervene has had its consequences-the worst possible. Caracciolo said it well earlier: a moral judgment is called for, and theirs can only testify against him. Why, then, does he suddenly feel so alert, refreshed almost, as if things were finally falling into place?

He takes a deep breath, then another. Then he turns to the colonel: "I take full responsibility for what happened."

Caracciolo grabs the major's arm. "Don't write that! It shouldn't be recorded . . . you can clearly see that we're still framing the situation." The major is skeptical, but indulges him. "Alessandro, please don't be rash. I'm sure there must have been some circ.u.mstantial reasons why you chose to act one way rather than another. You probably need to take your time and reconstruct them calmly."

"First Corporal Major Torsu was not in any condition to confront a mission of that kind, Colonel."

"Yes, but that has nothing to do with the explosion and all the rest! And if it hadn't been Mr. Torsu on board that Lince, on the turret, but someone else-" He stops, perhaps realizing that his line of reasoning is about to exceed an acceptable level of cynicism. He tries another approach: "If we always used the utmost caution in war . . . well, it would be a disaster-we'd be defeated in the blink of an eye . . . At one time they didn't send soldiers back from the front even if they had pneumonia, let alone a little diarrhea."

The colonel is doing his best to defend him. The incident will be reabsorbed, he'd promised him. But for Egitto it's too late: the hemorrhaging coagulated some time ago. Torsu was flung out of the Lince, among the stunned sheep, his cheeks raked over the rocks.

"It was my duty to safeguard the corporal's health."

"Two hundred men!" Caracciolo talks over him, as if he hasn't even heard him. "Imagine worrying about two hundred men day and night. The probability of an oversight is huge. And we're not talking about a normal place, we're talking about-"

Egitto raises the volume of his voice slightly: "I made a mistake, Colonel. The responsibility is mine."

He rea.s.serts it so firmly that this time Caracciolo can't prevent the major from recording it. Speechless, he stares at Egitto: Why is he doing it? Why does he want to cause problems for himself, unnecessarily? You don't get anywhere by being a hero, by being conscientious-hasn't he figured that out yet?

But it's not a matter between them, nor an issue of loyalty to a principle. For Egitto, it's much simpler than that: it's purely about understanding what concerns you and what doesn't. The bodies of the soldiers at FOB Ice were his concern. He responds to the colonel in silence: Go ahead, do what you're supposed to do and get it over with.

Caracciolo sighs. Then, in a tone that is no longer quite so amiable, he says: "It would be best for us to resume this conversation later on. The lieutenant has the right to have some time to develop his defense strategy." He straightens the packet of papers, evening out the pages.

"What about these?" the officer without stripes asks, shaking the bag of pills.

"Oh, for G.o.d's sake! Do me a favor!" Caracciolo explodes. "Throw them away!" Then, turning to Egitto: "Alessandro, you should know that we are considering a suspension of two to four months, plus a penalty that we'll discuss later. Pending a resolution, I am obliged to relieve you of your duties. I realize that you reside in the barracks, but you will have to find a temporary accommodation. I will do my best to see that the room is returned to you when you return to service."

"It's not necessary, Colonel." Egitto says it without having planned to. There it is, then, a new opportunity to change his life.

Caracciolo is visibly disappointed. "What do you mean?"

"I accept the maximum suspension. And you don't have to worry about the room. In fact, Colonel, there's something I'd like to talk to you about."

He manages with very little baggage: two crammed duffel bags and a backpack-living in the barracks has trained him to travel light. He'll decide later what to do about the furnishings he paid for out of his own pocket; for now they'll be stored in a warehouse in the outskirts.

Marianna came running at the news of his imminent departure. She's wearing a very long black sweater and heavy makeup that coa.r.s.ens her pale complexion.

"They can't kick you out like this. It's crazy."

"They're not kicking me out. They're rea.s.signing me. It's pretty normal, you know."

"Yeah, sure, too bad they didn't even give you the chance to choose. Retaliation, plain and simple. To send you to such an abominable place. Belluno, who's ever heard of it? I didn't even remember where it was, until today."

He didn't tell her the real truth. In fact, what he told her is his own rather sketchy version, full of omissions. All the energy he feels charged with isn't enough to make him admit to Marianna that it was he who decided to leave, to give it all up, as she'd said earlier on the phone. "They make excellent knodel up there," he jokes. "You know what that is?"

Marianna shakes her head. "Who cares."

She's sitting on the bed, her back against the wall, her shoes disrespectfully resting on the soft white mattress stripped of its sheets. Her chin tucked into her chest makes her look kind of sulky. Egitto isn't really sure why, but his sister still has an adolescent way of curling up into a fetal position. Maybe it's just that in his eyes she will remain eternally young, a little girl, even when she has gray hair and wrinkles. It occurs to him that this is only the second time she's set foot in his room: the day he'd arrived and now, when he's about to leave the barracks.

"I'm telling you that if we put it in the hands of an attorney, for sure-"

"No lawyers. Drop it."

Marianna toys with her fingers, trying to touch them together one by one. She's capable of supernatural concentration; her motor coordination is as perfect as it used to be. Even after all the battles she's involved him in, the affection that Egitto feels for her remains intact.

"Anyway, it's not fair that you're going so far away. And I don't understand the reason for all the rush, given that at the moment you're suspended."

"I have to look for a place to live. Get myself settled. You can come up as soon as I get squared away."

She jumps off the bed and casts a cold eye on the stripped mattress. "You know I don't drive on the highway. And since he's had back problems, Carlo can't handle long trips. He had an operation, in case you don't remember."

"That's right. I'd forgotten that."

All Egitto needs to do now is make yet another promise, fabricate the first nagging thought that will disturb the future that awaits him. "Then I'll come back here," he says. Though he adds: "As soon as I'm able to."