became aware that I was, nevertheless, not alone . I felt, as one sometimes feels when walking along a busy street in a great city, oppressed by the massed crowd of strangers whose lives are unknown to you, who pass by uncaring, who mean nothing to you and to whom you mean nothing. I thought then that the garden was well named.
‘Actual physical impressions were slight. I heard a rustling noise which might only have been the fluster of a bird in the shrubberies, and a sighing which could have been the breeze. Cloud-like things seemed to cluster round me, but that could merely have been the evening mist. But there was life there, of a sort, I was sure of it: the very stillness was like a live thing, and no bird sang.
‘I sat on my bench, now not daring to move, feeling the presence of many beings very near. They seemed to come close to me for warmth and for the little life that I had within me. I sensed that some wished to communicate with me, but either they could not or did not know how; yet there were three presences, less insubstantial than the rest, who appeared to have that ability. Why these three and no others I cannot say; it is a mystery to me. They clustered round me so close that I could vaguely discern their shape. I could just feel their cold breath upon my cheek and hair; and I could hear their voices, at least with my inward ear.
‘The first spirit to address me was, I think, the youngest and female. A vision was impressed upon my imagination of a beautiful raven-haired girl. Her origins were humble, she told me, for she was one of seven, the daughter of a small shopkeeper in Porto Ercole. She could not have known English and my Italian was somewhat more classical than hers, but when our minds met we understood one another perfectly. Her name was Simonetta.
‘ “My father wanted me to marry some man just because he had a shop that was much bigger than our own,” said Simonetta. “Everyone said it was a good match, even though he was old and fat. But I could not have married him because I was already in love. Carlo was a fisherman working on the boats out of Porto Ercole. He was dark like me, and tall, and his eyelashes were long. I had seen him first on the beach walking with bare feet down to his boat and I knew then that he must be mine. He walked so easily; it was the walk of a man who knew what he was doing, where he was going, and he had beautiful feet. So I found a way in which we should meet and we fell in love. We did not say much to one another—there are some things which are beyond words—but he told me he was alone in the world, his mother and father having both died. Carlo and I exchanged tokens. I gave him an old ring which I had found in a drawer of my father’s house and he gave me a little sea shell on a silver chain. Then one night, on the beach, beneath a crowd of stars and a crescent moon, we became man and wife. The next day at dawn he and his boat sailed out into the bay to catch tuna. The weather changed: there was wind and rain, and the sea turned black, but he did not return. I became half mad with grief. I begged some of the other fishermen to go out and look, but they would not for fear of losing their own lives. On the fifth day after he had gone Carlo’s body was washed up on the shore. His face was half eaten away with fishes and gashed by the cruel rocks but the other half I knew to be his. He appeared to be asleep, looking as I had last seen him when I had left him on the beach in the green dawn, and my ring was still on his finger. You think that was what made me come here to cut my throat with a knife? No, it was not that; it was what happened at the funeral. Few went, but there was one there whom I had not seen before. She was a young woman like myself, but painted and dressed in cheap finery. I had seen such women parading up and down on the Strada della Marina and I knew what sort she was. I wondered what she was doing there, and my heart became full of terror.
‘Actual physical impressions were slight. I heard a rustling noise which might only have been the fluster of a bird in the shrubberies, and a sighing which could have been the breeze. Cloud-like things seemed to cluster round me, but that could merely have been the evening mist. But there was life there, of a sort, I was sure of it: the very stillness was like a live thing, and no bird sang.
‘I sat on my bench, now not daring to move, feeling the presence of many beings very near. They seemed to come close to me for warmth and for the little life that I had within me. I sensed that some wished to communicate with me, but either they could not or did not know how; yet there were three presences, less insubstantial than the rest, who appeared to have that ability. Why these three and no others I cannot say; it is a mystery to me. They clustered round me so close that I could vaguely discern their shape. I could just feel their cold breath upon my cheek and hair; and I could hear their voices, at least with my inward ear.
‘The first spirit to address me was, I think, the youngest and female. A vision was impressed upon my imagination of a beautiful raven-haired girl. Her origins were humble, she told me, for she was one of seven, the daughter of a small shopkeeper in Porto Ercole. She could not have known English and my Italian was somewhat more classical than hers, but when our minds met we understood one another perfectly. Her name was Simonetta.
‘ “My father wanted me to marry some man just because he had a shop that was much bigger than our own,” said Simonetta. “Everyone said it was a good match, even though he was old and fat. But I could not have married him because I was already in love. Carlo was a fisherman working on the boats out of Porto Ercole. He was dark like me, and tall, and his eyelashes were long. I had seen him first on the beach walking with bare feet down to his boat and I knew then that he must be mine. He walked so easily; it was the walk of a man who knew what he was doing, where he was going, and he had beautiful feet. So I found a way in which we should meet and we fell in love. We did not say much to one another—there are some things which are beyond words—but he told me he was alone in the world, his mother and father having both died. Carlo and I exchanged tokens. I gave him an old ring which I had found in a drawer of my father’s house and he gave me a little sea shell on a silver chain. Then one night, on the beach, beneath a crowd of stars and a crescent moon, we became man and wife. The next day at dawn he and his boat sailed out into the bay to catch tuna. The weather changed: there was wind and rain, and the sea turned black, but he did not return. I became half mad with grief. I begged some of the other fishermen to go out and look, but they would not for fear of losing their own lives. On the fifth day after he had gone Carlo’s body was washed up on the shore. His face was half eaten away with fishes and gashed by the cruel rocks but the other half I knew to be his. He appeared to be asleep, looking as I had last seen him when I had left him on the beach in the green dawn, and my ring was still on his finger. You think that was what made me come here to cut my throat with a knife? No, it was not that; it was what happened at the funeral. Few went, but there was one there whom I had not seen before. She was a young woman like myself, but painted and dressed in cheap finery. I had seen such women parading up and down on the Strada della Marina and I knew what sort she was. I wondered what she was doing there, and my heart became full of terror.
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