“You must destroy it.”
“What must I destroy?”
“The book.”
“Cristina, I’d better call the doctor—”
“No. Listen to me.”
She grabbed my hand.
“The morning you went to buy the tickets, do you remember? I went up to your study again and opened the trunk.”
I took a breath.
“I found the manuscript and began to read it.”
“It’s just a fable, Cristina …”
“Don’t lie to me. I’ve read it, David. At least enough to know that I had to destroy it.”
“You don’t need to worry about that now. I told you: I’ve abandoned the manuscript.”
“But it hasn’t abandoned you. I tried to burn it …”
For a moment I let go of her hand when I heard those words, repressing the surge of anger I felt when I remembered the burned matches I’d found on the floor of the study.
“You tried to burn it?”
“But I couldn’t,” she muttered. “There was someone else in the house.”
“There was no one in the house, Cristina. Nobody.”
“As soon as I lit the match and held it close to the manuscript, I sensed him behind me. I felt a blow to the back of my neck and then I fell.”
“Who hit you?”
“It was all very dark, as if the daylight had suddenly vanished. I turned round but could see only his eyes. Like the eyes of a wolf.”
“Cristina …”
“He took the manuscript from my hands and put it back in the trunk.”
“Cristina, you’re not well. Let me call the doctor.”
“You’re not listening to me.”
I smiled at her and kissed her on the forehead.
“Of course I’m listening to you. But there was no one else in the house.”
She closed her eyes and tilted her head, moaning as if my words were like daggers cutting her inside.
“I’m going to call the doctor.”
I bent over to kiss her again and then stood up. I went toward the door, feeling her eyes on my back.
“Coward,” she said.