became acutely aware of his lamp still shining there. In any case, I was actually stepping into the puddles of light thrown from them onto the street, heading toward my own neighborhood, when they - the pools of light - went out quite literally under my feet. It happened in a fraction of a second, but a thrill of horror washed over me, head to foot. One moment I was lost in thought, stepping into the pool of brightness his light threw on the pavement, and the next moment I was frozen to the spot. I had realized two strange things almost simultaneously. One was that I had never seen this light on the pavement there, between the Gothic classroom buildings, although I'd walked up the street perhaps a thousand times. I had never seen it before because it had never been visible there before. It was visible now because all the streetlights had suddenly gone off. I was alone on the street, my last footstep the only sound lingering there. And except for those broken patches of light from the study where we'd sat talking ten minutes earlier, the street was dark.
My second realization, if it actually came second, swooped over me like a paralysis as I halted. I say swooped because that was how it came over my sight, not into my reason or instinct. At that moment, as I froze in its path, the warm light from my mentor's window went out. Maybe you think this sounds ordinary: office hours finish, and the last professor to leave the building turns off his lamps, darkening a street on which the streetlights have momentarily failed. But the effect was nothing like this. I had no sense of an ordinary desk lamp's being switched out in a window. Instead it was as if something raced over the window behind me, blotting out the source of light. Then the street was utterly dark.
For a moment I stopped breathing. Terrified and clumsy, I turned, saw the darkened windows, all but invisible above the dark street, and on impulse ran toward them. The door through which I'd made my exit was firmly bolted. No other lights showed in the building's facade. At this hour, the door was probably set to lock behind anyone who walked out - surely that was normal. I was standing there, hesitating, on the verge of running around to the other doors, when the streetlights came on again, and I felt suddenly abashed. There was no sign of the two students who'd walked out behind me; they must, I thought, have gone off in a different direction.
But now another group of students was strolling past, laughing; the street was no longer deserted. What if Rossi came out in a minute, as he certainly would after having switched off his light and locked his office door behind him, and found me waiting here? He had said he didn't want to discuss further what we'd been discussing. How could I explain my irrational fears to him, there on the doorstep, when he'd drawn a curtain over the subject - over all morbid subjects, perhaps? Embarrassed, I turned away before he could catch up with me and hurried home. There, I left the envelope in my briefcase, unopened, and slept - although restlessly - through the night.
The next two days were busy, and I didn't let myself look at Rossi's papers; in fact, I put all esoterica resolutely out of my mind. It took me by surprise, therefore, when a colleague from my department stopped me in the library late on the afternoon of the second day. "Have you heard about Rossi?" he demanded, grabbing my arm and wheeling me around as I hurried past.
"Paolo, wait!" Yes, you're guessing correctly - it was Massimo. He was big and loud even as a graduate student, louder than he is now, maybe. I gripped his arm.
"Rossi? What? What about him?"
"He's gone. He's disappeared. The police are searching his office."
I ran all the way to the building, which now looked ordinary, hazy inside with late-afternoon sun and crowded with students leaving their classrooms. On the second floor, in front of Rossi's office, a city policeman was talking with the department chairman and several men I'd never seen before. As I arrived, two men in dark jackets were leaving the professor's study, closing the door firmly behind them and heading toward the stairs and classrooms. I pushed my way through and spoke to the policeman. "Where's