tricks on him, and nothing else.
The farther down the wide valley they went, the warmer it got. Johann noticed that the air smelled different on this side of the Alps. The mild breeze carried the scent of flowers, grass, and, very faintly, something salty. They were still traveling between mountain ranges, but the peaks weren’t as high and rugged. Johann also discovered plants and trees he’d never seen before. The sky was blue, and apart from the occasional shower, the weather remained fair.
For the first time since his escape from Tonio, Johann felt lighthearted. He tried to forget what he’d seen in Peter’s palm. The man seemed healthy and happy, and Johann came to the conclusion that he’d only imagined the throbbing in Peter’s hand. After all, he didn’t even know whether the boy from the farmstead had died in the end.
Only rarely and late at night did he think of Margarethe, his young brother Martin, and the eerie gathering in the forest near Nördlingen. His nightly rendezvous with Salome helped him forget his gloomy thoughts. She always came up with new games; occasionally they involved binding her wrists with ropes or blindfolding him. Johann always went along without resisting, and he didn’t ask why Salome allowed him to orgasm inside her. He assumed she was unable to bear children or took certain remedies to prevent a pregnancy.
Each night, it was as if he were in a state of intoxication that only ended just before dawn. Accordingly, he was exhausted during the day, but he tried not to let it affect his performances. The applause of the crowd gave him the strength he needed. However, he grew more sullen and moody by the day. The arrogance he’d shown even as a child increasingly came out as violent fits of temper. If something went wrong during a show, he would vent his anger on Emilio and the others. And when he lay with Salome, their play was often like a battle where he was the conqueror.
In the evenings and between performances he continued to practice with his knife, throwing the blade with a force and accuracy that caused Emilio to shake his head. Since their nighttime conversation up on the pass, the two young men had become something like friends, even though Salome still stood between them like an invisible shadow.
“It’s amazing how skilled you’ve grown with the knife in just a few weeks,” said Emilio. “You’re gifted. But try not to throw with so much force—it’s scary to watch.” He gave a laugh. “It looks like you’re trying to kill someone with every throw.”
Maybe I am, Johann thought and hurled the blade at a tree, where it lodged dead in the center of a knothole, the blade quivering.
The following day, they included knife throwing in their show. The audience groaned with fear as Johann threw knife after knife at Salome, who was tied to a board. Every time, the blade landed only a finger’s breadth away from her face or her chest. It seemed to Johann that Salome was enjoying the mortal danger. She never so much as blinked and always gazed at him with an encouraging smile. He, too, enjoyed the thrill of the game, the gauging of the boundaries—life and death separated only by a thin, invisible line. He felt almost delirious when he threw the knives, one after the other, driven by an inexplicable fury. But he never performed with the knife Tonio had given him, although he couldn’t say why. Maybe it was the absurd thought that it would somehow, magically, find its way to Salome’s heart. Johann still didn’t know what the strange initials on it stood for.
Another week later they came to a lake that seemed to Johann as large as an ocean. They traveled along its eastern shore until they reached the city of Verona. Johann had never seen anyplace like it. Roman palaces and ruins stood among the tall, imposing patrician villas like witnesses from a long-gone era. There was a huge, crumbling arena that people were using as a quarry. Once upon a time, heretics had been burned in its center; now the old arena was sometimes used for plays. The Italians, Johann realized, loved pomp and all things bright and cheerful much more than the dolorous Germans did. The country reminded him of an elderly, drunken harlot who had applied a little too much makeup but still radiated plenty of charisma.
Peter asked him repeatedly whether he was ready to read