in Genoa after the day your father barged in on us in the oven room.”
“You have no idea what I went through in that horrible convent,” Caterina said, her voice quivering. “I thought I was going to be there for the rest of my life.” She still wore the black prayer veil over her hair, fastened by strings around her neck. She yanked it from her head and threw it on the ground.
Ivano picked it up. “We’ll keep it,” he said then finished the sentence with a voice so faint Caterina couldn’t hear him. “In case someone shouldn’t believe where I found you.”
That’s when Caterina noticed how much Ivano had changed. He was much thinner than she remembered: the skin on the back of his hands was marked by brown spots, and the expression on his face was darker and deeper, like the expression of a much older man. Ivano noticed changes in her as well. Her skin, perfectly smooth in the past, was blemished by fine wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. Her green eyes didn’t spark like they used to, and her hair, always perfectly groomed and shiny, was now a duller blonde and in disarray. Those tired features, he thought, were the mirror of a very deep pain. Suddenly Caterina’s shoulders twitched, and she broke into sobs. He held her in his arms for a long time.
When her sobs subsided, Caterina said, “What do we do now? Do you think we are in danger? Do you think the nuns are looking for us?”
Ivano shrugged. “Even if the nuns found us here, what could they do?” He paused. “There are other dangers, much bigger than a few religious hermits. I need to tell you things, things you won’t like. You need to know everything before we can make a decision about our lives.”
Caterina looked at him in puzzlement. “I can see my father resolving to lock me in a convent for some time. He gets enraged often, and for matters less important than our love. But I can’t imagine my mother, my brothers, and my aunt letting him do it. Has no one tried to help me? To find out where I was?”
“Come,” Ivano said. “You need to sit down.”
By then the sun had begun to show through the early-morning fog, which was lifting quickly leaving behind a clear blue sky. They found an oak log lying beside a path and sat on it. Choosing his words, Ivano talked of his own incredulity at the news of her illness, of Lavinia’s skepticism, and of his many attempts to talk with her father.
Then he hesitated, pondering the pros and cons of telling Caterina the rest of the story. When he concluded there was no other way, he reached for her hands and spoke gravely. “At some point, your parents told everyone you had tuberculosis and you were in a sanatorium in the mountains. Then they staged your funeral in the cathedral.”
Caterina gaped at Ivano. “What?” she exclaimed. “It can’t be true. My family held a funeral service for me? Ivano! Are you making fun of me?”
“I wish it were a joke,” Ivano said sadly, “but it’s not. As of today everyone in Genoa, except for your parents, thinks you’re dead.”
“My mother, too?” Caterina exclaimed. “I don’t know if I should believe you. I think you’re making this up for some mysterious reason.”
“I was the only one,” Ivano said, “who never believed you were dead, the only one who kept looking for you when everyone else mourned you. How can you think I may be lying?”
“I don’t know,” Caterina murmured. Shadows of confusion lingered in her eyes.
“Let’s go back to Genoa,” Ivano said. “I realize that the information I gave you is too much for you to accept in such a short time. We’ll talk more on the train. And in Genoa I’ll show you something that will clear all your doubts. And so you know,” he added, “I would never, ever lie to you, especially on a matter of this magnitude.”
She looked at him with lost eyes. “I don’t know what to believe.”
“Let’s go,” he said. “You’ll have all the time in the world and every opportunity to decide who’s lying and who’s telling the truth.”
Confused, scared, and mistrustful of Ivano and his tale, Caterina followed him nonetheless to a carriage and then to the train station. On the way to the station, Ivano made sure to drop the convent key by Osteria del Gallo Nero. The front door