Anger flickered in Carl’s eyes as he said, “All that crap about our karma being entwined and being together without end. I waited for her in Florence for a solid week. And then”—he threw his hands up in the air—“I knew I had to come looking for her.”
“So … it’s Sasha you’re searching for,” Jenny said.
A cold, clear wind swept through her, like the first taste of winter. It took with it all her longing for Carl, everything in her that still wanted to be loved by him.
“I’m looking for her and you,” Carl said quickly.
Jenny let that one go. “So what are you going to do about the VW?”
“Beats me. I was hoping I’d be able to find a garage, ’cause we’ve got to get back to Florence. Our flight leaves tomorrow afternoon, you know. I was not counting on the damn battery dying.” He gave her an embarrassed smile. “I’m down to my last ten thou, and a battery here probably costs ten times that much.”
“Well, that explains why you were looking for me,” Jenny said. She had a sudden vision of the inscription on Sasha’s necklace. Obviously, she wasn’t one of those who loved without end. She didn’t want Carl anymore, didn’t need him or even like him. But she’d loved him once, and because she had, she didn’t want any harm to come to him. She’d help him this one last time. She began doing mental calculations. She still had her travelers’ checks, so if she kept just part of the cash in the pouch …
“I have twenty thousand lire I can lend you, but you’ve got to pay it back when we’re in the States.”
“Jenny-o, you’re still my angel.”
“No. I’m not. I just can’t bear to leave you to die of your own stupidity. I’ve been telling you that battery was funky all summer.”
“What do you mean, leave me?”
“I’m going to Florence,” Jenny said. “But not with you.”
She opened the red leather pouch and counted out the thirty thousand lire. “Twenty for you, ten for me, and I’ll see you—” She stopped as she noticed that Carl was peering into the bottom of the pouch.
“You’ve got a lot more than thirty thousand there,” he said.
Jenny pulled the pouch away from him, and saw that he was right. There was another pile of notes, neatly folded. She took it out, forty thousand more, and blinked — more neatly folded bills lay in the bottom of the pouch.
“Jen.” Carl’s eyes were alight. “What is this? Magic money?”
“I–I don’t know,” Jenny stammered.
“Well, where’d you get the tricky little purse?”
“It was a gift,” said Pappa Gatto, his long form emerging from a stand of cypress trees on the side of the road.
“Jesus H. Christ,” Carl swore. “Is that really a cat?”
“This is Pappa Gatto,” Jenny said, unnerved by having her worlds so unexpectedly collide.
“Wild,” Carl murmured.
The big cat sat down, facing Carl. “Jenny was kind enough to stay with us and keep house for my children,” he explained. “The leather pouch is a small token of our gratitude.”
“I’m in a fuckin’ Disney film,” Carl muttered. “Magic money, giant talking cats—”
“The money in the pouch is for Jenny,” Pappa Gatto went on calmly. “But if you’d like to earn your own, I’m sure we could use your help.”
Carl? Keep house? Jenny wasn’t sure whether she’d choke or die laughing. “Pappa Gatto—”
“This is Carl’s choice,” the ginger cat said.
“Then Carl chooses yes!” Carl said happily. “Just show me the way!”
“What about the VW?” Jenny asked.
“Don’t worry, someone will tow it. We were going to have to sell it cheap in Florence anyway.” His eyes scanned her body with the kind of frank sexual appreciation he hadn’t shown since they first met. “I’ll see you on the plane. You’re looking good, Jen.”
“Listen, Carl, there’s something you ought to know. The village that Pappa Gatto lives in, San Martino, it’s — haunted.”
“As long as the ghosts have dinero—”
“By Sasha.” Jenny spoke quickly, urgently, determined to warn him. “If you see her, it’s not really her. It’s a ghost or a witch or I don’t know what exactly — some kind of apparition that’s dangerous.”
Carl’s look of lust turned to pity. “Jealous, Jenny-o?” he asked softly.
Jenny stared at him, unable to find words.
Carl didn’t even say goodbye. He was already following Pappa Gatto down the road to San Martino.
Once again Jenny set off for Florence. She had just over a day to get to the airport. Tuscany wasn’t that big; no matter where she was, she had plenty of time. And she was not going to worry about Carl. She did worry about the cats, though. She couldn’t image Carl washing their bowls, or shaking out the great feather bed, or gently loosening the mats in Ruffino’s fur.
After walking the better part of the morning Jenny came to a crossroads. Since she had no map, she decided to head toward the castle town of Poppi. It was the right decision. She’d barely left the crossroads when a woman driving a pickup truck offered her a lift to town. Twelve kilometers later Jenny found herself in Poppi’s old station house, staring at a bulletin board papered with train schedules. With a mild sense of amazement, she bought herself a ticket for Florence. She’d be in the city that night. The next day she’d be on the plane, and the day after, back home.
She sat down on a wooden bench to wait for her train. It wouldn’t leave until eight that evening. She had six hours to kill. She could go buy herself a sandwich, maybe walk through the castle if it was open. Or, she realized, she could return to San Martino and make sure that the cats were all right …
She did not catch a ride on the way back, and so she reached the road into San Martino just as dusk was falling. She felt a peculiar sense of relief as she saw that the village was still there; she hadn’t imagined it. She ran down the winding road, past the fields where Livio’s sheep grazed, past the path that led to the vineyard, past the cemetery.
Jenny slowed her pace as she saw Carl coming toward her. He’d just crossed the bridge and was walking with a jaunty roll to his step, a burlap bag slung over one shoulder. No cats, she noted, were trailing after him. No wood smoke rose from the houses. None of the animals were out in the farmyard. San Martino seemed deserted.
“Hey, Jenny-o,” Carl called out cheerfully. “I knew you’d be back.”
“Is everything okay?” she asked anxiously. “Are the cats—”
“Everything’s fine. No problemo. I can’t believe you found this place. It’s the gig of a lifetime.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I hung with the cats. Took a good long nap in that feather bed, and then had some of that sausage and fruit you left. And I rapped with ’em — cats say some pretty wild things. Then at the end of the day, the big one, the Pappa Cat, he comes in and thanks me for staying with them and says he wants to give me a token of their appreciation.”
Jenny didn’t believe any of this. She had an awful feeling that Carl had gone searching for whatever he could take and had found the underground room.
“So right there in the kitchen, there are suddenly these two wood boxes, and Pappa Cat tells me I can take whichever I want. So I look in one, and there’s this little book of cat pictures. Not too fucking exciting. I look in the other and—”
Carl was too wound up to finish. Instead, he opened the burlap sack. Even in the dim light Jenny could see the deep red fire of rubies, the diamonds’ rainbow light.
“Carl,” she said. “Think for a minute. What are you going to do with those? You try to sell them, and people are going to want to know where they came from.”