“Lie down a little while, Nicolo.”
“All right.”
He shut his eyes, and in place of the man with the beard who looked at him over the sights of the rifle, quite calmly before squeezing off, the white flash and clublike impact, on his knees, hot-sweet choking, coughing it onto the rock while they went past him, he saw a long, yellow house with a low stable and the river much wider than it was and stiller. “Christ,” he said, “I might as well go.”
He stood up.
“I’m going. Para,” he said. “I’ll ride back now in the afternoon. If any supplies have come I’ll bring them down tonight. If not I’ll come at night when I have something to bring.”
“It is still hot to ride,” Captain Paravicini said.
“You don’t need to worry,” Nick said. “I’m all right now for quite a while. I had one then but it was easy. They’re getting much better. I can tell when I’m going to have one because I talk so much.”
“I’ll send a runner with you.”
“I’d rather you didn’t. I know the way.”
“You’ll be back soon?”
“Absolutely.”
“Let me send—”
“No,” said Nick. “As a mark of confidence.”
“Well, ciao then.”
“Ciao,” said Nick. He started back along the sunken road toward where he had left the bicycle. In the afternoon the road would be shady once he had passed the canal. Beyond that there were trees on both sides that had not been shelled at all. It was on that stretch that, marching, they had once passed the Terza Savoia cavalry regiment riding in the snow with their lances. The horses’ breath made plumes in the cold air. No, that was somewhere else. Where was that?
“I’d better get to that damned bicycle,” Nick said to himself. “I don’t want to lose the way to Fornaci.”
