36

Later that evening Urbino roamed around the Ca’ Pozza. As he had after his first visit with Possle, he felt fatigued. But he was also restless.

The house seemed particularly silent and empty, even with the knowledge that Gildo was in his little apartment on the pianoterreno. Before going to Morocco, Urbino had enjoyed his solitary life in the Palazzo Uccello, but since Habib had been staying with him, much had changed. It wasn’t that he still didn’t savor his solitude, but that he had come to count on Habib, with all his enthusiasm and his ability to turn the most routine of activities into a celebration, to keep him from being swallowed up by it. Without Habib, solitude felt a little too much like loneliness.

Urbino went into Habib’s studio. The poster of Habib’s favorite Arab diva stared out at him with her wide-eyed gaze. Habib had neatened up the room before he had left. The paints and brushes were all in their places, the rags were arranged on the rack, the divan was made up, and the cassettes of Arabic music were in neat rows on the shelf. The ingenious storage and drying cupboards that Habib had constructed were closed.

Urbino examined some of Habib’s paintings leaning against one wall. Part of a series on the Basilica San Marco, they turned the rich, dark interior into a bazaar of color and movement that evoked an elemental spirituality.

Urbino checked his wristwatch. It was nine o’clock. Perhaps he should call Habib in Fez, but then he decided against it. Habib was sure to detect his melancholy mood. Urbino didn’t want to cast any shadow on Habib’s visit with his family. He would wait to call him when he himself was in a cheerful mood.

Urbino went into the library. He felt drained. His head ached slightly. He hoped he wasn’t coming down with the flu.

Urbino’s gaze strayed to the corner of the room that held his editions of Huysmans and illustrations of scenes from the book, one of which was his own. He was puzzled as to how Possle had seemed to know about them and about so many other things as well.

The old guidebook he had consulted two weeks ago was still on the long, wooden table. He sat down and reread the passage about the Ca’ Pozza. It now said nothing to him, whereas before it had been filled with promise and suggestion. But since then he had been behind the walls of the building. He had got in, twice.

It made him hungry for more. The Ca’ Pozza was turning out to be much stranger and more fascinating than he had anticipated. Possle was an enigma, and one that Urbino couldn’t leave alone.

Possle, for his own reasons, couldn’t leave Urbino alone either, it seemed. The two of them were bound together on some strange journey together that Urbino anticipated with almost equal thrills of pleasure and fear.