The Wanderess Read Online Free Page B

gain, but much to lose. And that girl of yours is much
to lose.”
“What do you say? She is in Rome?”
    “No, she is not in Rome because there are no boats in
Rome. Your mistress wasn’t sure exactly how to leave Italy. In
Civitavecchia, I told her she could catch a foreign-bound boat,
and so to Civitavecchia I took her. The whole trip down, she
cried, and cried. She appeared no less miserable than you do now.
And the reason for her sorrow was simply because she was leaving
you. This I promise. Oh, women!—you are mysterious creatures!
I did find out to where she was leaving you to, but I did not find
out why. She tried to conceal from me her destination, asking me
not to inquire for she did not want you to know. She foresaw that
should she tell me her destination I would be inclined to come
find you and inform you of the fact. She knew I wouldn’t hide this
information from you because she said that you were undeserving
of the misery of which I would judge you an unfortunate victim
upon hearing the story. She tried to hide her destination from
me, but my duties to humanity obliged me to investigate. I found
out that she was going to Tripoli; and it is to Tripoli she is now
travelling at this very moment we speak.”
    “Tripoli!” Saul cried. His face contorted with the awful
realization of what the world was doing to his poor life. “Insane
gods have written this story!” he cried, “Ô, why?, I ask, why would
Saskia have gone to Tripoli of all places?!” Hearing Saul rant like
this, I couldn’t help smiling. ‘It just keeps on getting better and
better,’ I thought. The miserable man then quit his bed and ran
for the door. Before he could escape, however, I grabbed hold of
his shirt… “Don’t rush, old boy—I’ll help you! I helped her , after
all, so I can equally help you . Now tell the porter to ready your
bags. I will have my driver take us to Civitavecchia this very
instant.” I turned away and shook my head wondering why I was
getting involved in such a drama. It had already been a long week
of travel for me. I turned back to Saul and said, “I should really
stay off the road, but… I’m a foolish romantic at heart, and a
literary man besides; I want to get you on the next boat to Tripoli
so you can reunite with your beloved Saskia.”
    When I said this, Saul stopped weeping and embraced me.
“That’s right!” he trembled, “Her name is Saskia! How did you
know?”
    “She told me!” I laughed, charmed by the simplicity of his
question, “And she told me that you are named Saul. But don’t
worry about me. Come, let us drive you to the Italian port. We
must set you to sail, old boy. You are on your quest—and I am on
my chore; you will find your girl again—down on the African
shore!”

Chapter Four
    Combining mankind’s love of habit with the frequency of the
déjà-vu phenomenon, it seems like we are creatures of repetition.
Here I was again on the road from Tuscany to the seaport at
Civitavecchia. Inspired by love and compassion, we traveled ventre à terre 1 , kicking up dust. This time, I didn’t have a beautiful
young girl crying beside me. I had a handsome gentleman crying
beside me—and how he cried! My Italian research trip was
certainly taking an interesting turn. I begged Saul to tell me his
story and that of his mistress, but he was in no condition to talk.
His sadness brought him a fever, and I had to order my driver to
fetch cold compresses for him at several intervals during the
journey. Only one time did he speak on the way to the port, when
he swore on his honor that he would remember his debt to me
until he saw me again and could repay me. “We are certain to
meet again,” he said, “I will pay you then all that I can. Remember
my name is my word of honor. I am Saul, the son of Solarus .”
    The devil set the table that day when Saul told me his
patronymic: The son of Solarus. “The son of Solarus?!” …Where
had I heard that name before?!