Alan woke with the early-morning sun gently warming his face. He sat up, his head muzzy with the dream, his cheeks salty, tear-stained. “You were crying.” Her voice came back to him and he winced. Alice had felt sorry for him and he instantly smothered, patronized. He broke into a sweat of agony and apprehension. How could he ever open up a discussion with her now?
He looked cautiously round her sleeping bag. It was empty and Alan froze. Then, gradually, he relaxed. It was just after eight and she had probably gone to find a place used as the loo. He waited, calmly, gloomily, and then anxiously as she did not appear. Hurriedly Alan struggled out of his sleeping bag and began to search the grounds of the monastery. But there was no sign of her at all.
Panic set in as Alan scoured the grounds again and drew a blank for the second time. It was becoming increasingly obvious that she had walked out on him and was probably climbing down to Tom. But rather than feeling anger, Alan simply felt desolate. She hadn’t even left him a note. He went over and touched the inside of her sleeping bag. It felt cold.
Surely she wouldn’t find her way back alone. Alan began to search again, this time through the tangled thickets of what might have been a herb garden. Something caught his eye. Lying on the ground was a small, shiny object. It was Alice’s bracelet.
Suddenly real fear clutched at him. Someone had come and abducted her. Or had Tom come to find her? But the bracelet?
“Please God,” Alan muttered. “Let her be safe.” “Why hadn’t he looked after her? Why hadn’t he been able to reassure her? Alan now realized how he had locked himself into his own shell of rejection and jealousy. Tom no longer seemed a threat. All Alan wanted was Alice, and if only he could find her they would talk and talk and talk.”
For the fourth time he began to search the grounds, the bracelet in his hands. Then in a crevice on the broken stones of the terrace, he saw something bright and beady. Alice’s ring. And he knew how tight on her finger it was. Sweat ran down Alan’s face.
“Alice,” he cried out. “Alice!?” No response. Alan began to run.
It was only when he was back at the front door of the monastery that he realized there was one place he had not been to. His heart thumping and his throat dry, he went down the steps.
Now he ran eagerly forward, pushing his way through the foliage. He gave a gasp of relief. She was there, lying on the pine needles.
“Alice.”
She woke slowly, sleepily, stretching in the sun. “Sorry—I fell asleep.”
“Where the hell have you been?”
“I went for a walk.”
He held up the bracelet and the ring. “I found these.” He was angry, positive. She looked away. “Come on .Why did you do it?” I’ve been searching for you. I thought—I thought you’d been kidnapped or something. Been hurt?
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not enough.”
“I laid a trail.”
“You did what?” He was outraged.
“I wanted you to find me.”
“I was terrified—I thought—”
“I’m sorry.” She stood up. “I suppose I wanted to frighten you.”
“Why?” He barked at her.
She looked away again. “I didn’t think you wanted me any more.”
“Wanted you?”
“You haven’t spoken to me. You seemed so cold. Indifferent somehow.”
“But it’s you who were indifferent.”
She looked genuinely amazed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I thought you wanted Tom. Didn’t want to be with me.” His voice broke.
“I thought you found him—more fun.”
“Him? Oh, he’s a baby. I was lonely, I suppose. You seemed so fed up with me. I didn’t realize it would —oh, Alan.” She got up and drew him to her, kissing him so hard on the lips. “You are such a bloody fool.” I love you—don’t you know?
“Why did you come here?” he asked.
“I was wandering about. I couldn’t sleep. Look—”She knelt down and stared at the Latin inscription on the two solitary graves. “Who are they?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve often wondered. Dom Carols Fuenta—he’s definitely a monk. But the odd thing is that he’s buried alongside a woman.” He paused and then went on. “Maria Degardes. He was buried in 1892. She was in 1894.”
“Were they lovers?”
“I used to make up stories that they were.”
“I was just thinking. A silly thought. I expect you’ll laugh.”
“Try me.”
“Suppose we lived here for the rest of our lives and when we died we were buried here. But in one grave. Together.”
Alan took Alice’s face in his hands and kissed her on the lips.
阿兰心里想道：要是我们从未到过那个地方该多好啊。在下午后半晌的炎热中，他们向山坡上爬去。爱丽丝被晒得黑黝黝的，看上去就像在地中海上住过几个月似的；而阿兰原本细皮嫩肉，这时身上已经变得红一块白一块，脱了一层皮。
他抬头向山坡望去，只见小路盘旋而上通向那个圆锥形十字石碑，炽热的阳光将岩石晒得发白。他们究竟为什么不能谈那件事？他为什么连责骂她都不能呢？
他原以为一切都会好的，但好像酷热已经将他们的爱抽干。
在家时，他们曾是多么幸福。现在他意识到那不会再继续下去了。由于家庭破裂，她从内陆来到他的学校。作为独生女，她和她的父亲住在一起，尽力去照顾他。她孤独无依、无精打采、愁眉苦脸，经常到阿兰那里去排除忧伤。至少他喜欢这样认为。他为她解忧了吗？没有。是汤姆，即使阿兰曾付出所有的激情爱着她。如今他对他们俩的爱就像他的恨一样强烈。
“跟上！”爱丽丝转身向他喊，不耐烦地挥着手。
“来了。”阿兰看了看手表。已经5点了。蛐蛐儿马上就要开始鸣唱了。他继续向上走，汗水源源不断地流到了眼里。他知道她已经打开那瓶矿泉水。她会让他跟上她吗？一种更大的痛苦折磨着他。这使他想起那天晚上他用父母亲从村里买的粗制的当地酒将自己灌醉的情景，那时他的心也在发痛。每当他想起爱丽丝和汤姆越来越亲近的时候，他的失落感就会俱增。
他走得越来越快。他为山顶上那些中世纪的城堡而欢呼雀跃。放眼望去，离那座山几里远的地方有一块空地，在山谷的乱石丛中生长着一小片橄榄林。
“跟上！”
“来了。”
阿兰仍顽强地大步前行，他低头看了一眼自己被晒红的、脱了皮的两腿，想起了汤姆强健挺拔的棕色的双腿。
突然，他拐到石头后面一块隐蔽的地方。他看到她正在等他。如果汤姆也在这里的话，他们一定会站在一起嘲笑他，相互凝望着，把他丢在一边。当他拘谨地向前走的时候，他将注意力都集中在她的身上。
“我们到哪里去宿营？”她坐在一块突出的岩石上。她的苗条的身材丰满，咸咸的。她的腿在那里晃来晃去。他真想将自己的手在那上面滑动。而他却想象着汤姆那样做的情景。顿时，愤怒的泪水充满了他的眼睛。
“我们走吧，”阿兰飞快地说。
“还有多远？”她问，“我一点劲儿也没有了。”
“半小时。”
“我们能吃点东西吗？”她的声音有点儿伤感。阿兰心满意足，注意到她正在再次依靠他。但他知道一旦他们离开这座大山，她就会和汤姆泡在一起。一时间，他竟荒唐地想象着爱丽丝和自己一起居住在这个山谷，直到永远。或许是被某种魔力困在这里，不让他们离开。
那座庙是方顶、木窗，十分简朴。庙后面有一些鱼缸，还有一个平台，和尚可以在上面随意走动。
四周只有他们踏在石头上所发出的声响，圣卡塔林纳万籁俱寂。一朵怒放的玫瑰在石板屋顶无声无息，亮光在粗糙的墙壁上闪烁。他们躺下来，递过水瓶，旅行包仍背在背后。他们几乎昏昏欲睡。
突然，她坐起来，用令人吃惊的温柔目光凝视着他。阿兰的难受情绪稍微得到了缓解。
“他们都已经走了吗？”爱丽丝问道。
“是的。我不知道是什么时候走的。好长时间了吧。”
她仰面躺着，双目紧闭。他现在可以和她谈了。他们俩谈谈那个问题，然后就迎刃而解了。他们彼此都能探到对方，但他不能动。
“如果庙被推倒，那将是多么可怕，”爱丽丝懒懒地说，眼睛仍然闭着。
