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and the diverse colours and the regal walk and his face like a lean dark gun。
up close the glass was rough and sandblasted； glass that had lost its civilisation。 each bottle had a minute cork the man plucked out with his teeth and kept in his lips while mixing one bottle’s contents with another’s； a second cork also in his teeth。
he stood over the supine burned body with his wings； sank two sticks deep into the sand and then moved away free of the six…foot yoke； which balanced now within the crutches of the two sticks。 he stepped out from under his shop。 he sank to his knees and came towards the burned pilot and put his cold hands on his neck and held them there。
he was known to everyone along the camel route from the sudan north to giza； the forty days road。 he met the caravans； traded spice and liquid； and moved between oases and water camps。 he walked through sandstorms with this coat of bottles； his ears plugged with two other small corks so he seemed a vessel to himself； this merchant doctor； this king of oils and perfumes and panaceas； this baptist。 he would enter a camp and set up the curtain of bottles in front of whoever was sick。
he crouched by the burned man。 he made a skin cup with the soles of his feet and leaned back to pluck； without even looking； certain bottles。 with the uncorking of each tiny bottle the perfumes fell out。 there was an odour of the sea。 the smell of rust。 indigo。 ink。 river…mud arrow…wood formaldehyde paraffin ether。 the tide of airs chaotic。 there were screams of camels in the distance as they picked up the scents。 he began to rub green…black paste onto the rib cage。 it was ground peacock bone； bartered for in a medina to the west or the south—the most potent healer of skin。
between the kitchen and the destroyed chapel a door led into an oval…shaped library。 the space inside seemed safe except for a large hole at portrait level in the far wall； caused by mortar…shell attack on the villa two months earlier。 the rest of the room had adapted itself to this wound； accepting the habits of weather； evening stars； the sound of birds。 there was a sofa； a piano covered in a grey sheet； the head of a stuffed bear and high walls of books。 the shelves nearest the torn wall bowed with the rain； which had doubled the weight of the books。 lightning came into the room too； again and again； falling across the covered piano and carpet。
at the far end were french doors that were boarded up。 if they had been open she could have walked from the library to the loggia； then down thirty…six penitent steps past the chapel towards what had been an ancient meadow； scarred now by phosphorus bombs and explosions。 the german army had mined many of the houses they retreated from； so most rooms not needed； like this one； had been sealed for safety； the doors hammered into their frames。
she knew these dangers when she slid into the room； walking into its afternoon darkness。 she stood conscious suddenly of her weight on the wooden floor； thinking it was probably enough to trigger whatever mechanism was there。 her feet in dust。
the only light poured through the jagged mortar circle that looked onto the sky。
with a crack of separation； as if it were being dismantled from one single unit； she pulled out the last of the mohicans and even in this half…light was cheered by the aquamarine sky and lake on the cover illustration； the indian in the foreground。 and then； as if there were someone in the room who was not to be disturbed； she walked backwards； stepping on her own footprints； for safety； but also as part of a private game； so it would seem from the steps that she had entered the room and then the corporeal body had disappeared。 she closed the door and replaced the seal of warning。
she sat in the window alcove in the english patient’s room； the painted walls on one side of her； the valley on the other。 she opened the book。 the pages were joined together in a stiff wave。 she felt like crusoe finding a drowned book that had washed up and dried itself on the shore。 a narrative of 1757。 illustrated by n。 c。 wyeth。 as in all of the best books； there was the important page with the list of illustrations； a line of text for each of them。
she entered the story knowing she would emerge from it feeling she had been immersed in the lives of others； in plots that stretched back twenty years； her body full of sentences and moments； as if awaking from sleep with a heaviness caused by unremembered dreams。
their italian hill town； sentinel to the northwest route； had been besieged for more than a month； the barrage focusing upon the two villas and the monastery surrounded by apple and plum orchards。 there was the villa medici； where the generals lived。
just above it the villa san girolamo； previously a nunnery； whose castlelike battlements had made it the last stronghold of the german army。 it had housed a hundred troops。 as the hill town began to be torn apart like a battleship at sea； by fire shells； the troops moved from the barrack tents in the orchard into the now crowded bedrooms of the old nunnery。 sections of the chapel were blown up。 parts of the top storey of the villa crumbled under explosions。 when the allies finally took over the building and made it a hospital； the steps leading to the third level were sealed off； though a section of chimney and roof survived。
she and the englishman had insisted on remaining behind when the other nurses and patients moved to a safer location in the south。 during this time they were very cold； without electricity。 some rooms faced onto the valley with no walls at all。 she would open a door and see just a sodden bed huddled against a corner； covered with leaves。 doors opened into landscape。
some rooms had bee an open aviary。
the staircase had lost its lower steps during the fire that was set before the soldiers left。 she had gone into the library； removed twenty books and nailed them to the floor and then onto each other； in this way rebuilding the two lowest steps。 most of the chairs had been used for fires。 the armchair in the library was left there because it was always wet； drenched by evening storms that came in through the