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If only we’d never gone there, thought Alan. They were scrambling1 up the mountainside in the late afternoon heat. Alice was so tanned that she looked as if she had lived on the Mediterranean2 for months, while he, being fair, had turned a blotchy3, peeling.
He looked up at the mountainside, the path twisting upwards4 towards the cairn cross, the white heat bleaching5 the rock. Why on earth couldn’t they talk about it? Why couldn’t he even accuse her?
He had thought it was going to be all right. But it was as if the heat had drained their love.
At home they had been so blissfully happy that he now realized it couldn’t have lasted. She comes to his school from the Midlands because her family had split up. An only child, living with her father, trying to look after him, lonely, depressed6, anxious, she had come to Alan to be healed. At least, that’s what he liked to think. Had he healed her? No. Tom had, even though Alan loved her with all the passion. Now his hatred7 for both of them was as strong as his love.
“Come on!” Alice had turned back to him, waving impatiently.
“Coming,” Alan looked at his watch. Five, The crickets would start singing soon. He walked on, the sweat pouring into his eyes. Knowing she had opened the bottle of mineral water. Would she let him catch up with her? An even greater misery8 seized him. It reminded him of the night he made himself drunk on the rough local wine his parents bought in the village. His heart had ached then, too, and his sense of loss had increased as he relived each minute of a day when Tom and Alice had seemed to draw closer and closer together.
He walked faster. Here, a few miles away on the bare mountainside, there was arid10 space, and the olive groves11, clustered in the stone-cluttered valleys below.
“Come on!”
“Coming.”
Alan strode doggedly12 on, looking down at his red, peeling legs, thinking of Tom’s strong, straight, brown ones.
Suddenly he had turned the corner by the stone shelter. He could see her waiting for him. If Tom were here, they would be together, mocking him, looking at each other, leaving him alone. As he strode self-consciously on Alan focused his mind on her.
“Where’re we going to camp?” She was sitting on an outcrop, her slim body supple13 and salt-caked. Her legs were swinging and he longed to run his hands over them. Instead he imagined Tom doing that and hot, angry tears filled his eyes.
“Santa Caterina.”
“What’s that?”
“It’s a deserted14 monastery15, down in the valley. Amongst the fir trees. Over there — look, you can see it.”
“Oh yes.” She turned her head. When he did look he was shocked to see how beautiful she was, like a goddess.
“Won’t that be spooky?” she asked in the slightly broken voice that he had always found so sexy.
God, how he loved her. Why couldn’t he just take her in his arms now? That could solve everything. But there seemed to be an impenetrable barrier around her—as if she was sealed away by Tom.
“The valley’s dangerous,” said Alan, hoping to frighten her, to provoke reaction. “If the clouds come down there’s no way out. Sometimes for days.”
“Is there anywhere else to camp,” asked Alice.
“Not really.” Alan was certain she’d rather be with Tom. Yesterday he had seen them sitting on a wall together outside the villa9. Their ankles had been entwined. He had wanted to grab Tom’s legs and pull him off. He would hurt his brother — and Alice would be sorry. It would be her fault.
“Let’s go,” said Alan quickly.
“How far is it?” she asked. “I’m whacked16.”
“Half an hour.”
“Can we eat them?” Her voice was a little plaintive17. Alan noticed with satisfaction that she was becoming dependent on him again. But he knew that once they were off the mountain she would be with Tom. For a crazy moment he imagined Alice with himself living in the mountain valley together. Always. Trapped perhaps by some magical force that wouldn’t let them leave.
The monastery was square-roofed, austere，with barrack windows. There were fish tanks at the back and a terrace on which the monks19 would have walked.
Their feet on the stones made the only sound. Santa Caterina was utterly20 still. A swift rose soundlessly over the slate21 roof and the heat shimmered22 on the roughcast walls. They lay down, their rucksack still on their backs, passing the water bottle, almost dozing23.
Suddenly she sat up and looked him with surprising tenderness. Alan’s black mood eased slightly.
“Have they all gone then?” asked Alice.
“Yes. I don’t know when. A long time ago.”
She was lying back, her eyes closed. He could talk to her now. They could both talk the problem and solve it. They would reach each other. But he couldn’t make the move.
“It would be terrible if it is pulled down,” Alice said idly, her eyes still closed.
“It won’t be.”
“How do you know that?”
“They patch it up from time to time.”
“Why don’t they live here?”
“Don’t know. Maybe it’s too remote.”
The desire to punish her had gone. But he daren’t touch her. He daren’t break the enchantment24.
“The heat in the day. The cool evenings. It would be good to live like that.”
“Live here?”
“Could we ever get permission?”
“I don’t know.”
“Just to see what it was like. I mean—”She half sat up. “Can we get inside?” She ran a finger gently down his peeling cheek.
Alan was taken aback but then he became aware that the crickets had started. How long had they been singing? He wondered. “Let go and see.”
They tramped round but as Alan already knew, there was no way in. In the end they came back and he lit a fire at the side of a small stone building. Other campers had obviously used the space and there were black marks on the walls.
He cooked supper, using half a precious bottle of water to make it. The intimacy25 was still there but the talking was at an end. Alan could hardly contain his rising excitement. They had night together. Anything could happen.
Alan suddenly realized what he had to do. After supper, in the glow of the scented26 mountain twilight27, he made coffee and they sat in silence. Darkness came slowly; the volume of the crickets seemed to increase. Still he had made no move.
She was lying in front of the fire, her body almost glowing. Alan reached out a hand and temporarily she took it. Then Alice yawned and stretched. “I’m turning in now,” she said.
“More coffee?” asked Alan miserably28.
She kissed him on the forehead. “No, thanks.”
Had he ever loved his brother Tom? He must have done sometime. Certainly he had always been jealous of him as a child. He the introvert；Tom the extrovert29. Alan thought about his introverted personality. He could see quite clearly how he had failed so dismally30 with Alice and how Tom had taken over so easily. Tom was what she wanted. She didn’t want what he had.
Gloomily, Alan climbed into the sleeping bag and drifted off to sleep. Beside him Alice slept, her breathing seeming to keep in time with the insistent31 beat of crickets.
Alan dreamt. The crickets had stopped. There was a slight breeze and the luminous32 hand of his watch registered just after two. Her sleeping bag was empty; Alice had gone. For a while he just couldn’t believe it. He sat up and felt the dark walls of Santa Caterina close in on him.
Then he was on the mountainside, stumbling blindly up the mountain path, hearing their laughter. Softly he crept up on them until he could see their bodies entwined. Alan’s anger rose to fever pitch and he rushed towards them. They fell apart. He sobbed33 as he had never sobbed since he was a child.
She woke him anxiously shaking at his sunburnt shoulders.
“What’s the matter?” she kept asking over and over again “Alan, what’s wrong?”
He stared up at her, blinking in the glow of the dying camp fire.
“Nothing,” he said automatically. “Nothing really.”
“But —”
“Just a bad dream, that’s all.”
“You were crying.” Her voice was soft, tender, just like she used to be.
Alan turned over in his sleeping bag. “I’m fine.” he said. “Let’s get some sleep.”
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 winced34. Alice had felt sorry for him and he instantly smothered35, patronized. He broke into a sweat of agony and apprehension36. 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 to go to 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 scoured37 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 desolate38. 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 tangled39 thickets40 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 bracelet41.
Suddenly real fear clutched at him. Someone had come and abducted42 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 reassure43 her? Alan now realized how he had locked himself into his own shell of rejection44 and jealousy45. 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 crevice46 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 thumping47 and his throat dry, he went down the steps.
Now he ran eagerly forward, pushing his way through the foliage48. He gave a gasp49 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 outraged50.
“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 realized it would — oh , Alan.” She got up and drew him to her , kissing him so hard on the lips.“You are such a bloody51 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 inscription52 on the two solitary53 graves. “Who are they?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve often wondered. Dom Carols Fuenta — he’s definitely a monk18. 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.
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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，蜕了一层皮。
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，他的失落感就会与日俱增。
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、蜕了皮的两腿，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。她苗条的身材柔软且咸咸的。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。
“圣卡塔林纳。”
“那是什么？”
“是一座破庙，在山谷下面，杉树丛中。在那里——看，你可以看到的。”
“噢，是的。”她转过头。当他真正拿眼去看她的时候，她看上去是那样美，像一尊女神。
“那不可怕吧？”她用略微沙哑的声音说。他发现她的嗓音竟是那样性感。
上帝啊，他是多么爱她，现在他为什么不可以把她揽在怀里呢？这样，一切问题都会迎刃而解的。但是，好像她周围有一种难以逾越的障碍——就像被汤姆密封了起来。
“这个山谷很危险，”阿兰说，希望吓住她，引起她一种反应。“如果乌云压下来就会无路可走了。有时会持续好几天。”
“还有其他地方可以宿营吗？”爱丽丝问道。
“说不准，”阿兰敢肯定她一定会宁愿和汤姆在一起。昨天他曾见他们一起坐在别墅外的一堵墙上，他们的脚踝曾缠绕在一起，他曾想拽着汤姆的腿把他拉下来。他会伤害自己的弟弟。爱丽斯会感到内疚。那是她的过错。
“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。
“不会的。”
“你怎么知道？”
“他们总是不断地修缮它。”
“他们为什么不住在这里呢？”
“不知道，或许这里太偏远了吧。”
渐渐地，想惩罚她的欲望消失了，但他不敢触摸她，不敢轻易打破这令人着迷的时刻。
“白天热，夜里凉。住在这种地方会很不错的。”
“住在这里？”
“我们会被允许吗？”
“我不知道。”
“先看看这里怎么样，我是说——” 她半坐了起来。“我们能进去吗？”她将一根手指轻轻地放在他脱皮的脸颊上。
他吃了一惊，随后意识到蛐蛐儿的鸣叫声已经响起。他不知道它们已经鸣唱了多长时间。“咱们去看看吧。”
他们绕过去，但正如阿兰早就知道的那样，无路可进。最后，他们又原路返回，在一座小型石头建筑旁生了一堆火。显然，其他野营的人也曾使用过这个地方，墙壁上还留有黑色的痕迹。
他晚饭用去了半瓶珍贵的水，亲密关系依旧存在，但他们已经无话可说。阿兰几乎难以按捺那正在膨胀的冲动。他们一起拥有这个夜晚，任何事情都可能会发生。
阿兰突然意识到他必须得做些什么了。晚饭后，在芳香弥漫的大山的幽光中，他煮了咖啡，他们默默地坐在一起。夜幕慢慢地降临；蛐蛐儿的音量好像升高了。他仍没有行动。
她躺在火堆前，身上闪闪发光。阿兰伸出一只手，她暂时握住了他的手。接着，爱丽丝打哈欠，伸展身体。“我现在要睡觉了，”她说。
“再来点咖啡？”阿兰痛苦地问道。
她在他的前额上吻了吻。“不，谢谢。”
他爱他的弟弟汤姆吗？有时他肯定爱，当然他总是忌妒弟弟，像一个小孩子。对他们俩来说，他性格内向，汤姆性格外向。阿兰想着自己内向的性格。他十分清楚自己如何在爱丽丝身上败得这么惨，而汤姆又是如何轻而易举便得到了她。汤姆正是她需要的那号人，她并不需要他这种人。
阿兰闷闷不乐地钻进自己的睡袋，渐渐地进入了梦乡。躺在他身旁的爱丽丝也睡着了，她的呼吸声似乎和蛐蛐儿的鸣叫声保持同步。
阿兰做了一个梦。蛐蛐声都停止了。一阵微风拂过。他的手表上的夜光针刚过了两点。爱丽丝的睡袋空了；她已经走了。好一阵子，他都无法相信这个事实。他坐起来，感到圣卡塔林纳的黑黢黢的墙壁将他团团围住了。
随后，他来到山边，踉踉跄跄地沿着山路盲目前行。听见他们的朗朗笑声，他轻轻地爬过去，看到两个身体紧紧地贴在一块。他感到痛苦万分，怒不可遏地冲向他们。他们猛地分开了。他低声啜泣，尽管他从孩提时起就从来没有哭过。
她焦急地摇着他被太阳晒黑的肩膀，唤醒了他。
“发生了什么事？”她一遍又一遍地问，“阿兰，怎么了？”
他抬眼盯着她，在篝火的余光中眨着眼睛。
“没什么，”他不由自主地说。“真的没什么。”
“可是——”
“只是做了一个恶梦，仅此而已。”
“你刚才在哭，”她的声音像过去那样温柔和气。
阿兰在睡袋里翻了一下身，背对着她说：“我很好，我们再睡一会儿吧！”
阿兰醒来时，晨阳暖暖地照在他的脸上。他满脸泪痕，咸咸的。他坐起来，脑海里还懵懵懂懂地萦绕着那个梦。“你刚才在哭，”她的声音又传了过来。他退缩了一下。爱丽丝已经感到对不起他了。他立即感到很压抑。由于巨大的悲痛和忧伤，猛地出了一身冷汗。现在他将怎样和她展开一场讨论呢？
他小心翼翼地看了看她的睡袋，睡袋已经空了。阿兰一下子僵住了。随后，渐渐地，他又放松了。现在刚过8点，她也许是找地方方便去了。他平静地、忧郁地等待着，尔后还是不见她回来，就心急火燎起来。阿兰慌忙从睡袋里挣扎出来，开始在寺院里四处寻找。但踪迹皆无。
当阿兰再次惊慌失措四处寻找仍一无所获的时候，显然她已经不辞而别，很可能是下山找汤姆去了。阿兰感到的与其说是生气，倒不如说孤独。她甚至连一张纸也没有给他留下。他走过去将手伸进她的睡袋，里面冷冰冰的。
她肯定无法独自找到回路。阿兰又开始找起来。这一次通过杂草丛生的灌木丛。某个东西引起了他的注意。躺在地上的是一个小小的、光亮的东西。那是爱丽丝的手镯。
突然，一种真正的恐惧袭上他的心头，一定是有人拐走了她，或者是汤姆来找她的？可是，手镯又怎么讲呢？
“求求你，上帝，”阿兰喃喃道，“保佑她平安。”为什么他没有照顾她？为什么他没有安慰她？现在阿兰才意识到他以前是如何将自己锁进一个妒忌和沮丧的空壳里？汤姆看起来似乎不再是一种威胁。阿兰所想的全都是爱丽丝，只要能找到她，他们就会倾心长谈。
他开始第四次在地上寻找，千里拿着那只手镯，随后在一排房屋堆砌的石头缝里，他看见一件东西在发光——是爱丽丝的戒指，而且他知道那是紧紧地戴在她的手上的呀。阿兰的汗从脸上流了下来。
“爱丽丝，”他喊道，“爱丽丝！”没有回音。阿兰开始跑了起来。
正当他惊恐地返回到那座庙的前门时，他意识到还有一个地方他没有去找。他的心砰砰直跳，嗓子发干。他走下台阶。
他急不可待地跑上前，推开树叶，看到她在那里，躺在松叶上，心里松了一口气。
“爱丽丝。”
她慢慢地醒来了，睡眼朦朦地在太阳下伸伸懒腰。“对不起——我睡着了。”
“你究竟到哪里去了？”
“我出去走了走。”
他举起手镯和戒指。“我找到了这些东西。”他很生气，这一点是肯定的。她转移了视线。“得了吧，你为什么这样做？我一直在找你，我还以为——我还以为你被绑架或者别的什么了呢。受到了什么伤害了吗？”
“对不起。”
“说’对不起’就够了?”
“我留有痕迹。”
“你到底做了什么呀？”他怒气冲冲的。
“我想让你找我。”
“我当时很害怕——我还以为——”
“对不起，”她站起来。“我想我原来只想吓唬吓唬你。”
“为什么？”他大声问道。
她又一次转移了目光。“我还以为你不会再要我了呢。”
“要你？”
“你没有对我说过，你似乎很冷淡，在某种程度上无动于衷。”
“可无动于衷的是你。”
她看上去真的很吃惊。“我真不知道你在说什么。”
“我还以为你想要汤姆，不想和我在一块哩。”他的声音沙哑。
“我还以为你找他——开心去了呢。”
“他？噢，他还是一个小毛孩子。我很孤独，我想，你好像很烦我，我没有意识到那么——噢，阿兰。”她站起来，将他拉向自己，深深地吻起了他的嘴唇。“你真是个大傻瓜。我爱你——难道你不知道吗？”
“你怎么来到这了?”他问道。
“我是随便走走。我睡不着。瞧——”她跪下来，盯着前面的两座孤坟的拉丁碑文问道：“他们是什么人？”
“我不知道。我也总是想知道。多姆•卡罗斯•福恩塔——他肯定是一个和尚，但奇怪的是，他和一个女人葬在一起。”他暂停了一下，然后接着说道：“玛丽姬•德加斯。他葬于1892年，而她葬于1894年。”
“他们是情人吗？”
“我过去经常想给他们编编故事。”
“我刚才在想。是一个愚蠢的想法，我想你会笑我的。”
“说说看。”
“假如我们今后生活在这里，我们死后就埋在这里，但要在一块。合葬。”
阿兰双手捧起爱丽丝的脸，在她的嘴唇上亲吻起来。
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