Now the child was dead. The dream was dead. God’s will was done. But the thought of his wife’s agony caused Costantino the most grievous suffering. The King of Spades realized this when one day he spoke to the young man in the hot shade of the wall. Instead of comforting Costantino, he said with an attempt at irony, ‘Don’t drive yourself to desperation, my friend. Think of it this way. If God, as you say, has called an innocent soul to himself, he has done it for the child’s own good.’

‘Why?’ asked Costantino, his head bowed, arms limp, hands spread wide. ‘Because he was poor?’

The King of Spades was in a philosophical mood. He said that far from being an evil, poverty might on the other hand sometimes be a positive good. ‘There are other evils, my friend. Think of yourself. Your wife will recover.’

‘Oh, yes, she has the sun!’ said Costantino, clenching his fists. ‘The sun that scorches. Much use the sun is to her.’

‘Pff,’ snorted the other, inflating his fat, yellowish cheeks three times. Then staring thoughtfully at the nail on the little finger of his right hand he asked, ‘Tell me, old fellow, what would you do if your wife were to take another husband?’

‘Don’t talk about things like that today,’ Costantino said, distressed.

Silence fell.

‘Look, my friend,’ said the King of Spades, ‘you don’t understand. Your wife is honest enough, no doubt about that. But she’s young, and nature will take its course. While there’s a child, a son, that’s enough for her, for a young woman. But if she’s alone? What if she’s tempted? You think not? What a naive fellow you are. My goodness, you’re naïve. You’re like a free man.’

Costantino raised his head. His sunken eyes opened round and wide and then suddenly half-closed again.

‘Giovanna wouldn’t do that,’ he said. ‘She wouldn’t do that,’ he repeated to himself, but he felt as if a knife blade had touched his heart.

‘Look,’ the King of Spades went on. ‘I don’t believe she’d do it either. But tell me something, my friend. Now her son is dead, now she has no hope for him or for you, wouldn’t it be right for her to do it? She’d be a fool if she had the opportunity and didn’t take it. If you are as good a Christian as you say, you’d let her.’

‘If you don’t shut up I’ll strangle you,’ Costantino thought. Then, remembering Brontu Dejas, he repeated, more to convince himself than the other man, ‘She’d never do that.’

‘You’re a fool, old fellow. If she were to do it she’d be quite right. Believe me.’

‘But I’m going back home one day.’

‘How does she know?’