This question formed itself spontaneously in my mind, and my surprise was so strong that I spoke it aloud. He seemed to hear, despite the din of children playing and the double pane of glass between us. His dim form fixed its gaze on me. When I entered the loggia, he had not budged from his place on the stone seat, which was almost a booth, set directly into the wall.

“I’m waiting for Sylvia,” he said.

“I’ve been asked to see her home directly after the baptism ends,” I said.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I just want to see her.”

I stood watching him. The noise outside was almost louder by the library door than it was in the square. Someone opened a window across from us, which spattered Ernest with faint sequins of reflected sunlight, making the rest of him more murky by contrast.

“I was wondering if you knew my friend, Amelia,” I said. “Amelia Portreres.”

I don’t know why I said it. I couldn’t see his face clearly enough to make out what effect my words were having on him, but he shifted oddly in his seat. It wasn’t immediately clear to me that he had actually moved; for a moment, I thought that someone might have adjusted the position of that open window and caused the reflections to move. A moment later he stood up and was past me in a flash, although he didn’t seem to be making any special effort to move quickly. I caught up with him outside, and we walked together through the children, toward the church. The sun was in my eyes, and I had to shade them as we went on, but he simply kept his face forwards and his eyelids lowered. He seemed embarrassed; his lips were compressed.

“I’m not talking about Sylvia, although you should leave her alone, too,” I said.

“Then,” he said, his voice barely audible above the racket, “who are you talking about?”

“Sylvia’s birthday party. You answered the phone. You said, ‘This is the residence of the Leuko family’...”

I couldn’t be sure, his face was turned away, but it sounded as though he said, “She saw me?”

“She’s an old friend of mine,” I went on. “And I’m telling you to leave her alone.”

Ernest relaxed. He finally gazed at me, his face dappled, blank and grey under the dapple. When he spoke, his words were perfectly distinct, even though he spoke softly, and ice cold.

“Do you think this is good for me? This curse I’m under?”

I stopped to confront him, but he did not stop.

“You leave her alone,” I said to his back.

“There’s no need,” he said.

I hurried to catch up with him.