With measured gestures, and alert to his reactions, Teresa brought out the pieces of paper she had been carrying in her pocket. Slowly, she bent down until she was kneeling, and spread them out in front of him.

She knew that Andreas had learned the basics of language. But while he might be capable of understanding some of her words, she doubted they would be sufficient to explain. Andreas’s world was not like hers; it was made of silences, the howling of the wind, the calls of wild animals. She had been obsessed with the problem of how to communicate with this creature, how to connect with a mind that was so unique, and finally she had understood—or so she hoped—what she had to do. Everything he knew he had learned by observing the natural world, which had been his home until that day—that was the language Teresa had to use to connect with him.

Andreas studied the pictures that had been placed at his feet. They showed females of different animal species suckling their young: a vixen, a doe, a wild sow, and a woman.

Teresa saw him look at her and at Gloria, then back at the bundle he held in his hands.

“Take a step forward and unzip your vest,” she whispered to Gloria. Gloria did so, showing no trace of fear. Her breasts, swollen with milk, stretched at the fabric of her sweater. Their message was clear.

He noticed them, and spent a moment studying them. His eyes showed no hint of emotion, but Teresa could sense the deep sorrow that a sudden realization was causing him: he could not keep the child he had chosen as his own. She could feel his pain, his loss, his fear of being alone once more.

She stretched her arms toward him, ready to receive the child.

She remained in that position, praying he wouldn’t interpret it as a threat. Parisi and the others were hiding in the shadows behind them, watching the scene, ready to act.

She closed her eyes, her hands shaking, her mind straying to the past. She wondered what it was like to be a mother. Throughout their lives, neither she nor Andreas would ever be able to touch that sacred, inviolable mystery. She felt a profound empathy for him—a killer, a victim, a man, a child—all at once. Alone, like she was. Accustomed, like she was, to being self-sufficient. Until one day some part of him had dared to want something else, something more. Now that he had found it, would he be prepared to part with it?