Now, as he pushed the garlic from the cutting board into the pan to simmer, the recollection of the voice still sent a chill up Giancarlo’s spine, and he glanced over his shoulder just to confirm that he was indeed still alone in the kitchen. For many years after he first came to America, he had experienced from time to time such vivid dreams of his long-deceased mother and father. This one, however, had been the first in a very long time, and it had been with great unease that he had started his day.

As if the dream were not enough, Giancarlo’s disquiet had been further compounded a little while later when he walked across the yard to retrieve the morning newspaper. He had just stooped down to pick it up when he chanced to see a large crow perched on a tree branch just overhead. At the sight of him, the black bird gave a startling caw! caw! as if to warn him away, before abruptly taking flight. Giancarlo had been for many years away from Abruzzo, but not long enough to completely dispel the superstitions of his youth, and so the combination of the dream and his encounter with the bird had left him with a vague feeling of dread. What, he wondered, did it all mean? He supposed it was not all that odd that he should have dreamt of the pocket watch. After all, he had held on to it all that summer before sending it back with Carter. In its own way it had occupied his house like a guest he kept hoping would leave, and it had been a relief to finally see it go. Of the crow, he knew not what to think.

Unable to make any sense of it, Giancarlo shook his head and set about chopping some scallions and olives.These he added to the frying pan along with a pat of butter and, lastly, a small can of tuna packed in oil. When the water came to a boil, he opened a box of capellini and tossed in a handful.The thin spaghetti would take but a few minutes to cook, so he stood there by the stove, stirring them frequently to keep them from sticking together.

As he waited for the capellini to cook, Giancarlo’s thoughts drifted to Italy. He wondered where Carter might be at that moment, if his long hours of Italian lessons were serving him well, and particularly, if he had traveled yet to Roccasale. The trajectory of his thoughts brought him right back to the pocket watch the young man carried, and left him speculating on how long it might be before he went to Castelalto. Then some water spilled from the pot and fell hissing to the flames, bringing his attention back once more to the task at hand.