Enrico, as it turned out, was wrong. No one came along and offered to give Carter a ride. In fact, no cars whatsoever passed by him during his weary slog up the ever-ascending road, and he wondered if perhaps he was climbing to a ghost town. It was not until the road at last began to flatten out and the entrance to the center of the village came into view that he heard a car come sputtering up the road behind him. The driver, an elderly gent in a cloth cap, slowed as he passed and gave Carter a sympathetic shrug, as if to apologize for arriving too late to give him a ride. Carter smiled and nodded at him in reply to let him know that it was no big deal, for the village was just a few steps ahead.With a tip of his cap, the man drove on out of sight.

When at last he walked into the middle of Castelalto, Carter had the distinct impression that he had stepped back in time. It was even smaller than Roccasale, and easily far older. Looking about, he understood now that the streak of white he had seen in the distance while riding the bus was the facade of the stone houses that bordered the little piazza and climbed back from it in clusters up the hill. Carter turned around and looked back at the spectacular view of the valley and the surrounding mountains.Then he leaned forward and peeked over the edge of the piazza at the precipitous embankment that plunged far below. From all appearances, the place was built on a cliff, giving it an isolated, mysterious feel, like some ancient fortress that history and the outside world had long-ago forgotten.

The sound of voices behind him brought Carter back to the present. He turned and saw a group of youngsters walking his way. Here and there, farther back in the neighborhood, people were emerging from their houses. Apparently the place had seemed deserted to him because everyone had been inside having lunch or perhaps taking an afternoon siesta. The arrival of a stranger in town was obviously the cause of some excitement, for the children immediately flocked to Carter to ask who he was and where he was going.

“Sto cercando la casa di Giorgio Rosa,” he told them. “I’m looking for Giorgio Rosa’s house.”

“Si, si!” the children cried enthusiastically, and before Carter knew it, they were all shepherding him away up one of the little alleys off the piazza. Soon they came to a stone house that looked much like the others. Carter set his bags down and stepped toward the door. One of the children, a wiry little boy, dashed in front of him, gave the door a quick knock, and opened it a crack.

“Signor Rosa!” he called inside. “There’s an American here to see you!”

Carter gaped at the child and then just shook his head.