But the lobby was empty, and we climbed the stairs to the top floor. The first thing we saw when we walked into my room was all our packages heaped up on the bed. I went to the window and opened it. You could see the roofs, the trees along the riverbank, the summits of the churches. In the distance, black clouds were massing in the darkening sky. I felt her arms around my chest and her head leaning against my back. “You’ve lost weight,” she said. “I only just noticed.”

“Don’t you have any records?” she said, loosening her hair in front of the mirror. I found an album of old songs from the previous year and put it on the portable record player I’d brought with me from the apartment overlooking the valley, and Arianna went and sat down on the bed, pushing the packages off onto the floor. When I turned, she slapped her hand down on the blanket. “Come here,” she said, making room for me, “I want to smell you.” We lay down, side by side. She kept smiling. “I want to kiss you,” she said as her mouth descended toward my neck. I felt her fingers loosening my shirt, then felt her mouth on my chest, moist and cool. Through the window I could see the sky losing color.

She was fiddling with the buckle of my belt. She unfastened it and continued kissing me, then I lifted her head, moved it away, and started undressing. She also undressed now, throwing her skirt and blouse on the floor. The pale marks left by her swimsuit were still on her body. She jumped on the bed, laughing. Then she stopped laughing and her voice grew somber as she hurriedly murmured words she had never said before. I turned and kissed her hard. She fell silent, and when I put my lips on her breasts she froze, listening. Then she started again with those hoarse words and my anger turned into the languor I had so long looked for with her. She felt it too and laughed, pressing her belly up against mine.

“Now,” she said hurriedly. “Now!”

The sky was dark when I stood up to restart the record player. “I like the songs,” I heard her say. “I’m so fed up with that damned Bach.”

Her voice glittered in the darkness of the room, but there was something different about it. It was like hearing an instrument whose clear voice was pervaded by the hidden rasp of tortured strings. I went to the window. The clouds were looking down on the buildings and a few drops of rain were falling. On the street, people were hurrying along and from time to time you could hear the slam of shutters being lowered.

“It’s starting to rain,” I said.

“You’re sad,” she said. “I can tell you’re sad.”

“No,” I said.