Kamal and Giulia saw one another every day. They had got into the habit of meeting at the library at lunchtime. Often, they would walk beside the sea. Giulia was intrigued by this man, so unlike anyone she had ever known. He didn’t look or behave like Sicilian men, and perhaps that was what she liked about him. The men in her family were authoritarian, outspoken, moody, set in their ways and attitudes. Kamal was the complete opposite.

She could never be sure he would come. Every lunchtime, when she walked into the reading room, she would look around for him. Sometimes he would be standing there, other times not. And this delicious uncertainty only served to heighten Giulia’s curiosity. The butterflies in her stomach would wake her up at night – a new, exquisite sensation. She read and reread Pavese’s poems. Their words were the only remedy for the lack of him that she felt now, so urgently.

It happened one lunchtime, when they were walking on the jetty. Giulia had taken him further than usual, to a beach unfrequented by tourists. She wanted to show him the place where she went sometimes to read – a sea-cave that no one knew, she said. At least, that was what she liked to think.

The creek was deserted at that time of day. The cave was quiet, damp and dark, sheltered from the world. Giulia undressed without a word. Her summer dress slipped down to her feet. Kamal stood motionless, as if hesitating to pick a flower for fear of damaging it. Giulia held out her hand: the gesture was more than encouragement, it was an invitation. Slowly, he unwound his turban, removed the comb that held his hair captive. It unfurled like a skein of wool, down to his waist, black as jet. Giulia shivered. She had never seen a man with hair so long – only women. And yet there was nothing feminine about Kamal. He kissed her very softly, as one might kiss the feet of an idol, hardly daring to touch the surface.

Giulia had never felt anything like this; Kamal made love like an act of prayer, his eyes closed, as if his life depended on it. His hands were coarse from his nights at work but curiously, his body was soft, like an artist’s brush on her skin. She trembled at his slightest touch.

After making love, they stayed wrapped in each other’s arms for a long time. The women at the workshop would laugh about men who fell asleep straightaway afterwards, but Kamal was not one of them. He held Giulia close against him, like a priceless treasure from which he could not bear to be parted. She could stay that way for hours, she thought, his body burning against hers, her pale skin against his, soft and dark.