She noticed the empty chair next to her. A large foot emerged from beneath the hem of her long skirt and kicked it away. The men’s eyes widened noticeably. What a foot that bride has! Even the young men, holding their long billiards sticks, gathered closer. The woman continued to speak quietly. She hadn’t come to make a scene. She wanted to show what she knew herself to be – a civil woman. However, she also wanted to set the story straight. When one had such an enormous imagination, one never knew how far a story would go, and the old man still read all those books that had ruined his brain. She wouldn’t want for him to one day boast about having abducted and seduced her at eighteen, when instead she had married him at over thirty, but honourably so, accompanied by a healthy prenuptial agreement in which her husband was given access to very little of her money to squander. He had, of course, always resented this. Ah, so he had invented a cute little bride with geraniums in her hair? She didn’t like this, nor did she find it convenient. The gentlemen were embarrassing themselves by sitting there listening to all his drivel.

She smiled nastily, flashing her rotten teeth, then turned and left without saying goodbye to anyone. The creaking floorboards accompanied her all the way to the door, which she slammed behind her, the glass tinkling for a good while afterward. In front of the Malpasso, she was hit by a gust of wind and they saw her raise her hands and the shopping bag in order to keep her hat on. She then disappeared, that bunch of celery bouncing on top of her head.

At sunset the wind died down. Leaning against a railing near the river, the old man paused to look at the landscape. How much better it would have been if he had just contented himself with the view instead of letting himself be dominated by his usual weaknesses! Life is what it is, his wife is what she is, the river and hills are what they are. Instead, they had made a mockery of him … And who knew how long those who surely believed they too had been ridiculed would hold it against him?

Out of pity, the veterinarian, who had accompanied him, said: ‘Let’s try not to talk about it any more … But you made a mistake. The hours are long at the Malpasso and things last.’

The old man blinked his eyes and swallowed now and again. Finally he mumbled, ‘It’s just that … by now I was convinced of it myself. And it … did me good. Almost as if it had really happened.’

The other man took his arm and they made their way to the bridge. Ghosts are a private thing and should be cultivated in silence. Someone as old as he is should have known this. Ghosts can’t be used to remedy what others see as our mistakes, the compromises we once made.