THE VILLAGE HAS A ROMANESQUE CHURCH, ITS GARGOYLES MADE more grotesque by time, along with marigolds in terra-cotta pots and rabbits in cages. In noon’s heat he circles through streets that are shuttered to the sun. He looks at the map the man in the station ticket office had drawn for him; each village is illuminated with details of its architecture and the shape of its trees, but this plan gives no clues as to the gradients between the gargoyles and the poplars. Harry’s route map is like a cluster of holy men, each village going by the name of a saint, and he wonders if Edie has opened his envelope yet and seen her returned Saint Christopher. He can imagine the medal in her hands, but can’t picture what expression her face might make. He thinks about a village called Saint-Christophe where someone had kept his brother’s photograph face. What links Francis to this alien place?

From the south side of Saint-Jean he surveys his progress. The valley is a bowl before him. The hills recede in declining blue, like the background of a Sienese crucifixion. The land falls away sharply immediately below and Harry realizes that he is standing at the top of a cliff. He wonders what it would be like to step off, to dive into that landscape. He feels himself swoon toward it, sees himself in a gasp of bright terminal light, the ground thrusting up and beckoning blackness. He looks out and feels himself pulled forward, but then a woman is singing on the terraces below and there is laughter in the fields beyond. He takes a breath and leans against a wall for a moment, realizing he is shaking.

From the village he descends through a forest of chestnut and pine. Harry’s feet find a rhythm and for a moment it is a route march again and Will and Francis are at his side. He startles a deer in the shadows and it stops him in his tracks. The present presses in again and there is no voice on the road to call him back. To question. To challenge the stretching distance. He listens, but it isn’t there. There is nothing but birdsong and shifting light on the road ahead. Beyond, the forest gives way to walnut orchards and bald glades. The light, after the forest, is startlingly sharp.