Look for him to the left.

Look for him straight ahead,

Look for him in the air.

And bring my shepherd back to me.

When she opened her eyes she saw him in the middle of the room, holding his violin with its strings of light. He wore a hat with an eye at its centre. Demetrius smiled at her and one by one the strings of light disappeared into her.

Even if I’ve imagined you, it’s enough to give me strength. In your face I see my home.

And the ghost of the shepherd vanished.

Chapter Sixteen

Let the Devil Take the Consequences

‘What is it, Grandpa?’ Sorina asked when the butcher gave Edith his betrothal present.

The word ‘Grandpa’ visibly jarred the butcher. Vanda found the scissors.

‘Here,’ she said to Edith.

Edith took them and, in no hurry, cut the string and undid the wrapping paper.

Before Edith had taken her present out of the box, the butcher, unable to contain his excitement, said, ‘It’s a cuckoo clock,’ and held it up for the assembled guests to see.

There followed much talk as to where such a handsome clock should be hung.

‘Of course,’ said the doctor, ‘it will only be here for a short while as Edith will soon be taking it to her bridegroom’s house.’ The butcher smiled. The doctor, only half laughing, added, ‘I can’t make up my mind who is the most fortunate – the bridegroom for having such a beautiful bride or the bride for having such a generous husband.’

This is what the butcher has worked for, thought Edith. She saw his fingertips dipped in the blood of slaughtered animals, dipped in the blood of her shepherd. She had no proof that the butcher was his murderer; she had no doubt of his guilt. She saw the workings of his mind as simpler than the cuckoo clock’s. What if she was wrong, she wondered, and her love wasn’t dead? She looked up with such hope when the door opened, letting in the snow.

‘Sorry we’re late,’ said the mayor, stamping the snow off his boots and taking a basket from his wife. He handed it to Edith. ‘A small offering,’ he said.

Georgeta stood beside her sickly son, the university student, an earnest young man who had probably looked forty when he was four. Their arrival caused a flurry among the guests and annoyed the butcher. He wanted no one upstaging him at this important moment when a decision had to be reached.

‘There,’ said the butcher, pointing.

And the cabinet maker, with one unsteady blow of his hammer, drove the nail into the wall. A thin stream of plaster fell to the floor. The cuckoo clock was placed just above where the bride and bridegroom would sit. The butcher had already set the clock at his house the night before to make sure it worked. He turned to the guests.