“Close the curtain,” he said. “It’s past midnight in Rome. I’ll never sleep, all this light.”

––––––––

My brother was restless. We stood on the deck together and watched Dazio head down the beach with his headphones on, plowing sullenly through the sand. Young people, close to his own age, gathered in groups along the shore this time of day. He longed to mingle with them, but our situation didn’t permit much interaction.

“This medicine helps Paolo?”

“He only has a limited supply, on account of customs.”

“It helps him?”

“Sometimes, without it, his will weakens. He has moments of despair.”

“He has those anyway.”

“And moments of rage.”

“He blames me for his situation?”

“Me, more likely,” my brother shrugged. “You he holds tender. You and Dazio both.” Johnny spoke the boy’s name with a touch of mockery. “Just before leaving Rome, Paolo was on the phone with his estate attorney. Some amendment to the bequest.”

“What was it about?”

“I don’t know exactly. He didn’t confide in me.”

“It’s likely some small thing.”

“Likely,” my brother said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “You know Paolo has left you everything. The irony is that the longer he lives, the less there’ll be to give. The committee means to strip him bare—to take everything and divide it among themselves.”

“And you?”

“They want a goat. A little animal with horns—and a throat to slit.”

I reached up and brushed a curl from Johnny’s face. The wind had picked up, blowing in over the tide. I made out Dazio farther down the beach, slumping along on his way back. I saw boredom and loneliness in his shuffle.

“The way you look at him.”

“He’s just a boy.”

“There are plenty of boys in the world.”

“He’s so innocent.”

Johnny whispered a vulgarity. It might not seem so, but Johnny was fragile, and much of what he did, he did for me. That fragility could make him ugly sometimes. He could be envious, unreasonable.

Dazio clumped up the steps.

“Where have you been?” Johnny demanded.

“Just walking,” said Dazio.

“Where?”

“Just down the sand.”

“Don’t.”

“Why not?”

“You know why,” Johnny said. “You put us all at risk.”

“I was just walking on the beach.”

“Stay where we can see you.”

“I did,” he said. “You could see me fine.”

“He was just getting some air,” I said. “Someone his age . . . he can’t sit in one place all day and night.”

Johnny shot me a glance.

Dazio had some height on Johnny. He looked at Johnny down his nose, a haughty look, and I feared the boy might say something foolish. My brother was in such a mood, I worried what might happen. Then Paolo appeared from inside and embraced his nephew. This rankled Johnny. He leaned over the deck toward the ocean—but the view offered little solace.

Gasparo and Zanche lingered by the water.