Joséphine enjoyed her humble paradise of forgotten hills, until one day a man, a new man, destroyed everything. Man, that creation of God who bribes and squanders, who makes it his work to sully and to ruin. Even without cause for malice, jealousy, frustration or anger, man, by his very presence, can destroy everything.

That evening, Wolfgang had gone up to the meadows. Before he left, he fed his lions copiously so that they would stay calm. He planned to stay the night with Joséphine to experience the joy of waking up beside her in the morning. He had slept on his own for years now, and the thought of spending the night with a woman filled him with wonder. He was actually a little scared. He knew that he was taking a risk with his wild cats, not because he was leaving them on their own, well locked up but without supervision, but because the next day they would smell the scent of his adventure and would be annoyed that he had abandoned them. He knew already that, one way or another, they would make their jealousy manifest; he would definitely have to be careful when he opened the cage to feed them, but it was a risk worth taking. He would ignore the risk so that he could indulge his only comfort, which was spend one whole evening and one whole night with Joséphine.

They made love even before penning in the sheep, deep in the meadow, as the sun was setting. Their meal was frugal, but their appetites were elsewhere. They talked and talked; they talked to each other as they never had before, sitting on the stone bench in front of the house. The air was cool after a day of too-hot sun, and it was soothing after the great heat. Unusually for her, Joséphine opened up to him. In the village, she would say little, never confided in anyone and instead listened to the troubles of others. For years she had listened to the ills of her husband’s patients who poured out their feelings to her before going in to see him. For years it had been as if no one accorded her the right to her own sadness or pain. What’s more, she was surprised to find herself talking to Wolfgang about her husband. She never did that. She told Wolfgang that she had come up to live in the meadows because she could not bear the doctor’s house any more. Since her husband’s death, since she had proof that he was no longer alive, she had had a terrible realisation, a sort of revelation, that secretly there was only one thing that could one day validate her.

‘Joséphine, what are you trying to say?’

‘No, Wolfgang, I can’t tell you. But it’s a question that only you can provide an answer to.’