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service binoculars in the gothic church at arezzo soldiers would e upon their contemporary faces in the piero della francesca frescoes。 the queen of sheba conversing with king solomon。 nearby a twig from the tree of good and evil inserted into the mouth of the dead adam。 years later this queen would realize that the bridge over the siloam was made from the wood of this sacred tree。
it was always raining and cold； and there was no order but for the great maps of art that showed judgement； piety and sacrifice。 the eighth army came upon river after river of destroyed bridges； and their sapper units clambered down banks on ladders of rope within enemy gunfire and swam or waded across。 food and tents were washed away。 men who were tied to equipment disappeared。 once across the river they tried to ascend out of the water。 they sank their hands and wrists into the mud wall of the cliff face and hung there。 they wanted the mud to harden and hold them。
the young sikh sapper put his cheek against the mud and thought of the queen of sheba’s face； the texture of her skin。
there was no fort in this river except for his desire for her； which somehow kept him warm。 he would pull the veil off her hair。 he would put his right hand between her neck and olive blouse。 he too was tired and sad； as the wise king and guilty queen he had seen in arezzo two weeks earlier。
he hung over the water； his hands locked into the mud…bank。 character； that subtle art； disappeared among them during those days and nights； existed only in a book or on a painted wall。 who was sadder in that dome’s mural？ he leaned forward to rest on the skin of her frail neck。 he fell in love with her downcast eye。 this woman who would someday know the sacredness of bridges。
at night in the camp bed； his arms stretched out into distance like two armies。 there was no promise of solution or victory except for the temporary pact between him and that painted fresco’s royalty who would forget him； never acknowledge his existence or be aware of him； a sikh； halfway up a sapper’s ladder in the rain； erecting a bailey bridge for the army behind him。 but he remembered the painting of their story。 and when a month later the battalions reached the sea； after they had survived everything and entered the coastal town of cattolica and the engineers had cleared the beach of mines in a twenty…yard stretch so the men could go down naked into the sea； he approached one of the mediaevalists who had befriended him—who had once simply talked with him and shared some spam—and promised to show him something in return for his kindness。
the sapper signed out a triumph motorbike； strapped a crimson emergency light onto his arm； and they rode back the way they had e—back into and through the now innocent towns like urbino and anghiari； along the winding crest of the mountain ridge that was a spine down italy； the old man bundled up behind him hugging him； and down the western slope towards arezzo。 the piazza at night was empty of troops； and the sapper parked in front of the church。 he helped the mediaevalist off； collected his equipment and walked into the church。 a colder darkness。 a greater emptiness； the sound of his boots filling the area。 once more he smelled the old stone and wood。 he lit three flares。 he slung block and tackle across the columns above the nave； then fired a rivet already threaded with rope into a high wooden beam。 the professor was watching him bemused； now and then peering up into the high darkness。 the young sapper circled him and knotted a sling across his waist and shoulders； taped a small lit flare to the old man’s chest。
he left him there by the munion rail and noisily climbed the stairs to the upper level； where the other end of the ropewas。 holding onto it； he stepped off the balcony into the darkness； and the old man was simultaneously swung up； hoisted up fast until； when the sapper touched ground； he swung idly in midair within three feet of the frescoed walls； the flare brightening a halo around him。 still holding the rope the sapper walked forward until the man swung to the right to hover in front of the flight of emperor maxentius。
five minutes later he let the man down。 he lit a flare for himself and hoisted his body up into the dome within the deep blue of the artificial sky。 he remembered its gold stars from the time he had gazed on it with binoculars。 looking down he saw the mediaevalist sitting on a bench； exhausted。 he was now aware of the depth of this church； not its height。 the liquid sense of it。
the hollowness and darkness of a well。 the flare sprayed out of his hand like a wand。 he pulleyed himself across to her face； his queen of sadness； and his brown hand reached out small against the giant neck。
the sikh sets up a tent in the far reaches of the garden； where hana thinks lavender was once grown。 she has found dry leaves in that area which she has rolled in her fingers and identified。 now and then after a rain she recognizes the perfume of it。
at first he will not e into the house at all。 he walks past on some duty or other to do with the dismantling of mines。
always courteous。 a little nod of his head。 hana sees him wash at a basin of collected rainwater； placed formally on top of a sundial。 the garden tap； used in previous times for the seedbeds； is now dry。 she sees his shirtless brown body as he tosses water over himself like a bird using its wing。 during the day she notices mostly his arms in the short…sleeved army shirt and the rifle which is always with him； even though battles seem now to be over for them。
he has various postures with the gun—half…staff； half a crook for his elbows when it is over his shoulders。 he will turn； suddenly realizing she is watching him。 he is a survivor of his fears； will step around anything suspicious； acknowledging her look in this panorama as if claiming he can deal with it all。
he is a relief to her in his self…sufficiency； to all of them in the house； though caravaggio grumbles at the sapper’s contin…uous humming of western songs he has learned for himself in the last three years of the war。 the other sapper； who had arrived with him in the rainstorm； hardy he was called； is billeted elsewhere； nearer the town； though she has seen them working together； entering a garden with their wands of gad…getry to clear mines。
the dog has stuck by caravaggio。 the young soldier； who will run and leap with the dog along the path； refuses to give it food of any kind； feeling it should survive on its own。 if he finds food he eats it himself。 his courtesy goes only so far。 some nights he sleeps on the parapet that overlooks the valley； crawling into his tent only if it rains。
he； for his part； witnesses caravaggio’s wanderings at night。 on two occasions the sapper trails caravaggio at a distance。
but two days later caravaggio stops him and says； don’t follow me again。 he begins to deny it； but the older man puts his hand across his lying face and quiets him。 so the soldier knows caravaggio was aware of him two nights before。 in any case； the trailing was simply a remnant of a habit he had been taught during the war。 just as even now he desires to aim his rifle and fire and hit some target precisely。 again and again he aims at a nose on a statue or one of the brown hawks veering across the sky of the valley。
he is still very much a youth。 he wolfs down food； jumps up to clear away his plate； allowing himself half an hour for lunch。
she has watched him at work； careful and timeless as a cat； in the orchard and within the overgrown garden that rises behind the house。 she notices the darker brown skin of his wrist； which slides freely within the bangle that clinks sometimes when he drinks a cup of tea in front of her。
he never speaks about the danger that es with his kind of searching。 now and then an explosion brings her and ca…ravaggio quickly out of the house； her heart taut from the muffled blast。 she runs out or runs to a window seeing cara…vaggio too in the corner of her vision； and they will see the sapper waving lazily towards the house； not even turning around from the herb terrace。
once caravaggio entered the library and saw the sapper