He was woken by a scratching at the window shutters. Therefore he must have slept. ‘The baby is coming!’ someone called. ‘Signor il dottore!’

In his great confusion he thought they meant his wife’s baby, and was up at the window in a knot of bedsheets before he recalled that she was sleeping beside him. The face at the window was the peasant Rizzu’s, floating like a moon in the dark. ‘Whose baby is it?’ asked the doctor.

‘Signor il conte’s baby. Who else?’

So as not to wake his wife, he went down to the door. The moonlight in the courtyard imposed on everything an odd clarity. Even Rizzu was altered. The peasant had on his Sunday waistcoat and tie; he wore them stiffly, as though nailed into them. ‘This is a mistake,’ said the doctor. ‘I’m not under instructions to deliver the count’s baby.’

‘But I was ordered to fetch you by signor il conte himself.’

‘I’m not under instructions to attend la contessa during her labour. The midwife has had charge of her pregnancy all along. D’Isantu must have meant you to fetch her instead.’

‘No, no, they already have the midwife. The count wants you, too. Urgently, he said.’ Rizzu was puffed up with the importance of his message. ‘Will you come? At once?’

‘My own wife’s baby is due very soon. I don’t want to go far from home if it can be avoided.’

But Rizzu would not relinquish his mission. ‘The contessa’s baby is due right now, this very moment,’ he said. ‘I don’t think it can be avoided, dottore.’

‘And the midwife can’t handle it alone?’

‘No, dottore. It’s…a complicated birth. They need you, because the baby won’t come out without those silver sugar-tong things of yours.’ Rizzu pursed his lips at having to speak directly of such matters; he had witnessed the births of none of his own nine children, preferring to think of them as having sprung out of the earth like Adamo and Eva. ‘Will you come?’ he said again.

The doctor cursed inwardly, for it was plain that he must. ‘I’ll get my coat; I’ll get my hat,’ he said. ‘I’ll join you in the road in five minutes. Have you got your donkey cart or are we to walk?’

‘No, no, dottore, I brought the cart.’

‘Have it ready.’

He dressed in the dark. His watch stood at a quarter to two. He packed his instruments: forceps, steel scissors, a set of syringes – all of which he had prepared for his own wife’s impending delivery – as well as morphine and magnesium sulphate in case of emergency. When all this was done, he disturbed his wife. ‘How often are the pains waking you, amore?’ he said. ‘The count’s wife has gone into labour early – curse her – and I’m called away to attend.’

She frowned at being woken. ‘Still a long time…let me sleep…’

God willing, he should be able to deliver la contessa’s baby and be back in time for his wife’s. Before leaving, he ran across the piazza and woke the ancient Gesuina, who had been the island’s midwife until she began to lose her sight. ‘Signora Gesuina, mi dispiace,’ he said. ‘Will you sit with my wife? I’m called to attend to another patient, and my wife has been suffering labour pains.’

‘Who’s the other patient?’ said Gesuina. ‘Blessed Sant’Agata, is some other poor soul in the process of dying on this godforsaken island, that you have to leave her at such a time?’

‘The count’s wife has gone into labour early, and there are complications – they need me to bring the forceps.’

‘The count’s wife, eh? And you’ve been called to attend her?’

‘Yes, signora.’

‘From what I’ve heard, you’ve your reasons for preferring not to deliver signora la contessa’s baby.’ The old woman fell into a silence full of portent.

‘What have you heard, Signora Gesuina?’ the doctor was unable to suppress his irritation.

‘Rumours,’ said Gesuina.

Givi

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