I went down the street towards the mule. He stood quite still, watching me. His ears were laid back, but the whites of his eyes weren’t showing and there was nothing vicious about his expression. He was standing by a door leading into one of the houses. I opened it and went in. The mule followed me. And when he followed me like that I wouldn’t have parted with that mule for anything. I swear the animal seemed almost human. It was probably just that he’d lived all his life close to people and was used to going in and out of houses. But at the time I didn’t bother to try and explain it. I just knew that his presence gave me courage like the presence of another human being.
The door led to a stables and on the far side daylight showed through the cracks of big wooden doors. I slid back the securing bar and we passed out into a track. The mule turned right. I hesitated. I was completely lost. I hadn’t an idea where the monastery was. In the end I followed the mule. The track was narrow and flanked by the tall backs of houses with here and there the open doors of stables. It swung away to the right and then I saw it was blocked by the lava.
The mule turned. Pain was shooting up my leg from the grit that was being ground into the flesh. Big stones jutted out from the wall of the building I had stopped beside and this gave me an idea. I caught hold of the halter of the mule and it stopped at once. I got it close to the stones, climbed up and so on to the animal’s back. A moment later I was trotting comfortably back along the track. The animal seemed quite placid now.
The track led out into a wider street. I tugged on the halter and the mule stopped. ‘Where now, old fellow?’ I asked. Its long ears twitched. The monastery was up towards the lava so I turned left, kicked the animal’s ribs and started off at a trot. I passed a trattoria where an overturned cask dribbled wine into the grey ash that covered the floor. The little wooden tables looked grey and derelict. Close by on the wall of a building was a life-size statue of the Virgin Mary. It was surrounded by tinsel and coloured lights, and at the foot were jam jars full of flowers that had been killed by the sulphurous air. Nearby a rude figure of Christ hung from a wooden cross. This, too, had jam jars of dead flowers and there were one or two sprays of artificial blooms under a cracked glass globe.
The street swung to the right. The tall houses seemed to close in on it as it climbed. And then it ended abruptly in a wall of black cinder nearly as high as the buildings. I had a sudden sense of being trapped. Every street seemed to lead up to the lava. It was like being in a partially excavated Pompei. All I could see was the facade of the houses flanking the street and the abrupt, unnatural end of it.
The mule had turned of its own accord and we trotted back the way we had come, past the decorated figure of the Virgin Mary, past the trattoria. And then I heard my name called. ‘Dick! Dick!’ I pulled up and looked back. It was Hilda. She had come out of the house next to the trattoria and was running towards me, her dress all torn, her hair flying. ‘Thank God you’re safe,’ she gasped as she reached me. ‘I thought I heard somebody screaming for help. I was afraid—’ She didn’t finish. She was staring at my face. Then her eyes dropped to my clothes. ‘Are you hurt?’
I shook my head. ‘I’m all right,’ I said. ‘What about the others? Where are they?’
‘I couldn’t find them.’ Her eyes were frantic with worry. ‘I went all through the monastery — they weren’t there. What do you think has happened to them?’ And then in a rush. ‘We must find them. The lava’s almost reached the monastery. I called and called, but they didn’t answer. Do you think—’ She didn’t finish. She didn’t want to put her thought into words.
‘Where is the monastery?’ I asked her.
‘Through this building.’ She nodded to the house next to the trattoria. I turned the mule and slid off at the door. The smell of the trattoria made me realise how parched I was. ‘Just a minute,’ I said and dived inside. There were bottles behind the counter. I reached over and took one, knocking the top off against the counter edge. The wine was warm and rather sharp. But it cleared the grit from my throat. I passed the bottle to Hilda. ‘You look as though you could do with some.’