Yet I could not find it. I went out of the back door of the house, into
the narrow gully of the back street. Women glanced down at me from the
top of the flights of steps, old men stood, half-turning, half-crouching
under the dark shadow of the walls, to stare. It was as if the strange
creatures of the under-shadow were looking at me. I was of
another element.

The Italian people are called 'Children of the Sun'. They might better
be called 'Children of the Shadow'. Their souls are dark and nocturnal.
If they are to be easy, they must be able to hide, to be hidden in lairs
and caves of darkness. Going through these tiny chaotic backways of the
village was like venturing through the labyrinth made by furtive
creatures, who watched from out of another element. And I was pale, and
clear, and evanescent, like the light, and they were dark, and close,
and constant, like the shadow.

So I was quite baffled by the tortuous, tiny, deep passages of the
village. I could not find my way. I hurried towards the broken end of a
street, where the sunshine and the olive trees looked like a mirage
before me. And there above me I saw the thin, stiff neck of old San
Tommaso, grey and pale in the sun. Yet I could not get up to the church,
I found myself again on the piazza.

Another day, however, I found a broken staircase, where weeds grew in
the gaps the steps had made in falling, and maidenhair hung on the
darker side of the wall. I went up unwillingly, because the Italians
used this old staircase as a privy, as they will any deep side-passage.

But I ran up the broken stairway, and came out suddenly, as by a