Free Water Theatre by Lindsay Clarke

for the United Nations there.”
    â€œA good man then.” Invited to pursue the intimacies of her life no further, I sought a light way out of the corner in which I had left myself. “And does he also believe in oracles?”
    â€œOf course. He too is an Umbrian.”
    â€œThat makes a difference?”
    â€œSometimes I think that in Umbria even those who believe in nothing else believe in signs and portents.” She turned her gaze to where the mountains floated in the haze. “It is our custom. Ever since we learnt to read the fortunes of men in the flight of birds. Perhaps long before that time.”
    â€œI’ve always thought bird-watching harmless enough.”
    â€œNow I think you are making mockery of me! However, if you keep your eyes wide, there is meaning to be found everywhere – not only in the birds, but in the murmur of trees, in the pictures made in fire or water. Even a voice heard in a crowd may say something that can change us. As with theradio, there are many places to listen. It all depends how you are tuned – yes?”
    â€œOr which kind of universe you think you live in?”
    â€œExactly so. I know how it is not respectable now to believe in such a spirited conference of things. But the ancients were wiser. They had great respect for our Umbrian soothsayers.” She glanced away, pointing down the slope of the garden beyond a dusky clump of ilex trees. “For example, there was a powerful oracle at the springs of Clitumnus down there on the plain beneath us. And not far away,” she lifted her gaze to the horizon, “in those mountains, is the cave of the
Sibilla cumana
. From Virgil? You understand?”
    â€œThe Cumaean Sibyl? I thought she lived near Naples.”
    â€œYes. But they say that when Christianity came there, she moved north, to Umbria, to the Monti Sibillini. Regrettably,
la grotta della Sibilla
was closed with stones, a long time ago, by men who did not understand the true nature of her
negromanzia
.”
    â€œBlack magic?”
    â€œOf course that is what they thought. That is why they exploded the entrance to her cave with dynamite. But it was not like that. There are many stories.”
    â€œTell me some.”
    â€œSo that you may scorn them?”
    â€œBecause I like stories.”
    Gabriella studied me. “In that case, I will tell you about Guerino il Meschino. You make me think about him a little.
Meschino
means… how shall I put it into English? A poor fellow, a man who has something perhaps a little disgraceful about him?”
    â€œA tramp?” I suggested.
    Dubiously she shook her head, fluttering the fingers of one hand.
    â€œA rogue then? A rascal?” Her shrug was unconvinced. “How about a wretch?”
    â€œYes, a wretch. A wretch will do very well.”
    â€œAnd he reminds you of me? Perhaps I don’t like this story after all.”
    â€œBut he too has
ardimento
. And a cunning mind. A mind for opportunities. I think you will like him. Anyway he comes to Norcia in search of his lost father…”
    I flashed involuntarily on the image of my own father as I’d seen him in the dream. Thunder rolled inside me.
Truffles are the fruit of lightning
, I thought in swift recoil. And then:
the world is full of signs and portents
.
    â€œâ€¦and in a pass through the mountains he meets his Excellency the Devil, who says to Guerino that if he wants to know who is his true father then he must consult the
fata
who lives in a cave nearby.” Gabriella gave me an interrogative frown. “You understand this word
fata
?”
    â€œFate? Fortune-teller?”
    â€œNo, perhaps not fate.” She frowned again, then found the word she wanted. “Fairy – yes, fairy. The Devil says, ‘There is a fairy who lives in a cave in these mountains. Her name is Sibilla. Enter her cave and you will come to a country where the trees give fruit and flowers at the