“There were days when Lolita’s big shy eyes regarded me with an unspoken question, and there were evenings when I saw her break into sudden uncontrollable sobs.

“I had ceased to think of travelling on. I was entranced by the South — and Lolita.

“Golden hot days and silvery melancholy nights.

“And then, one time, the unforgettable reality and dreamlike unreality as Lolita sat on my balcony, and sang softly, as she often did. But this time she came to me with halting steps on the landing, the guitar discarded precipitously on the floor. And while her eyes sought out the image of the flickering moon in the water, like a pleading child she flung her trembling little arms around my neck, leaned her head on my chest, and began sobbing. There were tears in her eyes, but her sweet mouth was laughing.

“Then the miracle happened. ‘You are so strong,’ she whispered.

“Days and nights came and went… my beauty kept her secret in a song of imperturbable serenity.

“The days turned into weeks and I realized that it was time to continue my travels. Not that any duty called me, but Lolita’s immense and dangerous love had begun to frighten me. When I told her this she gave me an indescribable look and nodded silently. Suddenly she seized my hand and bit me as hard as she could. Twenty-five years have not erased the marks of love she left on my hand.

“By the time I was able to speak Lolita had disappeared into the house. I only saw her one more time.

“That evening I spoke seriously with Severo about his daughter. ‘Come, sir,’ he said, ‘I have something to show you that will explain everything.’ He lead me into a room that was separated from my own by a door. I stood in amazement.

“In that plain room stood only a small table and three armchairs. But they were the same, or nearly the same, as the chairs in the Walzer brothers’ tavern. And I realized instantly that it had been Severo Ancosta’s house that I had dreamed of on the eve of my trip.

“There was a drawing of Lolita on the wall, which was so perfect that I went up to examine it more closely.

“‘You think that’s a picture of Lolita,’ laughed Severo, ‘but that is Lola, the grandmother of Lolita’s great-grandmother. It’s a hundred years since she was strangled during a fight between her two lovers.’

“We sat down and Severo in his genial manner told this story. He told me of Lola, who was the most beautiful woman of her time in the town, so beautiful that men died for love of her. Shortly after giving birth to a daughter, she was murdered by two of her lovers, whom she had driven to madness.

“‘And since that time a curse lies on the family. The women all give birth to a daughter, and within weeks of giving birth, they always go mad. And they were all beautiful — as beautiful as Lolita.’

“‘My wife died that way,’ he whispered, serious now, ‘and my daughter will die the same way.’

“I could hardly think of anything to say to comfort him, as I myself was overcome with fear for my little Lolita.

“That evening when I went to my room I found a small red flower that I could not identify on my pillow. Lolita’s farewell present, I thought and picked it up. Only then did I see that the flower was white, the red was Lolita’s blood. Such was her love.

“That night I couldn’t sleep. A thousand dreams pursued me. Then suddenly, it must have been close to midnight, I saw something frightful. The door to the next room was open, and sitting at the table in the middle of the room were three people. To the right and left were two strong young blond fellows and between them sat Lolita. No, probably not Lolita but Lola — or maybe it really was Lolita?

“On the table were glasses of dark red wine. The girl laughed out loud, uninhibitedly, and there was an insolence around her mouth. The two men picked up violins and began to play. I felt the blood in my veins pulse faster — I recognized the melody — the gavotte from the days of the Sun King. As the tune ended, the woman drank down her glass to the bottom and let out another bright silvery laugh.

“The young man who sat facing me lay down his violin on the table. ‘Now, tell us, which of us will you choose?’

“She laughed, ‘the handsomest — but you are both so handsome. You have a cold foreign beauty that we are not used to here.’

“Then the other one shouted even louder, ‘Him or me, tell us, woman, or by God…’

“‘You both love me,’ she said. ‘If your love is so great, then fight for me and I will ask the blessed Virgin to send me a sign to show which of you loves me most. Are you willing?’

“‘Yes,’ agreed the men and glared at each other.

“‘I will love the one who is strongest.’

“‘So they took off their jackets and their muscles swelled. But they were realized they were equally strong.

“‘I will love whoever is tallest.’ Their eyes flashed.

“And the men seemed to grow taller and taller, their necks lengthened and thickened, and their sleeves burst right down to the elbows. Their faces became so ugly and distorted, that I feared their bones would break. But not by so much as a hair was one larger than the other.

“Their fists came crashing down onto the table, and the violins jumped and then came a godforsaken cursing.

“‘I will love the eldest.’

“The hair fell from their heads, deep furrows spread across their faces, their hands trembled with weakness and their knees shook as they tried with great fatigue to raise themselves to their full height. Their poisonous glances became feeble and the roaring cries of rage turned to croaking.

“‘By God, woman,’ howled one of them, ‘speak once more or you will go to hell, you and your thrice-accursed beauty.’

“She fell forward laughing onto the table, and cried with streaming eyes, ‘I will love, yes, I will love the one who has the longest and ugliest beard!’

“Long red hair shot out of the men’s faces, and they emitted insane animal cries of rage and despair. With upraised fists they faced each other. Then the woman tried to run away.

‘But in a moment the two of them fell on her and she was strangled between their long, bony fingers.

“I was unable to move a muscle, my spine turned to ice and I forced my eyes shut. When I opened them again I saw that the two men in the next room, gazing down on the result of their rage were Anton and Aloys Walzer. I fainted dead away.

“When I came to the sun was already streaming into my room, and the door to the next room was shut. I rushed to opened it and found everything just as it had been before. But I remember thinking that the fine layer of dust I had seen before on the furniture was gone. And I could smell the faintest hint of wine in the air.

“A few hours later I went outside into the street and found Severo pale and in distress coming toward me. There were tears in his eyes.

“‘Lolita died last night,’ he said softly.

“I don’t know how to explain what those words did to me, but if I could it would be a sacrilege to speak of it. My beloved little Lolita lay in her narrow bed, her eyes wide open. Her tears had collected on her lower lip and her fragrant blond hair lay in confusion.

“I don’t know the manner of her death. In my fathomless dismay I forgot to ask. There was a little cut on the brown left arm — but that surely did not kill her. She did that to turn a white flower red — for me.

“I shut her tender eyes and hid my head in her cool hand — I don’t know for how long.

“Eventually Severo came in and reminded me that the steamship that was to take me to Marseilles would be leaving in an hour. So I left.

“When the ship was far from shore I recognized the outline of Santa Barbara, and it occurred to me that this angular castle could now be looking down on a small beloved body being laid in the earth. My heart had never felt such a yearning and I beseeched the towers ‘Send her my love, send her my love before she is gone — and forever, forever.’

“But I took Lolita’s soul with me.

“Some years later I returned to the old south German town. In the Walzer’s old tavern, there now lived an ugly woman who dealt in seed. I asked after the brothers and found out that they were both found dead in their easychairs by the stove on the morning that followed Lolita’s death. They were smiling.”

The professor, whose gaze blindly strayed on his dish as he spoke, looked up. The Countess Beata opened her eyes. “You are a poet,’” she said and the bracelet on her delicate wrist clinked as she gave him her hand.