I idled the engine, but it stalled, gave another cough, and then went quiet. Suddenly, without the throb of it, the silence around us had the quality of mist, opaque, opening up slightly for the faint bells on the buoys. There was just enough light from the marker to see her face, staring at the tarp, then looking at me.

“Adam, if we do this, the body, it’s a crime. We can’t explain—” She looked away, unsure how to finish.

“It is a crime. I killed him.”

She glanced back at me, her eyes suddenly fierce. “No, both. Both of us,” she said, her voice steady. And I thought of her that first afternoon, in the hotel near the station, opening a button.

I looked across at her for another minute, not saying anything, then nodded.

“Hold on to the sides. Keep the boat steady.”

She placed her hands on either side. I knelt forward, took up the front end of the tarp, and lifted it over the edge. It didn’t matter where you grabbed it. It was no longer a body, just something heavy wrapped in tarp, pushing the boat down with its weight. Claudia shifted to the other side, as if she could counterbalance the slide.

“It won’t tip,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

And then, before it could settle, I heaved up, lifting the back end with a grunt and swinging it around until its own weight was pulling it over and all I needed to do was push, then quickly right the boat as the tarp plunged into the lagoon. There was a splash, rocking the boat. For a few minutes we just sat looking over the side, as if the body would bounce back up again, but then the ripples died down and the water was smooth all the way to the buoy, just a gentle lap at the side of the boat. I looked around. No other boats. Claudia was still staring at the water.

“So,” she said.

I didn’t say anything, suddenly tired, as if the adrenaline were draining away, a kind of anemia.

“How long before we know—if it’s down?”

“It’s already down.”

“What do we say? We have to think what to say.”

“Nothing. We never saw him.”

“But they’ll ask. Where were we?”

I pulled the cord, grateful the motor started right away, not wanting to talk. I hadn’t thought beyond the body, getting rid of it. But of course we weren’t rid of it. People would ask, the police would be called, we would be part of it. You called him at the hospital. When did you see him last? Where were you? The body was only the beginning.

Now I did feel the cold, the wet air hitting my face in little stings, then harder ones as the mist turned to rain again. Almost as cold as Germany, the terrible sharp wind and people fighting over pieces of coal. You didn’t think about anything except staying warm. Not bodies, not what you were doing there, just getting in out of the cold. The black water streamed past the side of the boat, pelted with rain. We’d be coming up to San Giorgio soon.

I slowed the boat, unable to see more than a few yards ahead. Claudia hunched down under her coat, shivering, folding herself up against the rain. I followed the markers, still looking around for other boats. But who would be out now? No fishermen, no water taxis. Only someone who didn’t want to be seen, hidden by the emptiness of the lagoon.

I wiped my eyes, feeling the cold rain seeping down my neck, the shocked alertness of a cold shower, no longer caught up in a blood heat. What were we doing? A body wrapped in a tarp, dead, not an accident. I saw the tarp sinking, dragged down by stones, deliberately made to disappear. What explanation could there be now? Claudia was right—we had to think what to say. They’d look for him. He had a daughter. Doges in the family. Why would a man disappear? They’d hear about the engagement party. They’d talk to Claudia. And somehow it would come out. Somehow. Only people like Gianni got away with murder. I felt queasy again. But she hadn’t hesitated. Both of us. There was a sudden burst of rain in my face; it was really coming down now, sheets of it. Mimi’s party would be chaos.

The trip back was longer, and by the time we reached the Giudecca channel we were soaked through, my fingers frozen on the rudder. I killed the motor when we were almost at the Zattere, letting the boat bob for a minute, then rowing back under the footbridge to our canal. The sound of the rain now covered the plash of the oars. I didn’t have to let the boat drift. Claudia lifted the coat off her head and looked around.

“It’s okay. No one’s out,” I said.

“I won’t go back to that camp,” she said, as if she hadn’t heard me, another conversation.

“No.”

“Never. No matter what.”

“It’s not there anymore, Claudia,” I said quietly.

“That one. Another. Any of them.”

“Ssh,” I said. “No one’s going anywhere.” I put a finger to my lips, then pointed at the lighted window across the canal. I used the oar to swing around to our gate, catching the mooring pole and tying the boat before I helped Claudia out. She was shivering, her lips moving involuntarily. I helped her up the stairs, then closed the grilled door on the canal. She was standing near the pile of paving stones, staring at the tarp. I looked down to where the blood had been, just a streak of wet now.

“Come on, let’s get you dry,” I said, taking her arm.

She was still looking at the tarp. “What are we going to do?”

“A bath. You’re freezing.”

“No, I mean, what are we going to do?” She motioned toward the pile.

“I know what you mean. A bath. Then we’re going to go to Mimi’s.”

She looked up. “What?”

“I’ve been thinking—it’s the safest thing we can do. Hundreds of witnesses. When anyone asks, we were at Mimi’s.”

“Are you crazy?”

“We can do it. People will be late. Everything’ll be a mess in the rain. We go in the back. Then we’re in the ballroom, dancing. That’s all anyone will remember.”

“Dancing,” she said, shocked. “After we just—”

I took her arms. “I know what we just did. And now we’re going to Mimi’s.”

“I can’t.”

“We have to,” I said, still holding her. “Otherwise, where were we?”

“How can we go?” she said nervously. “Like this? What do we wear?”

“Borrow something of my mother’s.”

“I couldn’t.”

“Claudia,” I said, gripping her now. “There isn’t time. I’ll run the bath. We’ll pick something out. It’ll be all right. It has to be.”

“But my hair, it’s all wet,” she said, putting her hand up to feel it.

“Your hair.”

She stopped, hearing the absurdity of it.

“Everybody’ll be wet,” I said. “Come on. We have to hurry.”

She didn’t move.

“We can do it.” I looked toward the tarp. “We can’t let anyone know.”

“And we’re supposed to smile? After this?” She shook a little.

“Yes. As if nothing happened.” I took her shoulders again. “Because nothing happened.”

She looked at me, then nodded, still shaking.

“All right. Hot water. Come on. Leave the lights. I want to check later. If there’s any blood we missed.”

“Oh,” she said, stopping. She looked back toward the steps, her face slack.

“You all right?” I said softly.

She nodded. “It’s just—I forgot about the blood.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

There was only enough hot water for one bath, so we took turns. While I was drying off near the space heater, Claudia went through my mother’s closet, her head wrapped in a towel, her skin flushed from the warm soak.

“You’re young. That already puts you ahead. Wear anything.”

“To a party like this? It’s easy for you.”

“If it still fits,” I said, picking up my jacket from the bed. “I haven’t worn it in three years. That’s nice.”

She was holding up an evening gown with a scalloped neck, as creamy and soft as lingerie.

“It’s from before the war.”

“Here, let me help.”

She slid the dress over her head.

“It’s loose,” she said.