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of us is it given to be wanted for what we truly are! And to be loved for our true selves! And she did love me, I could feel the very soul of her in my embrace. Her orgasm went on and on until she was exhausted. When I withdrew she remained on her hands and knees, swaying a little.
    ‘Are you all right?’ I said.
    She turned her face to me. She was smiling with tears streaming down her cheeks.
    ‘When you came, when I felt your seed spurt into me, I saw the shadows of great wings on a sunlit meadow; I seemed to be remembering it from a long way back.’
    ‘I come from a long time back, my love.’
    ‘Yes, I am your love and you are mine. You’re an imaginary beast from an epic poem by Ariosto. You were an imaginary beast when you mounted me and you’re the same talking to me now. Volatore, how is it that a real woman can mate with a poetic invention?’
    ‘Everything is real, Angelica. Reality is a house of many rooms, and sometimes we can enter more than one. Ariosto’s words put real wind under my wings, made me fly. It was not only words on paper – I remember the air rushing past me, remember looking down on plains and forests, mountains and oceans. I lived, I flew over the sea in a painting by Girolamo da Carpi in a time long past. You and I are both in the world of that picture which lives even now and waits for us here in this country, in El Paso. And in the same Now here I am in your mind or in a dream, I don’t know. But you felt my weight on you, felt me inside you in our dream of reality.’
    ‘If we could couple as we did, mind and matter, waking and dreaming, might we produce an offspring?’
    ‘I don’t know, Angelica. I don’t know the boundaries of this reality.’
    ‘Maybe our child …’ she started to say. She was still on her hands and knees. Then, ‘The figures in the carpet are dancing all around me.’
    ‘Our child, Angelica?’
    ‘Maybe our child will be a story,’ she murmured. ‘A story will be our only child.’ And she began to weep.
    I tried to comfort her.
    ‘We have each other,’ I said. Lamely.
    ‘I want you to hold me and kiss me and cuddle me,’ she said. ‘Can you put on a human shape for me?’
    ‘Tell me something first, Angelica …’
    ‘What?’
    ‘Tell me again that you are my love.’
    ‘Yes, Volatore, I am your love.’
    ‘And you truly love me, heart and soul?’ As the words left my beak I felt the swoop of a great blackness.
    ‘It’s all so strange!’ she cried. ‘Please!’ she said again, ‘I need you to kiss me and cuddle me before I can be sure.’
    ‘Wait here and I’ll leave my hippogriff shape and find a man body and come back to you.’
    ‘I’ll come with you; after all, I should have the choosing of the man I’m going to be intimate with. When you beome a man, how shall I know it’s you?’
    ‘I’ll say, “Here is Volatore.” ’ I became the idea of me with no visible form and we set out.
    Angelica was of course chained to the rock of her beauty and monsters of all shapes and sizes came thick and fast, some with honeyed words and some with lewd proposals. She rejected one after another; when any became offensive I showed them my full hippogriff self and they left pretty quickly. We wandered up and down and by winding ways and eventually came to the place that overlooks the bridge and the bay.
    A man was standing there with his back to us.
    ‘You’ve come at last,’ he said to Angelica.
    Was there something? What?
    ‘You were expecting me?’ she said, looking him up and down critically.
    ‘Yes, I was. Sometimes I get a little crazy. I told myself that if I come and stand here night after night a beautiful stranger will appear.’ His breath. Vodka.
    ‘Maybe,’ said Angelica, ‘I won’t always be a stranger.’
    ‘No!’ I said. ‘Wait!’

Chapter 11
    The Buttocks of Giuseppina
     
    ‘Whoosh!’ says Marco. He suddenly feels as if something has gone out of him, leaving him in some way a new man, light and easy,