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continued along the busy Via Santa Maria in Portico, into which the girl had turned, but at some point I lost sight of her as completely as if she had evaporated. I passed a few shops and a doorway, and then, as I reached the second building, I felt somebody grab my coat and pull me inside the atrium.
    â€œWhat the fuck—?!”
    My exclamation was cut off by a hand pressed over my mouth. It was her. She held up before my eyes a cell phone. Upon its screen there was a message.
    Go up the stairs, undress completely and put on the clothes in this bag. I will make sure no one comes. There isn’t much time, they are already looking for you. I only want to help you. Do not speak for any reason.
    That was the last straw. A lunatic was telling me to undress on the stairs of a building in a working-class area of Naples, and in late December to boot. I frowned and tried to free myself from the hand still pressed on my mouth. She lowered her glasses, revealing once again those two shards of sky which were her eyes, gave me a pleading look and muttered an almost inaudible “Please.”
    I hesitated a moment, then took the bag and headed for the stairs. Luckily nobody went up or down in the two minutes that, shivering with cold, it took me to change, and so I returned to her, dressed like a teenager in a baseball cap and dark glasses. The girl immediately took the bag in which I had put my clothes and we left the building.
    We walked over to a scooter which was parked outside. She put the bag in the small box behind the saddle then set off towards the church of Santa Maria in Portico which was located at the end of the street of the same name, beckoning me to follow her. We entered, traversed the aisle and sat in the front pew in front of Vaccaro’s beautiful altar.
    â€œNow that you’re out of those clothes you were wearing, we can talk – these are not bugged,” she said, removing her glasses and hat.
    Her perfect face was at once sweet and determined, and her beautiful blue eyes were almost aquamarine.
    After a moment of confusion I snapped out of it and got straight to the point. “Bugged? Miss, do you realise what you’ve made me do and what you are telling me?”
    â€œYou don’t remember me, do you?”
    â€œOf course I remember you! Thanks to you, I made a total fool of myself this morning with the newsagent near my house.”
    â€œI don’t mean this morning.”
    I looked at her dumbfounded.
    â€œYou don’t remember the accident yesterday? Our meeting in the garage of the Parker’s, what I said?”
    â€œAccident? Appointment? What are you talking about?”
    â€œAnd you obviously don’t remember anything about the day before yesterday, when we met in the park of Villa Floridiana before you went home.”
    â€œListen, if this is a joke, it’s not a very good one. And if you’re trying to get money out of me, just get to the point. Anything else and I’m not interested. I’m a married man and I love my wife and although she is—”
    â€œRight, let’s talk about your wife,” she interrupted me very calmly.
    â€œWhat about my wife?”
    â€œMr Aragona, the woman you believe to be your wife is actually an actress.”
    â€œOh, for God’s sake—”
    â€œLet me finish – we don’t have much time, your partner was already suspicious. We have already met, Mr Aragona, and each time I’ve told you exactly the same story. But the next day you have forgotten everything and I have to start all over again. All this will go on until you find a way to break out of this hypnotic state.”
    I sat there staring at her for a few seconds. “You seriously want me to believe that my memory lasts one day and then resets itself? Like in a movie? What is this, the
Matrix
comes to Naples?”
    â€œExactly.”
    I chuckled at the absurd idea, then without another word stood up to