Zu Peppino said, "If you're looking for Turi, he's been and gone." He took pity on Pisciotta; the man's face was white, he seemed to be gasping for air. "Do you want an anisette?"

Pisciotta shook his head and turned to leave. The old man said, "Be careful, the town is full of carabinieri. "

Pisciotta felt a flash of terror. He had been a fool not to know that Guiliano would smell out the trap. And what if now Guiliano smelled out the betrayer?

Pisciotta ran out of the house, circled the town and then took the field paths that would lead him to the fallback meeting place, the Acropolis of Selinus in the ancient ghost town of Selinunte.

The ruins of the ancient Greek city glistened in the summer moonlight. Amidst them, Guiliano sat on the crumbling stone steps of the temple dreaming of America.

He felt an overwhelming melancholy. The old dreams had vanished. He had been so full of hope for his future and the future of Sicily; he had believed so fully in his immortality. So many people had loved him. Once he had been their blessing, and now, it seemed to Guiliano, he was their curse. Against all reason he felt deserted. But he still had Aspanu Pisciotta. And there would come a day when the two of them together would bring all those old loves and old dreams alive again. After all, it had been only the two of them in the beginning.

The moon disappeared and the ancient city vanished into darkness; now the ruins looked like skeletons sketched on the black canvas of night. Out of that blackness came the hiss of shifting small stones and earth, and Guiliano rolled his body back between the marble columns, his machine pistol ready. The moon sailed serenely out of the clouds, and he saw Aspanu Pisciotta standing in the wide ruined avenue that led down from the acropolis.

Pisciotta walked slowly down the rubbled path, his eyes searching, his voice whispering Turi's name. Guiliano, hidden behind the temple columns, waited until Pisciotta went past, then stepped out behind him. "Aspanu, I've won again," he said, playing their old childish game. He was surprised when Pisciotta whirled around in terror.

Guiliano sat down on the steps and put his gun aside. "Come and sit a while," he said. "You must be tired, and this may be the last chance we can talk to each other alone."

Pisciotta said, "We can talk in Mazzara del Vallo, we will be safer there."

Guiliano said to him, "We have plenty of time and you'll be spitting blood again if you don't take a rest. Come on now, sit beside me." And Guiliano sat on the top stone step.

He saw Pisciotta unsling his gun and thought it was to lay it aside. He stood and reached out his hand to help Aspanu up the steps. And then he realized that his friend was leveling the gun at him. He froze, for the first time in seven years caught unaware.

Pisciotta's mind crumbled with all the terrors of what Guiliano would ask if they spoke. He would ask, "Aspanu, who is the Judas of our band? Aspanu, who warned Don Croce? Aspanu, who led the carabinieri to Castelvetrano? Aspanu, why did you meet with Don Croce?" And most of all, he was afraid that Guiliano would say, "Aspanu, you are my brother." It was that final terror that made Pisciotta pull the trigger.

The stream of bullets blew away Guiliano's hand and shattered his body. Pisciotta, horrified at his own action, waited for him to fall. Instead Guiliano came slowly down the steps, blood pouring from his wounds. Filled with superstitious dread, Pisciotta turned and fled, and he could see Guiliano running after him and then he saw Guiliano fall.

But Guiliano, dying, thought he was still running. The shattered neurons of his brain tangled and he thought he was running through the mountains with Aspanu seven years before, the fresh water flowing out of the ancient Roman cisterns, the smell of strange flowers intoxicating, running past the holy saints in their padlocked shrines, and he cried out, as on that night, "Aspanu, I believe," believing in his happy destiny, in the true love of his friend. Then the kindness of death delivered him of the knowledge of his betrayal and his final defeat. He died in his dream.

Aspanu Pisciotta fled. He ran through the fields and onto the road to Castelvetrano. There he used his special pass to contact Colonel Luca and Inspector Velardi. It was they who released the story that Guiliano had fallen into a trap and been killed by Captain Perenze.

Maria Lombardo Guiliano was up early that morning of July 5, 1950. She had been awakened by a knock on the door; her husband had gone down to answer it. He had returned to the bedroom and told her he had to go out and might be gone for the whole day. She had looked through the window and seen him get into Zu Peppino's donkey cart with its brightly painted legends on the panels and wheels. Had they news of Turi, had he made his escape to America or had something gone wrong? She felt the familiar anxiety building to terror that she had felt for the last seven years. It made her restless, and after she had cleaned the house and prepared vegetables for the day's meals, she opened the door and looked out into the street.

The Via Bella was swept clean of all her neighbors. There were no children playing. Many of the men were in prison on suspicion of being conspirators with the Guiliano band. The women were too frightened to let their children out into the street. Squads of carabinieri were at each end of the Via Bella. Soldiers with rifles slung over their shoulders patrolled up and down on foot. She saw other soldiers up on the roofs. Military jeeps were parked up against buildings. An armored car blocked the mouth of the Via Bella near the Bellampo Barracks. There were two thousand men of Colonel Luca's army occupying the town of Montelepre, and they had made the townspeople their enemies by molesting the women, frightening the children, physically abusing the men not thrown into prison. And all these soldiers were here to kill her son. But he had flown to America, he would be free, and when the time was ripe, she and her husband would join him there. They would live in freedom, without fear.

She went back into the house and found herself work to do. She went to the rear balcony and looked at the mountains.

Those mountains from which Guiliano had observed this house, with his binoculars. She had always felt his presence; she did not feel it now. He was surely in America.

A loud pounding on the door froze her with terror. Slowly she went to open it. The first thing she saw was Hector Adonis, and he looked as she had never seen him look before. He was unshaven, his hair unruly, he wore no cravat. The shirt beneath his jacket was rumpled and the collar was smudged with dirt. But what she noticed most was that all dignity was gone from his face. It was crumpled with hopeless grief. His eyes were brimming with tears as he looked at her. She let out a muffled scream.

He came into the house and said, "Don't, Maria, I beg of you." A very young lieutenant of the carabinieri came in with him. Maria Lombardo looked past them into the street. There were three black cars parked in front of her house with carabinieri drivers. There was a cluster of armed men on each side of the door.

The Lieutenant was young and rosy cheeked. He took off his cap and put it under his arm. "You are Maria Lombardo Guiliano?" he asked formally. His accent was that of the north, of Tuscany.

Maria Lombardo said yes. Her voice was a croak of despair. There was no saliva in her mouth.

"I must ask you to accompany me to Castelvetrano," the officer said. "I have a car waiting. Your friend here will accompany us. If you approve, of course."

Maria Lombardo's eyes were open wide. She said in a firmer voice. "For what reason? I know nothing of Castelvetrano or anyone there."

The Lieutenant's voice was softer, hesitant. "There is a man there we wish you to identify. We believe he is your son."