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Bufaletti, propelled them onto the next stage in their journey.
    Signor Bufaletti licked his lips at the sight of Fernanda Ponderosa; in fact, he was slavering at the mouth, but he was a businessman first and foremost, and he could not allow his lust to prevent him from driving a hard bargain. And so protracted negotiations followed, complicated by the fact that Fernanda Ponderosa, guided by her instinct alone, did not know where they were going. She closed her eyes and tried to intuit the place while Ambrogio Bufaletti rolled his eyes toward the skies and made the typical gestures of impatience.
    In her mind’s eye, Fernanda Ponderosa saw a big and naked man with animal eyes. She smelled the irresistible aroma of baking bread. She saw meadows of bluebells. She saw pigs, both the domestic variety and the wild, tusked kind. She heardtheir grunts and snorts. And she saw cheese. Which made her sneeze. She saw olive groves climbing over gently rolling hills. She saw hands forming sausages. She felt whispered kisses on the back of her neck. She tasted ham. She saw vines in neat rows. She saw dark oak woods, and then, suddenly, a cemetery.
    â€œMountains,” she said at last. Her voice was deep, almost too deep for a woman, and rich. It was resonant, as if it belonged deep underground. It made every sailor, stevedore, fisherman, and customs official loitering on the dockside stop what he was doing and look in her direction. She felt their notice warming her but did not give the tiniest flicker of acknowledgment.
    Ambrogio Bufaletti made no effort to remove his eyes from Fernanda Ponderosa’s magnificent breasts.
    â€œSo, you want the Himalayas, signora?”
    â€œJust head east, signor,” she said with a flash of her dark eyes, “I will navigate.”
    Ambrogio Bufaletti insisted on being paid an inflated price, in cash, in advance. Only then were the goods loaded aboard the truck, and they set off in search of the mountainous region of Fernanda Ponderosa’s imagination. Only then, when Fernanda Ponderosa was out of sight, did the commercial travelers feel it prudent to descend the gangplank, and hauling behind them their heavy suitcases, they set about their business.
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    So began a journey that was to haunt the monkey’s nightmares for years to come. Behind the wheel of the truck, whatremained of Ambrogio Bufaletti’s patience was blown out the window along with the smoke of his endless cigarettes. He preferred the view of Fernanda Ponderosa to the road ahead of him, and despite her requests that he keep his eyes on the highway, he did not seem able to control them. Where the road meandered in bends, he took a straight line as his path, and the oncoming traffic was forced to divert into the ditches alongside to avoid collision. He careered along at speeds for which his ramshackle vehicle was not designed, and he did not feel concern for the pieces that dropped off and formed a trail in their wake. In towns and in places of congestion he mounted the sidewalk to effect a shortcut around the traffic. In Collesalvetti he plowed through a group of nuns, scattering them like doves. In Ponsacco they were flagged down by an officer of the carabinieri, but Ambrogio Bufaletti refused to stop and jammed his foot on the gas, leaving the officer coughing in a cloud of blue smoke while he radioed for reinforcements. The journey had only just begun and already they were fugitives from justice.
    The monkey kept his tiny hands clamped over his face and from time to time emitted plaintive howls that were barely audible above the roar of the laboring engine and the expletives of the driver.
    Fernanda Ponderosa also shut her eyes, and Ambrogio Bufaletti was not slow to take advantage by groping her thighs with every movement of the shift stick. This assault she attempted to ignore, but when he grew bolder and reached for her bosoms, she lashed out at him with the nearest object tohand, cracking a tin plate