Full resolution (JPEG) - On this page / på denna sida - XXXI. The Regatta
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today to most people, semi-dark and hung with
huge stalactites. According to Pacciale it had
been habited in bygone times by a lupomanaro,
the mysterious, awe-inspiring werewolf who still
haunts the imagination of the islanders almost
as much as Tiberio himself. I knew that the
fossil tooth I had found under the sand in the
cave was the tooth of a big mammal who had
lain down to die here when the island was still
connected with the mainland and that the
pieces of flint and obsidian were the fragments
of the tools of primitive man. Maybe even a
God had lived there, for the grotto faces East
and Mithras, the Sun-God, was often worshipped
here.
But there was no time now for exploring the
grotto, all my thoughts were settled on the
coming regatta. I had sent word to Pacciale
that I was coming to inspect my new sails
after breakfast. The sailroom was open but to
my surprise old Pacciale was not there to meet
me. I thought I was going to faint as I unfolded
the new sails one by one. There was a big rent
in my jackyard topsail, my silk spinnaker that
was to lift the cup was almost split in two, the
racing jib was soiled and torn to rags. When I
had recovered my speech, I roared for Pacciale.
He did not come. I rushed out of the sailroom
and found him at last standing against the
garden wall. Mad with rage I raised my hand
to strike him, he did not move, he did not
utter a sound, all he did was to bend his head
and stretch out his arms horizontally against the
wall. My hand fell, I knew what it meant, I
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