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ed his shirt and contracted his stomach muscles to make the tattoo e alive。 The naked couple on his chest writhed in a lover's agony and the dagger thrust by the husband quivered in their transfixed flesh。 It amused them。 It was while this was going on that Michael was hit with what the Sicilians call 〃the thunderbolt。〃
Beyond the orange grove lay the green ribboned fields of a baronial estate。 Down the road from the grove was a villa so Roman it looked as if it had been dug up from the ruins of Pompeii。 It was a little palace with a huge marble portico and fluted Grecian columns and through those columns came a bevy of village girls flanked by two stout matrons clad in black。 They were from the village and had obviously fulfilled their ancient duty to the local baron by cleaning his villa and otherwise preparing it for his winter sojourn。 Now they were going into the fields to pick the flowers with which they would fill the rooms。 They were gathering the pink sulla； purple wisteria； mixing them with orange and lemon blossoms。 The girls； not seeing the men resting in the orange grove； came closer and closer。
They were dressed in cheap gaily printed frocks that clung to their bodies。 They were still in their teens but with the full womanliness sun…drenched flesh ripened into so quickly。 Three or four of them started chasing one girl； chasing her toward the grove。 The girl being chased held a bunch of huge purple grapes in her left hand and with her right hand was picking grapes off the cluster and throwing them at her pursuers。 She had a crown of ringleted hair as purple…black as the grapes and her body seemed to be bursting out of its skin。
Just short of the grove she poised； startled； her eyes having caught the alien color of the men's shirts。 She stood there up on her toes poised like a deer to run。 She was very close now； close enough for the men to see every feature of her face。
She was all ovals… oval…shaped eyes； the bones of her face； the contour of her brow。 Her skin was an exquisite dark creaminess and her eyes； enormous； dark violet or brown but dark with long heavy lashes shadowed her lovely face。 Her mouth was rich without being gross； sweet without being weak and dyed dark red with the juice of the grapes。 She was so incredibly lovely that Fabrizzio murmured； 〃Jesus Christ； take my soul； I'm dying；〃 as a joke； but the words came out a little too hoarsely。 As if she had heard him； the girl came down off her toes and whirled away from them and。 fled back to her pursuers。 Her haunches moved like an animal's beneath the tight print of her dress； as pagan and as innocently lustful。 When she reached her friends she whirled around again and her face was like a dark hollow against the field of bright flowers。 She extended an arm； the hand full of grapes pointed toward the grove。 The girls fled laughing； with the black…clad； stout matrons scolding them on。
As for Michael Corleone； he found himself standing； his heart pounding in his chest； he felt a little dizzy。 The blood was surging through his body； through all its extremities and pounding against the tips of his fingers； the tips of his toes。 All the perfumes of the island came rushing in on the wind； orange； lemon blossoms； grapes； flowers。 It seemed as if his body had sprung away from him out of himself。 And then he heard the two shepherds laughing。
〃You got hit by the thunderbolt； eh？〃 Fabrizzio said； clapping him on the shoulder。 Even Calo became friendly； patting him on the arm and saying； 〃Easy； man； easy；〃 but with affection。 As if Michael had been hit by a car。 Fabrizzio handed him a wine bottle and Michael took a long slug。 It cleared his head。
〃What the hell are you damn sheep lovers talking about？〃 he said。
Both men laughed。 Calo； his honest face filled with the utmost seriousness； said； 〃You can't hide the thunderbolt。 When it hits you； everybody can see it。 Christ； man； don't be ashamed of it； some men pray for the thunderbolt。 You're a lucky fellow。〃
Michael wasn't too pleased about his emotions being so easily read。 But this was the first time in his life such a thing had happened to him。 It was nothing like his adolescent crushes； it was nothing like the love he'd had for Kay； a love based as much on her sweetness； her intelligence and the polarity of the fair and dark。 This was an overwhelming desire for possession； this was an unerasable printing of the girl's face on his brain and he knew she would haunt his memory every day of his life if he did not possess her。 His life had bee simplified； focused on one point； everything else was unworthy of even a moment's attention。 During his exile he had always thought of Kay； though he felt they could never again be lovers or even friends。 He was； after all was said； a murderer； a Mafioso who had 〃made his bones。〃 But now Kay was wiped pletely out of his consciousness。
Fabrizzio said briskly； 〃I'll go to the village； we'll find out about her。 Who knows； she may be more available than we think。 There's only one cure for the thunderbolt； eh； Calo？〃
The other shepherd nodded his head gravely。 Michael didn't say anything。 He followed the two shepherds as they started down tie road to the nearby village into which the flock of girls had disappeared。
The village was grouped around the usual central square with its fountain。 But it was on a main route so there were some stores； wine shops and one little café with three tables out on a small terrace。 The shepherds sat at one of the tables and Michael joined them。 There was no sign of the girls； not a trace。 The village seemed deserted except for small boys and a meandering donkey。
The proprietor of the café came to serve them。 He was a short； burly man； almost dwarfish but he greeted them cheerfully and set a dish of chickpeas at their table。 〃You're strangers here；〃 he said； 〃so let me advise you。 Try my wine。 The grapes e from my own farm and it's made by my sons themselves。 They mix it with oranges and lemons。 It's the best wine in Italy。〃
They let him bring the wine in a jug and it was even better than he claimed； dark purple and as powerful as a brandy。 Fabrizzo said to the café proprietor； 〃You know all the girls here； I'll bet。 We saw some beauties ing down the road； one in particular got our friend here hit with the thunderbolt。〃 He motioned to Michael。
The cafe owner looked at Michael with new interest。 The cracked face had seemed quite ordinary to him before； not worth a second glance。 But a man hit with the thunderbolt was another matter。 〃You had better bring a few bottles home with you； my friend；〃 he said。 〃You'll need help in getting to sleep tonight。〃
Michael asked the man； 〃Do you know a girl with her hair all curly？ Very creamy skin； very big eyes； very dark eyes。 Do you know a girl like that in the village？〃
The café owner said curdy； 〃No。 I don't know any girl like that。〃 He vanished from the terrace into his café。
The three men drank their wine slowly； finished off the jug and called for more。 The owner did not reappear。 Fabrizzio went into the café after him。 When Fabrizzio came out he grimaced and said to Michael； 〃Just as I thought； it's his daughter we were talking about and now he's in the back boiling up his blood to do us a mischief。 I think we'd better start walking toward Corleone。〃
Despite his months on the island Michael still could not get used to the Sicilian touchiness on matters of sex； and this was extreme even for a Sicilian。 But the two shepherds seemed to take it as a matter of course。 They were waiting for him to leave。 Fabrizzio said； 〃The old bastard mentioned he has two sons； big tough lads that he has only to whistle up。 Let's get going。〃
Michael gave him a cold stare。 Up to now he had been a quiet； gentle young man； a typical American； except that since he was hiding in Sicily he must have done something manly。 This was the first time the shepherds had seen the Corleone stare。 Don Tommasino； knowing Michael's true identity and deed； had always been wary of him； treating him as a fellow 〃man of respect。〃 But these unsophisticated sheep herders had e to their own opinion of Michael； and n