It wasn’t until midday that Villiam got dressed, bored of snoozing. He ate some more and perused Clod’s drawings from the night before. Now they seemed trite to him. Clod had failed to capture the drama of the scene—Villiam choking on the meat had been much more powerful than Clod had drawn it. But maybe if he painted the entire scene, the table laden with food, the priest and Dibra lurching up from their chairs to try to save their beloved lord, that could be worthy of a frame. Yes, Villiam thought dreamily, an action scene. And the nun punching him in the gut. He described his vision to Clod as they walked through the hall along the red carpet, down the stairs, and out into the daylight. Villiam squinted and yawned at the sun as they sauntered down the slope toward the stables, stopping to pluck a sprig of tansy and rub it between his hands and sniff. The sky seemed to darken just for him as they approached the stable where the mutilated horse was being watered and brushed.

Villiam rarely passed by the stable. He avoided Luka and anything to do with him. As he approached and saw Dibra’s eyeless horse stepping back and forth on the well-trodden hay, he remembered that Luka was gone forever.

‘Does Dibra know?’ Villiam asked the air. The stablehands muttered unintelligibly. ‘Where is Dibra?’

‘She hasn’t come back yet,’ one stablehand said. He was a stupid boy and hadn’t understood everyone’s pledge to keep quiet about Dibra. The other stablehands stepped back to distance themselves from his stupidity.

‘Come back from where?’ Villiam asked.

‘She left on this horse late last night, but it came back without her.’

‘Huh.’ He didn’t care.

Villiam wondered at the bleeding eye sockets. The horse blinked its long lashes, neighed, then seemed to stare deeply at Villiam, who kissed it on its dry black nose. The feeling of the chapped skin against his lips elicited a thought—a revelation. ‘This horse is a revelation!’ he exclaimed. Then he snapped his fingers and demanded the stableboys do a little dance for him. He clapped along to the rhythm of their feet.

Villiam felt very happy. Of all those at the manor, he was the only one to appreciate that the horse had found its way home without sight. That was loyalty. Forget Dibra. She, like Luka, would get what she deserved. Villiam would not lament his wife’s disappearance. No, he would celebrate. Something good was coming. Villiam believed this in his heart as much as he believed himself to be at the heart of all things.

‘Hallelujah!’

— Lapvona by Ottessa Moshfegh