Meanwhile, on another part of the planet...

I’m limping on both feet—if that’s possible—in scorched wheat fields somewhere south of   Siena. I’m a woman alone and I’m lost. The sun’s heat pummels the earth, and my limbs are like basil leaves, crushed by the stone pestle of the sun. Dusty tracks are scratched across the brittle fields. Sharp rocks push into the soles of my shoes, and I chide myself for bringing trail runners instead of day hikers with thicker soles. My spine is slimy against the pad of my pack and my teeth clench at the pain in my feet. A farmhouse comes into view, suggesting a greener, shadier route to come. When I reach the farm, the trail disappears. I shift my weight from one foot to the other, trying to relieve their ache, wondering which way to turn. The sound of a motor causes me to look toward a field where a man on a tractor waves me over. As I walk closer, he calls out,   “Devi tornare indietro!”   (You have to go back.) I call to him,   “Ma quanto indietro?”   (But how far back?...