At the coffee table
In front of Darin's shop, the grocery store on Calle Larga San Marco, I remembered how Jackie and I always slowed down in front of the window, in the hope that old Darin - who was following our growth with interest - would called to offer us a biscuit. But this happened when we were with the Gigia; the governesses, on the other hand, pulled straight, because we were forbidden to nibble outside meals.
As I continued along Calle Larga I was thinking of Mister Papa. I hadn't wanted to see him for a few days because I had to solve a problem. In fact, I found myself embarrassed in front of phrases like: "I learned that Hemingway will come to you for breakfast today: I can come and have coffee, I would like to ask him if...," "I wonder if H. can help me in New York: you should tell him that I wrote a play and ...," "If you go to Harry's Bar with H., please let me know, I'd like to meet him..." People with whom I used to exchange only a few words seemed to have become very intimate. Embarrassing to tell them no. Embarrassing to tell them yes. Mister Papa already had friends in Venice and he had made it clear to me that he was not interested in meeting new people. And so, to better reflect, I had decided not to see him for a few days.
Mister papa had called me every day to chat...
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