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They were interrupted by the arrival of my sister who at that time was living with her husband, a Navy officer, in an apartment on the third floor of Calle del Rimedio. He had Gherardo in his arms and Hemingway bent down to admire the child. At that moment he started to throw tiny punches at him. "Well done, old boy!" Hemingway laughed pretending to box. "Come on, champion!"

"It is a pity that Gherardo will have to wait many years before being able to read one of his books" observed Francesca. 

"Because?" 

"Because yours are certainly not suitable for children," said Francesca. "In fact, I bet you wouldn't even know how to write a book suitable for children."

"Ah, what do you think? Hemingway frowned.

"Yes, I really think so," replied Francesca. 

Hemingway watched Gherardo happily suck his thumb. "I'll bring something you can read right away," he said defiantly.

He kept his promise. A few days later I arrived with two fairy tales - The Good Lion and The Strange Short Story of the Faithful Bull - which he read aloud to us. Before delivering The Good Lion to Francesca, on the first page at the top he wrote: "For Gherardo Ivancich from his friend Ernest Hemingway." In the last sheet of the other fable, the only one in pencil, he wrote: "For Adriana with love from Mr. Papa. Venice 26/1/50."

Then turning to Francesca with a broad smile: "Do you still think I'm not capable of writing children's stories?" he asked. 

"No, I don't think so anymore!" Francesca laughed. "Apart from a small mistake in the dedication: Gherardo is not an Ivancich but a Scapinelli, like my husband, his father..."