Page 231

I turned and saw a man with slightly gray hair, a slightly frayed suit and a flask in his hand. I was not afraid of drunkards in Venice: after having drunk too much wine with friends they would sing while lying on a bridge or crying with emotion embracing a lamppost. 

"Good evening." 

"Will you let you hear me? Just a minute..."

"Even two..." I smiled at him, he returned the smile, carefully placed the flask on the floor, rubbed his ass as if to clean it and let himself fall on a step. "Done!" he said.

After a long silence: "My name is Toni and I'm drunk." he solemnly announced. 

"Did you drink the whole flask?"

"Not just that." A dog, passing in front of us, stopped at a lamppost, sniffed, raised his leg and peed. "I drank in company. Then I got tired of the stupid things they said and I went away. Do you know why I get drunk every night?"

"No I do not know." 

"Then if you don't know, I'll tell you..." He scratched his head and gave a dry cough. "I get drunk because la mi mujer la me siga always*."

I looked at him: he looked very nice. "Maybe your wife scolds you for getting drunk." I smiled at him. "Maybe if you didn't get drunk, your wife wouldn't scold you anymore."

"No." Toni said taking the bottle and closing it in his arms. "Do you know how my wife is? And like that saying: 'Le femene xe: saints in church, instead of in the street, devils in the house, on the balcony civete and su la porte gazete.' I, my wife, have that at home..." He brought the flask to his lips, looked inside to make sure it was really empty, put it back on the floor. "When everything is fine you seem wise..." he said shaking his head. "'Better to be patrons? of a cannonball...

* Spanish for "my wife always gets after me."