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smiled Bemelmans. "What do we take second, guys?" 

"Scampi." I said. 

"Scampi again? But what if we had just finished eating them. Oh yes? Excuse me, I was a bit distracted, I was thinking of Capri. A chicken salad, please."

While a waiter was filling the glasses with wine, the maitre d 'approached to take orders. A prolonged and dark whistle came from the lagoon. I turned to look. A ship was coming in, all lit up. Every time I saw a ship enter the Basin my heart beat differently.

"I haven't seen Across the River in bookstores in Paris yet." Bemelmans was saying. "Publication also prohibited in France? You can tell me, Adriana: we are old friends by now."

"Gallimard agreed to only publish it in 5 years. Poor Papa, he does what he can to stem the gossip."

"Frankly, I find it a bit ridiculous." 

"You are not my mother."

"And it would not be easy for me to imagine that I am: I don't have enough imagination." laughed Bemelmans.

"There is little to laugh about. Everything is very sad." I said. "Speaking of fantasy, listen to what a guy did in Paris. He rented an apartment without ever paying rent, no electricity, no water, no gas for a total of 97,000 francs. All under the name Ernest Hemingway. When he disappeared, Papa's bank account was blocked by the judge. Charley Ritz took care of the matter. No one better than him can testify that since 1944 Papa has stayed in no place other than the Ritz, in Paris. Another dude just did a lecture tour in the United States under the name of Hemingway. And Papa hasn't set foot in the United States since he landed from the Ile de France, that time Monique and I accompanied him...