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at the Gritti. Remember that when you want to see it, my home is always at your disposal."

"Thanks, Carlo." I said and shook the ash from my cigarette into the Murano glass. I had already been there once with Papa, at Ca Mocenigo with Carlo who, in addition to being an expert on whiskey, knew how to tell his war adventures when he was in aviation with a lot of humor. Papa and I were sitting next to each other when Carlo had left the hall to fetch some wine. I had one hand on the arm of Papa's chair and where Papa had placed his on it, almost annoyed I had withdrawn mine. "Why...?" he said in a sad voice and then I put it back on the armrest and he closed his fist leaving only his little finger open and with his little finger he touched my fingers one by one, several times, delicately and: "...and his gaze was also sad and I had felt ashamed of having first withdrawn my hand almost with annoyance. And then Carlo had returned with the wine.

I put out the cigarette in the glass cup. "When he arrives I will be in San Michele." I said. "Luisa and Federico Kechler invited me to go to their place in Friuli for a few days. The Hemingways will also be there. It is unlikely that the peasants around them will be interested in whether or not I am with a man named Ernesto. There will also be a mother, naturally."

"I'm sorry, Dora. Finding myself a widow so young, with a large part of her fortune damaged or destroyed by the war and four boys of different ages and different characters to fix. And now this strange scandal."

"Yes, mom has suffered, she suffers a lot for this story. And for that I worry about her. If it were up to me, I would solemnly give a damn. I apologized for...