and Federico while we kids - Jackie and I, the two Kechler twins - had been upstairs for months, in the rooms of Aunt Laura who, with Aunt Emma, had taken refuge in a convent on the outskirts of Rome in the hope of first being freed by the Allies who were said to have landed in Sicily.
The door leading to Aunt Emma's rooms, requisitioned by the fascists, on our side had been blocked with nailed beams. On the other hand, a couple of Jewish friends lived in Aunt Laura's apartment, well hidden.
"Mr. Haminguai is there. Shall I let you in?" Ofelio asked and he entered with that swinging step of his and that smile that always appeared on his face as soon as he saw me. He stopped in the middle of the room and reached out to me, waving some leaves. "And for you," he said.
We sat next to each other on the sofa. I began to read. Title: Black Horse. It was the story of the American, a champion, the fastest horse in the world. Actually, I was the Black Horse, but no one knew. The two friends decided to go get a drink at Harry's. They had started chatting at the bar, much to the scandal of the people sitting at the tables who did not understand, did not appreciate the fact that a writer could go around with a horse. If Cipriani had been surprised too, being a classy barman, he hadn't let it show. Eventually Hemingstein and Black Horse walked out of Harry's happy and content to be together, not caring what people said.
The characters were all recognizable, the dialogues witty. "Oh Papa, it's wonderful!" I said with tears in my eyes from laughter. "Too bad it can't be published."
"It is preferable to wait a hundred years" Papa laughed visibly satisfied with the success achieved. "Meanwhile...
No comments:
Post a Comment