Page 64

as we walked along the Fondamenta di San Giovanni Laterano. "Aunt Clotilde loved my father as her son did. When they had to tell her that he was murdered, she was about to turn ninety and everyone thought her heart would not hold up." I stopped to ring the bell of Palazzo Capello. "Instead, with dry eyes, she just said," Leave me alone, please, until tomorrow. "

The door to the courtyard was opened by Pina. Often Giovanni, who was becoming more and more lazy, sent his wife to open the door. Usually, having hugged Pina, I would sneak to the left, cross the kitchen, pass the cloakroom to greet Rosina the washerwoman and then run up the back stairs.

This time, instead of hugging her, I turned my head towards Papa. La Pina got to know the kitchen. We crossed the courtyard with the wellhead, where a large wisteria framed the balcony and covered the entire wall of the palace; then, at the top of the marble staircase, we found Giovanni sleepily finishing buttoning up the halls and then knocking on the sitting room at the back.

Aunt Clo came immediately to meet us. "I see you brought me your writer friend. Good. I'm really glad to meet you. You know, I saw a photograph of him in the" Gazzettino. "Sit down, Mr. Hemingway, sit down." He headed for a bookshelf, opened a door, asked: "A vermuttino?" Without waiting for an answer, he filled three glasses, placed them on a silver tray and walked back at a brisk pace.

She sat down and adjusted her long velvet skirt: "Bravo, bravo. Really nice of you to have come. Do you understand Italian?" 

"A little," Papa smiled. 

"I won't bore you by asking you if you like Venice Everyone likes Venice. You certainly hope that there are 122...