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I certainly could not imagine the bitterness and problems it would bring me.

With the tray in my hand I moved to go back to my room. And suddenly I saw again that kitchen full of people and around the large table, in front of a steaming pasta dish, Amalia the ruddy cook with Leone sitting next to the handsome waiter - they would later get married - and then Gigia and then Rita and then old Giuseppe who had now the only task was to open the door and answer the phone and, disturbed by his nap, every time he got up from his chair grumbling. And Pina, Aunt Clotilde's cook, and Anna, Aunt Laura's maid, and Ampelia, the embroiderer, came to visit their friends. And my dear Stefano, called by San Michele on certain occasions, and I on his knees.

A glass slipped from the tray, fell to the ground, broke. In the glistening shards of glass I saw the glistening flow of a river in the sun and the women singing as they rinsed their fingers on the river... and although the bombs now fell the river continued to flow under the bridge. Nothing stands still, I thought. You can't stop, you have to go with the flow.

The kitchen returned to being silent and empty. I took another glass, put it on the tray and went back to the room. 

"And Ivancich this is Toki?" Carlo asked looking at the bottle. 

"Yes, and ours. Gold medal 1948. The year I met Papa."

"I no longer have vineyards, lands, buildings... Only the memories of when I flew in the skies. So sometimes I drink more than I should. When I drink I forget that I have nothing left. Not even respect for myself." 

"Oh Carlo, don't talk like that! You have two beautiful children, a very sweet wife, everyone is nice, everyone loves you..."

"They are a perfect 'fin-de-race*' prototype.' I have...

* decadent, degenerate