“Too complicated to explain. But it was the depot,” he said deposito, “of my old regiment when I was a boy.”
“That I can understand. I have my own reasons for disliking it too. You know a good town?”
“Yes,” said the Colonel. “This one. A part of Milano; and Bologna. And Bergamo.”
“Cipriani has a large store of vodka in case the Russians should come,” Ettore said, loving to joke rough.
“They’ll bring their own vodka, duty free.”
“Still I believe Cipriani is prepared for them.”
“Then he is the only man who is,” the Colonel said.
“Tell him not to take any checks from junior officers on the Bank of Odessa, and thank you for the data on my compatriot. I won’t take more of your time.”
Ettore left and the girl turned toward him, and looked in his old steel eyes and put both her hands on his bad one and said, “You were quite gentle.”
“And you are most beautiful and I love you.”
“It’s nice to hear it anyway.”
“What are we going to do about dinner?”
“I will have to call my home and find out if I can come out.”
“Why do you look sad now?”
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
“I am not, really. I am as happy as I ever am. Truly. Please believe me, Richard. But how would you like to be a girl nineteen years old in love with a man over fifty years old that you knew was going to die?”
