brother. Maybe we hanged him. I wouldn’t know. I’m not in C.I.D.”
“Do you love me still on these water-worn, cold and old stones?”
“Yes. I’d like to spread a bed roll here and prove it.”
“That would be more barbarous than the pigeon shooter.”
“I’m barbarous,” the Colonel said.
“Not always.”
“Thank you for the not always.”
“We turn here.”
“I think I know that. When are they going to tear that damned Cinema Palace down and put up a real cathedral? That’s what T5 Jackson wants.”
“When some one brings Saint Mark back another time under a load of pork from Alexandria.”
“That was a Torcello boy.”
“You’re a Torcello boy.”
“Yes. I’m a Basso Piave boy and a Grappa boy straight here from Pertica. I’m a Pasubio boy, too, if you know what that means. It was worse just to live there than to fight anywhere else. In the platoon they used to share anyone’s gonochochi brought from Schio and carried in a matchbox. They used to share this just so they could leave because it was intolerable.”
“But you stayed.”
“Sure,” the Colonel said. “I’m always the last man to leave the party, fiesta I mean, not as in political party. The truly unpopular guest.”
“Should we go?”
