“Please don’t talk like that.”
“It was just rough early morning joking.”
“Tell me, my Colonel, what do you really think about Tito?”
“I think several things. But he’s my next door neighbor. I’ve found it better not to talk about my neighbor.”
“I’d like to learn.”
“Then learn it the hard way. Don’t you know people don’t give answers to such questions?”
“I had hoped they did.”
“They don’t,” the Colonel said. “Not in my position. All I can tell you is that Mister Tito has plenty problems.”
“Well, I know that now truly,” the night porter who was really only a boy said.
“I hope you do,” the Colonel said. “I wouldn’t call it, as knowledge, any pearl of great price. Now, good-day, for I must take a walk for the good of my liver, or something.”
“Good day, my Colonel. Fa brutto tempo.”
“Bruttissimo,” the Colonel said and, pulling the belt of his raincoat tight, and settling his shoulders into it, and the skirts well down, he stepped out into the wind.
