Yes, the Colonel thought. I know them, but I wish that he would get it open.
“How are your family?” he said to the waiter, who had swung the door wide so that the Colonel, now entered, was within the room with the high, dark but well-mirrored armoire, the two good beds, the great chandelier and the view, through the still closed windows, onto the wind beaten water of the Grand Canal.
The Canal was grey as steel now in the quick, failing, winter light and the Colonel said, “Arnaldo, open the windows.”
“There is much wind, my Colonel, and the room is badly heated due to the lack of electric power.”
“Due to the lack of rainfall,” the Colonel said. “Open the windows. All of them.”
“As you wish, my Colonel.”
The waiter opened the windows and the north wind came into the room.
“Please call the desk and ask them to ring this number.” The waiter made the call while the Colonel was in the bathroom.
“The Contessa is not at home, my Colonel,” he said. “They believe you might find her at Harry’s.”
“You find everything on earth at Harry’s.”
“Yes, my Colonel. Except, possibly, happiness.”
“I’ll damn well find happiness, too,” the Colonel assured him. “Happiness, as you know, is a movable feast.”
“I am aware of that,” the waiter said. “I have brought
