Campari bitters and a bottle of Gordon Gin. May I make you a Campari with gin and soda?”
“You’re a good boy,” the Colonel said. “Where did you bring them from. The bar?”
“No. I bought them while you were away so that you would not have to spend money at the bar. The bar is very costly.”
“I agree,” the Colonel agreed. “But you should not use your own money on such a project.”
“I took a chance. We have both taken many. The gin was 3200 lire and is legitimate. The Campari was 800.”
“You’re a very good boy,” the Colonel told him. “How were the ducks?”
“My wife still speaks of them. We had never had wild ducks, since they are of such expense, and outside of our way of life. But one of our neighbors told her how to prepare them and these same neighbors ate them with us. I never knew that anything could be so wonderful to eat. When your teeth close on the small slice of meat it is an almost unbelievable delight.”
“I think so, too. There is nothing lovelier to eat than those fat iron-curtain ducks. You know their fly-way is through the great grain fields of the Danube. This is a splinter flight we have here, but they always come the same way since before there were shot-guns.”
“I know nothing about shooting for, sport,” the waiter said. “We were too poor.”
“But many people without money shoot in the Veneto.”
“Yes. Of course. One hears them shoot all night. But we
