“I believe we could. In a pinch.”
“Does he speak of us?”
“He asked me who you were. He was familiar with the Contessa’s name and had book-visited several palaces that had belonged to the family. He was impressed by your name, Madam, which I gave to impress him.”
“Do you think he will put us in a book?”
“I’m sure of it. He puts everything in a book.”
“We ought to be in a book,” the Colonel said. “Would you mind, Daughter?”
“Of course not,” the girl said. “But I’d rather Dante wrote it.”
“Dante isn’t around,” the Colonel said. “Can you tell me anything about the war?” the girl asked. “Anything that I should be permitted to know?”
“Sure. Anything you like.”
“What was General Eisenhower like?”
“Strictly the Epworth League. Probably that is unjust too. Also complicated by various other influences. An excellent politician. Political General. Very able at it.”
“The other leaders?”
“Let us not name them. They’ve named themselves enough in their memoirs. Mostly extremely plausible out of something called the Rotary Club that you would never have heard of. In this club, they have enameled buttons with their first names and you are fined if you call them by their proper names. Never fought. Ever.”
“Were there no good ones?”
“Yes, many. Bradley, the schoolmaster, and many others. Give you Lightning Joe as a good one. Very good.”
“Who was he?”
“Commanded the Seventh Corps when I was there. Very sound. Rapid. Accurate. Now chief of staff.”
“But what about the great leaders we heard about like the Generals Montgomery and Patton?”
“Forget them, Daughter. Monty was a character who needed fifteen to one to move, and then moved tardily.”
“I always supposed he was a great General.”
“He was not,” the Colonel said. “The worst part was he knew it. I have seen him come into an hotel and change from his proper uniform into a crowd-catching kit to go out in the evening to animate the populace.”
“Do you dislike him?”
“No. I simply think he is a British General. Whatever that means. And don’t you use the term.”
“But he beat General Rommel.”
“Yes. And you don’t think any one else had softened him up? And who can’t win with fifteen to one? When we fought here, when we were boys, the Gran Maestro and I, we won for one whole year with three to four against one and we won each one. Three main bad ones. That is why we can make jokes and not be solemn. We had something over one hundred and forty thousand dead that year. That is why we can speak gaily and without pomposity.”
“It is such a sad science; if it is a science,” the girl said. “I hate the war monuments, though I respect them.”
“I do not like them either. Nor the process which led to their construction. Have you ever seen that end of the thing?”
“No. But I would like to know.”
“Better not know,” the Colonel said. “Eat your steak before it gets cold and forgive me for talking about my trade.”
“I hate it but I love it.”
“I believe we share the same emotions,” the Colonel said. “But what is my pitted compatriot thinking three tables down?”
“About his next book, or about what it says in Baedeker.”
“Should we go and ride in a gondola in the wind after we have dined?”
“That would be lovely.”
“Should we tell the pitted man that we are going? I think he has the same pits on his heart and in his soul and maybe in his curiosity.”
“We tell him nothing,” the girl said. “The Gran Maestro can convey him any information we wish.”
Then she chewed well and solidly on her steak and said, “Do you think it is true that men make their own faces after fifty?”
“I hope not. Because I would not sign for mine.”
“You,” she said. “You.”
“Is the steak good?” the Colonel asked.
“It’s wonderful. How are your scaloppine?”
“Very tender and the sauce is not at all sweet. Do you like the vegetables?”
“The cauliflower is almost crisp; like celery.”
“We should have some celery. But I don’t think there is any or the Gran Maestro would have brought it.”