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By Root 785 0

in a modest way, I deal in antique books. This evening I am to receive, from Paris, a dozen bound volumes, eighteenth-century, of a certain value, and I absolutely must deliver them to a correspondent of mine in Florence tomorrow. I would take them myself, but another engagement detains me here. I thought of this solution: you are going to Bologna. I’ll meet you at your train tomorrow, ten minutes before you leave, and hand you a small suitcase. You put it on the rack over your seat and leave it there when you arrive in Bologna. You might wait and get off last, to be sure no one takes it. In Florence, my correspondent will board the train while it’s standing in the station and collect the suitcase. It’s a nuisance for you, I know, but if you could render me this service, I’d be eternally grateful.”

“Gladly,” Belbo replied. “But how will your friend in Florence know where I’ve left the suitcase?”

“I have taken the liberty of reserving a seat for you, seat number 45, car 8. It’s reserved as far as Rome, so no one else will occupy it in Bologna or in Florence. You see, in exchange for the inconvenience I’m causing you, I make sure that you will travel comfortably and not have to make do in the dining car. I didn’t dare buy your ticket, of course, not wanting you to think I meant to discharge my indebtedness in such an indelicate fashion.”

A real gentleman, Belbo thought. He’ll send me a case of rare wine. To drink his health. Yesterday I wanted to dispatch him to the bowels of the earth and now I’m doing him a favor. Anyway, I could hardly refuse.

Wednesday morning, Belbo went to the station early, bought his ticket to Bologna, and found Aglie standing beside car 8 with the suitcase. It was fairly heavy but not bulky.

Belbo put the suitcase above seat number 45 and settled down with his bundle of newspapers. The news of the day was Berlin-guer’s funeral. A little later, a bearded gentleman came and occupied the seat next to his. Belbo thought he had seen the man before. (With hindsight, he thought it might have been at the party in Piedmont, but he wasn’t sure.) When the train left, the compartment was full.

Belbo read his paper, but the bearded passenger tried to strike up conversations with everybody. He began with remarks about the heat, the inadequacy of the air-conditioning, the fact that in June you never knew whether to wear summer things or between-seasons clothing. He observed that the best was a light blazer, just like Belbo’s, and he asked if it was English. Belbo said yes, it was English, from Burberry’s, and resumed his reading. “They’re the best,” the gentleman said, “but yours is particularly nice, because it doesn’t have those gold buttons that are so ostentatious. And, if I may say so, it goes very well with your maroon tie.” Belbo thanked him and reopened his paper. The gentleman went on talking with the others about the difficulty of matching ties with jackets, and Belbo continued reading. I know, he thought, they all think me rude, but I don’t take trains to establish human relationships. I have too much of that as it is.

Then the gentleman said to him, “What a lot of papers you read! And of every political tendency. You must be a judge or a politician.” Belbo replied that he was neither, but worked for a publishing firm that specialized in books on Arab metaphysics. He said this in the hope of terrifying his adversary. And the man was obviously terrified.

Then the conductor arrived. He asked Belbo why he had a ticket for Bologna and a seat reserved to Rome. Belbo said he had changed his mind at the last moment. “How lucky you are,” the bearded gentleman said, “to be able to make such decisions, according to how the wind blows, without having to count pennies. I envy you.” Belbo smiled and looked away. There, he said, now they all think I’m either a spendthrift or a bank robber.

At Bologna, Belbo stood up and prepared to get off. “Don’t forget your suitcase,” his neighbor said.

“No. A friend will collect it in Florence,” Belbo said. “For that matter, I’d be grateful if you’d keep an eye on it.