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By Root 1139 0

few. The one he remembered most vividly, excepting the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo, was an Etruscan statue of a man and a woman reclining on a couch. They were smiling not at each other but into the distance, as if they might be entertaining company in their home. One of the husband’s hands rested affectionately on her shoulder and this casual gesture somehow proved that they were married. He was impressed that the artist had been able to present such a convincing embodiment of marriage and he had stayed to examine this piece of sculpture while she wandered along to something else. The figures were natural, almost commonplace, yet there was great distinction to them. They possessed a certainty which he understood, which he had not experienced in his own life until he married. The assurance of the reclining man pleased him because he had felt this strange, soft power himself, never more than when his wife was beside him; but he was more absorbed by the figure of the woman because of the confidence and trust she expressed. She did not doubt that she was loved, or that whatever she did while her husband was nearby was as it should be. He thought he had never observed such nobility shared by the men and women he knew.

119 Mi Piace la Banana

She greatly enjoyed the cafes along the Via Veneto. There she was content to sit for an hour or more sipping lemonade or iced tea while chatting with English-speaking tourists; but he could not sit quietly for such a long time, and because she was safe in a respectable café they agreed that whenever he felt restless he would go walking and come back for her when it was time to return to the hotel. The plan worked nicely. Five days were allotted to Rome, and each afternoon at the conclusion of a sight-seeing tour they relaxed for a while at one of the cafes, then he got up and disappeared among the side streets. He walked rapidly, seldom pausing to investigate anything, because he was less apt to be accosted if he walked as though he was in a hurry to get someplace and he disliked these all-too-frequent encounters on the street. He strode past monuments, fountains, antique shops, galleries, and other attractions as if they did not exist, though he was aware of them, sometimes recognizing them from a previous sight-seeing trip. Walking invigorated him and helped him to think, and there was much to think about.

On his way back to the Via Veneto after one of these excursions he was hailed by a small, curly-haired boy with impudent black eyes and a shoeshine box. The hotel porter took care of his shoes, but the boy had such an engaging face that he stopped walking. The boy promptly crouched at his feet and went to work. Mr. Bridge was amused by his cheerfulness. He did not seem to feel deprived; apparently he did not mind polishing shoes.

“Giovanni,” he said, grinning, and tapped himself on the chest.

“You are Giovanni?”

He nodded vigorously and Mr. Bridge laughed.

“You marry?”

“Yes. Oh, yes indeed. I have been married many years.”

“You like?”

“Do I like marriage?” Mr. Bridge asked with a smile. “Why, yes, of course. And when you grow up, Giovanni, you too will get married.”

Giovanni laughed.

“You like banana?”

“Bananas? Why, yes, I like bananas. In fact, I like bananas very much.”

Giovanni hopped to his feet and beckoned, and all at once the conversation became intelligible. Mr. Bridge marched back to the Via Veneto with one shoe polished.

120 From Rome

Dear Carolyn and Douglas:

Your mother is suffering from another of her sick headaches this afternoon, hence I am writing to you in her stead. I hope you will not mind this substitution. I am not much of a letter-writer. However I shall do the best I can. As you no doubt have observed from the postmark on the envelope we are at present in Rome. I believe Mother has kept you informed of our travels up to this point, so I shall not summarize.

The weather here is muggy and cloudy. Our itinerary calls for us to leave for Naples and Sorrento the day after tomorrow, and we are hoping to find some sort of breeze at