Americans -- Italy -- Fiction; Rome (Italy) -- Social life and customs -- 20th century -- Fiction; Upper class -- Fiction
One evening, she asked me abruptly whether it would greatly interfere
with my work if we were to move to Anzio for a few days. I replied that
I should like nothing better. All I knew of Anzio was that it was one of
the resorts on the sea, a few hours from Rome, the site of one of
Cicero's villas, and near Nettuno. She added a little anxiously that we
should have to go to a hotel, a very poor hotel at that, but that it was
out of season and there were ways in which she could supply some of the
deficiencies of the service. A little foresight could prevent my being
too uncomfortable.
So one morning we climbed into the large plain car she reserved for
travelling and drove westward. The back seat served as a warehouse. One
glimpsed a maid, a prie-dieu, a cat, a real panel by Fra Angelico, a box
of wines, fifty books and some window curtains. I found out later that
there had been a lavish assortment of caviare, paté, truffles and
ingredients for rare sauces by which, with a discouraging failure to
understand me, she intended to supplement the resources of a tourists'
hotel. She drove, herself, and in nothing did Heaven's interest in her
reveal itself more clearly. First we stopped at Ostia so that I might
see the veritable spot where the last scene of my wretched play took
place. We read aloud the page of Augustine and I silently vowed to
renounce forever any notion of rephrasing it.
On our first evening at Anzio a cold wind blew in from the sea. The
vines and shrubs whipped the houses; the lamps of the cafés about die
square swung cheerlessly over wet tables; one could not escape the
desolate slip-slap of the waves against the sea-wall. But we both had a
taste for such weather. We decided at about six o'clock to walk to
Nettuno returning for dinner at half-past nine. We wrapped ourselves in
rubber and started off, leaning against the wind and spray and feeling
strangely exhilarated. For a time we walked in silence, but entering at
last that portion of the road that lies between the high walls of the
villas, Astrée-Luce began to talk:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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