Her Husband Read Free Page A

let’s be serious! I was thinking of the Caffe di Roma.”
    “In the evening? No! It’s spring. We need to have it during the day, in a beautiful place, outside. . . Wait: at the Castello di Costantino. That’s it. Delightful. In the glassed-in hall, with the whole countryside in view … the Albani mountains … the Castelli romani … and then, opposite, the Palatine . . . Yes, yes, there . . . it’s enchanting! Without a doubt!”
    “I’m for the Castello di Costantino,” Raceni said. “Let’s go there tomorrow to make the arrangements. I think we’ll be about thirty. Listen, Giustino has been particularly insistent. . . .”
    “Who is Giustino?”
    “Her husband, I told you, Giustino Boggiolo. He’s insisting on the press. He would like a lot of journalists. I invited Lampini. . . .”
    “Ah, Ciceroncino, bravo!”
    “And I think another four or five, I don’t know: Bardozzi, Centanni, Federici, and . . . what’s his name? the one who writes for the Capitate . . . .”
    “Mola?”
    “Mola. Write it down. We need some others who are a little more … a little more … With Gueli coming, you understand. For example, Casimiro Luna.”
    “Wait a minute,” Signora Barmis said, “if Donna Francesca Lampugnani comes, it won’t be difficult to get Betti.”
    “But Betti gave The House of Dwarves a bad review. Have you seen it?” Raceni asked.
    “What does that matter? It’s even better. Invite him! I’ll speak to Donna Francesca. As for Miro Luna, I hope to bring him along with me.”
    “You’ll make Boggiolo happy, really happy! Now write down the Honorable Carpi, and that little cripple . . . the poet . . .”
    “Zago, yes! Poor little dear! What beautiful poems he writes. I love him, don’t you know? Look at his portrait there. I made him give it to me. Doesn’t he look like Leopardi with glasses?”
    “Faustino Toronti,” Raceni continued dictating. “And Jacono . . .”
    “No!” shouted Dora Barmis, throwing down her pen. “You’ve invited that dreadful Neapolitan Raimondo Jacono? Then I’m not coming!”
    “Calm down. I had to,” Raceni replied regretfully. “He was with Zago…. If I invited one I had to invite the other.”
    “Well, then, I insist on Flavia Morlacchi,” Signora Barmis said. “There: Fla-vi-a Morlacchi. Flavia’s not her real name. Her name’s Gaetana, Gaetana.”
    “That’s what Jacono says!” smiled Raceni. “After the tiff.”
    “Tiff?” Signora Barmis replied. “But they beat each other with sticks, darling! They spat in each other’s faces, the watchmen came running. . . .”
    Signora Barmis and Raceni reread the list, taking their time over this or that name, as if honing their list to a fine point on a grinder as they sharpened their tongues, which hardly needed it. Finally, a large fly quietly sleeping on a door woke up and zoomed in to make a third in the conversation. Dora reacted with terror–more than disgust, real terror. First she grabbed Raceni, holding him tight, her fragrant hair beneath his chin; then she ran to the alcove, shouting to Raceni behind the door that she wouldn’t come back in the room until he chased the fly out the window or killed the horrible beast .
    “I’ll leave you there and be on my way,” Raceni said calmly, taking the new list from the desk.
    “No, Raceni, for heaven’s sake!” Dora entreated from the other side.
    “Well, open the door then!”
    “There, I opened it, but you . . . Oh! what are you doing?”
    “One kiss,” said Raceni, his foot holding the door open the crack allowed by Dora. “Just one . . .”
    “What’s got into you?” she shouted, straining to close the door again.
    “Just a little one,” he insisted. “I’ve practically come from a war. . .. A tiny reward, from there, come on . . . just one!”
    “The fly might come in. Oh, dear, Raceni!”
    “Well, do it quickly!”
    Through the crack in the door their two mouths met and the opening gradually widened, when they