Joseph Kanon - Alibi

“Well, enjoying. It beats Germany, anyway.”

“You were friends in the army?”

“G-2. Bloodhound detachment. Sniffing for Nazis. Happy days, huh?” he said to me.

“Every single one. When do you get out?”

“Never. They like my accent. Maybe June, though. Memphis in June, like the song says.” He glanced at the group behind him, too large to introduce. “Well, I’d better push. Live here. I wish I’d known-cadge a bed next time.”

“You need one tonight?”

“No, that’s all right. We got a special deal at the Bauer. Can’t get away from the krauts, huh?” he said, grinning. “Come have a beer if you can. We’re there a few days. Nice meeting you,” he said to Gianni. He jerked his thumb toward the city behind him. “Quite a place you’ve got here.”

Gianni didn’t react, just watched him go, then started again for the hospital.

“He’s a good friend?”

“We worked together.”

“Finding the Nazis. That’s who decides?”

“He just finds them. Someone else decides.” I paused. “He likes to kid around. But he’s not as dumb as he sounds.”

“I didn’t mean-well, perhaps a little. The world is simple for him.”

“Sometimes it is simple.”

“You think so? I never find it that way. Look at us. We have lunch. Happy news. But for you I think not so simple-a little difficult, even. Who is this man? You worry about your mother. Yes, you do. It’s natural. What can I say to make you feel easy? There hasn’t been time for us to become friends. Later, I hope. For now, I only ask you to be happy because we are happy.”

“If she’s happy, fine.”

“But you are still uneasy,” he said, watching me as we walked.

“I just don’t understand the why of it. Why not-be the way you are.”

“And not marry, you mean. Why marry now, so late? Not for children, to make a family. Not for-what? Propriety? We don’t have to be respectable, your mother and I. No one cares. Not even you, it seems.” A half smile. “So why? I wish I could tell you exactly. Sometimes I think to marry is a kind of insurance.”

“What, for old age? If one of you dies?” Another thing I hadn’t considered. What if?

“No, not so pragmatic. I think a way to ensure the love does not go away. To make it feel permanent.”

“Even if it’s not?”

“Sometimes, you know, it is. Don’t you wish this for us?”

I hesitated, embarrassed, but we were coming down the bridge into the campo and Gianni turned to me, not waiting for an answer.

“It’s late for us to be a family. You don’t need a father, I don’t ask that. But your mother must have her son. So you and I, we must try to be friends. Will you do that?”

“Of course. I never said-”

“No, but how you feel, that’s something else.”

I looked away. “How does your daughter feel?”

“Well, that’s next. I do the warm-up on you.” He smiled, amused either by the phrase or by the idea that I was the easier of the two. “She will be suspicious. Who is this woman? What does she want? Like you, but the reverse, the other side. You see, nothing is simple when there are two sides.”

“And there are always two.”

“At least. But all of them smiling at the wedding, eh?” He took my hand. “Be easy. Everything will be fine. You have my word.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” I said pleasantly, meeting his eyes.

He nodded and turned toward the hospital. I started across the square, relieved to get away, but when I was past the equestrian statue I glanced back over my shoulder and saw that he had stopped to look back too. We stood for a minute like that, turning the space between us into a mirror, watching each other.

As it happened, Mimi had come to lunch at Bertie’s and was still there when I arrived.

“Adam,” Bertie said. “You might have let me know. There’s not a crumb left.”

“No, I’ve eaten.”

“How’s Grace?” Mimi said, kissing my cheek.

“Flourishing.”

“So they say,” she said, her eyes almost twinkling. “Have you met him?”

“Yes.”

“You’re just dropping in, then?” Bertie said, slightly annoyed.

“Darling, don’t be dense,” Mimi said. “Too late for lunch, too early for a drink. He wants to chat. Which means I’ll be in the way, so I’d better be going.” She turned to me. “Maybe you can talk some sense into him. He’s being pigheaded, as usual. Won’t help with the ball. Won’t even come. Pigheaded.”

“And you’re being wicked,” Bertie said, pecking her on the cheek. “A ball, during Lent.”

“Yes, and they’re all dying for a break. Everyone’ll come, you’ll see.”

“Not everyone.”

“Hm. You and the Holy Father, fasting at home. It’s too ridiculous. You know you’re dying to come.”

Bertie smiled. “It’s a close-run thing. Very bad of you to tempt.”

“All right, I’m off.” She gathered up her purse and gloves, looking at me. “So what’s he like? I’m dying to know.”

“Who?”

“Who. Dr. Kildare.”

“Oh, Gianni. He’s too old for you,” I said, kissing her good-bye.

A throaty laugh, flirtatious. “Bertie, I’ve been dismissed. He must have got that from you. That out-the-door charm. What if I got the monsignor to come? Would that make a difference?”

Bertie was walking her out of the room. “Not even the pope. It’s a matter of principle.”

“Darling, aren’t you funny? How would you know?” She turned at the door. “Don’t bother, Elena’s there. Adam, talk to him. He just wants coaxing.”

When she was gone, Bertie came back to the coffee table and lit a cigarette.

“Two hours and I’m exhausted. I don’t know how she does it-she must sleep the rest of the time. Now, what’s on your mind? Barging in like this. Only happy thoughts, I hope.”

“Very happy. They think so, anyway. They’re getting married.”

“Who?”

“My mother and Dr. Kildare.”

“You’re joking,” he said, putting down the cigarette, not just surprised but shaken.

“That’s what I thought when he told me at lunch. But no. Death do us part. Surprised?”

For a minute he said nothing, just stared at the smoke drifting up. “Marriage,” he said, still taking it in. “The Magliones, any of those families-you know they don’t marry out of-”

“Unless they’ve got a helluva repair bill to take care of.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Money. We can whisper if it bothers you.”

He glanced up, annoyed.

“Sit down and behave yourself. What’s gotten into you?”

“You don’t like it either,” I said, sinking onto the couch. “I can tell just by looking at you.”

“I’m surprised, that’s all.” He handed me the cigarette box. “Here. Now let’s take a breath and think a bit. This would come after Mimi-one’s head just keeps buzzing. Why marriage?”

“They’re in love.”

“Adam.”

“And there’s her money.”

“Oh, I don’t think so somehow.”

“But do you know? If he were American, I’d know a hundred things about him. All those clues people carry around. But here-how much does he have?”

“No idea. One doesn’t, in Italy. I’m not sure why. In France you know right away. Of course, there is the palazzo, you know. He’s not on the dole.”

“Which they never sell. Just try to keep up.”

“You’ve been reading things. Of course they sell. How do you think I got mine?” He watched me light my cigarette. “That’s better. Get some color back. You can’t stay shocked, you know.”

“But you were. Why? Don’t you like him?”

“Like him?” he said, uncomfortable. “He’s my doctor. What does like have to do with it?”