You told the Gestapo?
I couldnt trust them not to have it examined by an expert, Mr. Visconti said. He hadnt long to live. He was very old.
As you are now.
He had nothing to live for, Mr. Visconti said, and I have your aunt.
I looked at Aunt Augusta. The corner of her mouth twitched. It was very wrong of you, was all she said, very, very wrong.
Mr. Visconti rose, and picking up the photograph of Freetown, he tore it in small pieces. And now to our well-earned rest, he said.
I wanted to send that back to Wordsworth, my aunt protested, but Mr. Visconti put his arm around her and they went up the marble staircase side by side, like any old couple who have continued to love each other through a long and difficult life.
Chapter 7
They described you as a viper, I said to Mr. Visconti. They?
Well, in fact, it was not the detectives: it was the Chief of Police in Rome.
A Fascist, Mr. Visconti said.
In 1945?
Ah, a collaborator then.
The war was over.
A collaborator nonetheless. One collaborates always with the victorious side. One supports the losing. It sounded again like a quotation from Machiavelli.
We were drinking champagne together in the garden, for the house at the moment was impossible. Men were carrying furniture. Other men were up ladders. Electricians were repairing lights and hanging chandeliers. My aunt was very much in charge.
We were drinking champagne together in the garden, for the house at the moment was impossible. Men were carrying furniture. Other men were up ladders. Electricians were repairing lights and hanging chandeliers. My aunt was very much in charge.
I preferred flight to a new form of collaboration, Mr. Visconti said. One can never tell who will win in the end. Collaboration is always a temporary measure. Its not that I care much for security, but I like to survive. Now if the Questore had described me as a rat, I would have had no objection. Indeed I have a great fellow feeling[305] for rats. The future of the world lies with the rat. God, at least as I imagine him, created a number of possibilities in case some of his prototypes failed that is the meaning of evolution. One species would survive, another would die out. I have never understood why Protestants objected so much to the ideas of Darwin. Perhaps if he had concentrated on the evolution of sheep and goats he would have appealed to the religious sense.
But rats I objected.
Rats are highly intelligent creatures. If we want to find out anything new about the human body we experiment on rats. Rats indeed are ahead of us indisputably in one respect they live underground. We only began to live underground during the last war. Rats have understood the danger of surface life for thousands of years. When the atom bomb falls the rats will survive. What a wonderful empty world it will be for them, though I hope they will be wise enough to stay below. I can imagine them evolving very quickly. I hope they dont repeat our mistake and invent the wheel.
Its odd all the same how much we hate them, I said. I had drunk three glasses of champagne and I found that I could talk to Mr. Visconti as freely as I had talked to Tooley. We call a coward a rat, and yet it is we who are the cowards. We are afraid of them.
The Questore may not have been afraid of me, but perhaps he had an uneasy sense that I would outlive him. It is an uncomfortable form of envy which is experienced only by those in a really secure position. I dont feel it about you, although you are much younger than I am, because we live here in an equally blessed state of insecurity. You go first? I go first? Mr. OToole goes first? It all depends on who is the best rat. That is why in a modern war old men read the casualty lists with a certain smug satisfaction. They may survive longer than their grandchildren.
I met a rat once in my garden, I said and allowed Mr. Visconti to refill my glass. He was standing motionless so as not to be seen in the flower-bed. His fur looked fluffy like a bird who has blown out its feathers against the cold. He wasnt repulsive like a smooth rat. Without thinking, I threw a stone at him. I missed him and I expected him to run, but instead he only limped away. One of his legs must have been broken. There was a hole in the hedge and he made for it very slowly. Once he stopped exhausted and peered over his shoulder at me. He looked rejected, and I was sorry for him. I couldnt throw another stone. He limped on to the hole and went through it. There was a cat in the next garden and I knew he didnt stand a chance[306]. He had such dignity, going to his death. I felt ashamed of myself all that morning.
It does you credit[307], Mr. Visconti said. Speaking as an honorary rat on behalf of other rats, I forgive the stone. Have another glass.
Im not used to champagne in the morning.
There is nothing more useful that we can do at the moment than put ourselves in a good humour. My wife is quite happy in the house preparing for her party.
Your wife?
Yes, I speak prematurely, but last night we decided to marry. Now that the sexual urge is behind us, marriage presents no danger of infidelity or boredom.