What happened to him in the end?
I thought for a long time hed been liquidated by the partisans, for I never believed that story about the gondolier. I suspect he got someone to spread it for him. Mr. Visconti, as I told you, was not a man for fighting with knives or fists. A man who fights never survives long, and Mr. Visconti was great at survival. Why, the old sod, she said with tender delight, he survives to this moment. He must be eighty-four if hes a day[147]. He wrote to Mario and Mario wrote to me, and thats why you and I have taken the train to Istanbul. I couldnt explain all that in London, it was too complicated, and anyway I hardly knew you. Thank goodness for the gold brick, thats all I can say.
The gold brick?
Never mind. Thats quite another thing.
You told me about a gold brick at London Airport, Aunt Augusta. Surely?
Of course not. Its not that one. That was quite a little one. Dont interrupt. Im telling you now about poor Mr. Visconti. It seems hes fallen on very lean times[148].
Where is he? In Istanbul?
Its better you shouldnt know, for there are people still after him. Oh dear, he certainly escaped the hard way. Mr. Visconti was a good Catholic, but he was very very anticlerical, and yet in the end it was the priesthood which saved him. He went to a clerical store in Rome, when the Allies were coming close, and he paid a fortune to be fitted out like a monsignor even to the purple socks. He said that a friend of his had lost all his clothes in a bombing raid and they pretended to believe him. Then he went with a suitcase to the lavatory in the Grand Hotel, where we had given all those cocktail parties to the cardinals, and changed. He kept away from the reception-desk, but he was unwise enough to look in at the bar the barman, he knew, was very old and short-sighted. Well, you know, in those days a lot of girls used to come to the bar to pick up German officers. One of these girls I suppose it was the approach of the Allied troops that did it was having a crise de conscience[149]. She wouldnt go to her friends bedroom, she regretted her lost purity, she would never sin again. The officer plied her with more and more cocktails, but with every drink she became more religious. Then she spied Mr. Visconti, who was having a quick whisky in a shady corner. Father, she cried to him, hear my confession. You can imagine the tension in the bar, the noise outside as the evacuation got under way, the crying children, people drinking up what there was in the bar, the Allied planes overhead
How did you hear the story, Aunt Augusta?
Mr. Visconti told Mario the essentials when he got to Milan, and I can imagine the rest. Especially I can picture poor Mr. Visconti in his purple socks. My child, he said, this is no fit place for a confession.
Never mind the place. What does the place matter? We are all about to die, and I am in mortal sin. Please, please, Monsignor. (She had noticed his socks by this time.) What worried Mr. Visconti most was the attention she was provoking.
My child, he told her, in this state of emergency a simple act of contrition is enough, but oh no, she wasnt going to be fobbed off with something cheap[150] like that Bargain sale owing to closing down of premises. She came and knelt at his knees. Your Grace, she exclaimed. She was used to giving officers a superior rank it nearly always pleased a captain to be called a major.
I am not a bishop, Mr. Visconti said. I am only a humble monsignor. Mario questioned his father closely about this episode, and I have really invented nothing. If anyone has invented a detail it is Mario. You have to remember that he writes verse plays.
Father, the girl implored, taking the hint, help me.
The secrecy of the confessional, Mr. Visconti pleaded back they were now, you see, pleading to each other, and she pawed Mr. Viscontis knee, while he pawed the top of her head in an ecclesiastical way. Perhaps it was the pawings which made the German officer interrupt with impatience.
For Gods sake, he said, if she wants to confess, Monsignor, let her. Heres the key of my room, just down the passage, past the lavatory.
So off went Mr. Visconti with the hysterical girl he remembered just in time to put down his whisky. He had no choice, though he hadnt been to confession himself for thirty years and he had never learnt the priests part. Luckily there was an air-conditioner in the room breathing heavily, and that obscured his whispers, and the girl was too much concerned with her role to pay much attention to his. She began right away; Mr. Visconti had hardly time to sit on the bed, pushing aside a steel helmet and a bottle of Schnapps[151], before she was getting down to details. He had wanted the whole thing finished as quickly as possible, but he told Mario that he couldnt help becoming a little interested now she had got started and wanting to know a bit more. After all, he was a novice though not in the ecclesiastical sense.
How many times, my child? That was a phrase he remembered very well from his adolescence.
How can you ask that, Father? Ive been at it all the time ever since the occupation. After all they were our allies, Father.
Yes, yes, my child. I can just see him enjoying the chance he had of learning a thing or two, even though his life was in danger. Mr. Visconti was a very lecherous man. He said, Always the same thing, my child?
She regarded him with astonishment. Of course not, Father. Who on earth do you think I am?
He looked at her kneeling in front of him, and I am sure he longed to pinch her. Mr. Visconti was always a great pincher. Anything unnatural, my child?
What do you mean unnatural, Father?
Mr. Visconti explained.
Surely thats not unnatural, Father?
Then they had quite a discussion about what was natural and what wasnt, with Mr. Visconti almost forgetting his danger in the excitement, until someone knocked on the door and Mr. Visconti, vaguely sketching a cross in a lop-sided way, muttered what sounded through the noise of the air-conditioner like an absolution. The German officer came in in the middle of it and said, Hurry up, Monsignor. Ive got a more important customer for you.
It was the generals wife, who had come down to the bar for a last dry Martini before escaping north and heard what was going on. She drained her Martini in one gulp and commanded the officer to arrange her confession. So there was Mr. Visconti caught again. There was an awful row now in the Via Veneto as the tanks drove out of Rome. The generals wife had positively to shout at Mr. Visconti. She had a rather masculine voice and Mr. Visconti said it was like being on the parade ground. He nearly clicked his feet together in his purple socks when she bellowed at him, Adultery. Three times.
Are you married, my daughter?
Of course Im married. What on earth do you suppose? Im Frau General Ive forgotten what ugly Teutonic name she had.
Does your husband know of this?
Of course he doesnt know. Hes not a priest.
Then you have been guilty of lies too?
Yes, yes, naturally, I suppose so, you must hurry, Father. Our cars being loaded. We are leaving for Florence in a few minutes.
Havent you anything else to tell me?
Nothing of importance.
You havent missed Mass?
Oh, occasionally, Father. This is war-time.
Meat on Fridays?
You forget. It is permitted now, Father. Those are Allied planes overhead. We have to leave immediately.
God cannot be hurried, my child. Have you indulged in impure thoughts?
Father, put down yes to anything you like, but give me absolution. I have to be off.
I cannot feel that youve properly examined your conscience.
Unless you give me absolution at once, I shall have you arrested. For sabotage.
Mr. Visconti said, It would be better if you gave me a seat in your car. We could finish your confession tonight.
Nothing of importance.
You havent missed Mass?
Oh, occasionally, Father. This is war-time.
Meat on Fridays?
You forget. It is permitted now, Father. Those are Allied planes overhead. We have to leave immediately.
God cannot be hurried, my child. Have you indulged in impure thoughts?
Father, put down yes to anything you like, but give me absolution. I have to be off.
I cannot feel that youve properly examined your conscience.
Unless you give me absolution at once, I shall have you arrested. For sabotage.
Mr. Visconti said, It would be better if you gave me a seat in your car. We could finish your confession tonight.
There isnt room in the car, Father. The driver, my husband, myself, my dog there simply isnt space for another passenger.
A dog takes up no room[152]. It can sit on your knee.
This is an Irish wolfhound, Father.
Then you must leave it behind, Mr. Visconti said firmly, and at that moment a car back-fired and the Frau General took it for an explosion.
I need Wolf for my protection, Father. War is very dangerous for women.
You will be under the protection of our Holy Mother Church, Mr. Visconti said, as well as your husbands.
I cannot leave Wolf behind. He is all I have in the world to love.
I would have assumed that with three adulteries and a husband
They mean nothing to me.
Then I suggest, Mr. Visconti said, that we leave the general behind. And so it came about. The general was dressing down the hall porter because of a mislaid spectacle-case when the Frau General seated herself beside the driver and Mr. Visconti sat beside Wolf at the back. Drive off, the generals wife said.
The driver hesitated, but he was more afraid of the wife than the husband. The general came out into the street and shouted to them as they drove off a tank had stopped to give precedence to the staff car. Nobody paid any attention to the generals shouts except Wolf. He clambered all over Mr. Visconti, thrusting his evil-smelling parts against Mr. Viscontis face, knocking off Mr. Viscontis clerical hat, barking furiously to get out. The Frau General may have loved Wolf, but it was the general whom Wolf loved. Probably the general concerned himself with his food and his exercise. Blindly Mr. Visconti fumbled for the handle of the window. Before the window was properly open Wolf jumped right in the path of the following tank. It flattened him. Mr. Visconti, looking back, thought that he resembled one of those biscuits they make for children in the shape of animals.