The Stray Bishop Day Four

“I don’t know who Osvaldo is, I don’t know who you’re talking about. Listen, buddy, I’m a tough guy, if you think you can make me talk, you’re in for a disappointment.”

Beppe Dosi half-listened to the assistant’s words, following the interplay of shadows and light as they walked beneath the trees.

“Is the person we’re looking for named Osvaldo? Since when?”

“No, it was a Bud Spencer movie. Same situation as ours, he was seeking information from a tight-lipped barber. The difference is that Bud Spencer can slap them into talking. “

They were walking along Viale Einaudi on the side of the Basilica. The captain wore the same black t-shirt as the day before, but with a lighter jacket, less formal. The assistant marshal, on the other hand, had improvised a sleeveless red and white checkered country-boy shirt. They had spent the morning questioning all the barbers between Villa Borghese and Piazza della Repubblica, finding them quite unwilling to cooperate.

Noon was approaching, and Chiattoni continued to talk.

“To cover the entire area, we have Via del Viminale and the side streets left. Let’s turn right from here.”

“No, let’s head towards the Baths,” Dosi interrupted, “Let’s cover the area around Via Marsala first, then we’ll go through Via Palestro where my barber Pippo is located. If he knows anything, he’ll tell me. Many foreigners go to him to get their haircuts.”

“Yes, the ones arriving by train, but there’s no record of our man passing through Termini. Anyway, let’s go.”

They continued along the fence of the archaeological area until they reached the Baths of Diocletian. They passed by the stalls on Via Gaeta and crossed the street to enter Via Marsala. There, they found a barbershop with a spiral column entrance, but it was closed. They checked another shop on Via Milazzo, but no one matching the description was seen there.

Walking amidst groups of tourists, they reached the intersection with Via Palestro and turned left, planning to return to their starting point through Piazza dell’Indipendenza. Along the way, they came across the Barber Shop 2000, the sole place that offered the Catania ‘50s haircut that Beppe Dosi usually sported.

“Welcome, my friend Giuseppe. Is that other gentleman with you?” Pippo the barber was already attending to a customer. Two others, seated on low square chairs, were improvising a game of tressette while waiting for their turn.

“Yes, he’s with me. But I see you’re quite busy. Maybe we’ll come back this afternoon.”

“I’d appreciate that, my friend.”

“But anyway, just to not waste your time. Did a man like the one depicted here visit you yesterday or the day before?”

Pippo cast a brief glance without stopping his scissor work.

“I don’t think so at all. And besides, I wasn’t here on Wednesday. You don’t know, I was on the train as usual to come here, and I fell asleep. In my sleep, I saw Our Lady ! And she was calling me! So when I woke up, I saw that the train was heading towards Naples. Instead of getting off at Termini, I went straight to the sanctuary of the Madonna of Pompeii. You understand, my friend Giuseppe? That’s why the shop was closed!”

“Ah, I see. Well, then, let’s come back this afternoon.”

The same result occurred with the other barber a little further ahead. They continued until they reached the area of the Prime Minister’s office where they intended to turn.

“Just more people handing out flyers, as always,” Beppe said. “What do they want this time?”

“ It’s the usual demonstration by Christian Militia against abortion,” Chiattoni replied, “ but then...”

They looked at each other for a moment and then abruptly threw themselves against the wall to hide.

“No! Alfredo, no! I’d prefer a steamroller on my nuts ! Beppe, let’s go back and take the other street, we’ll get there just the same.”

“ Spartans never retreat! Let’s just assess the situation. We might catch a moment when he’s busy.”

As if they were under fire in a war zone, they ran to the right and took cover under the canopy of the newsstand in front of the Technical School.

Passersby turned to look, intrigued by the sight of those two gentlemen partially hidden behind a rack of magazines. Perhaps just another of the usual tourist spectacles. Nonetheless, they didn’t concern themselves with the gazes, their attention was solely focused on the group of flyer distributors at the opposite corner of the intersection.

“ Do you see him? Do you see him? “ Dosi exclaimed.

“ I see five... Six... But him, no, he’s not there. Maybe he hasn’t arrived yet or he’s on the other side.”

“ Fortune favors us! If we advance with a bold leap, we can pass before he arrives. Onward, Spartans! “

They dashed across once again, as if storming a bunker, and successfully bypassed a trio of protesters who were trying to tackle them to explain the utmost importance of their cause.

However, a few steps later, Marshal Chiattoni saw Dosi come to a halt, as if struck by a thought.

“You know, I thought I saw... I need to go back!”

He briskly walked back towards one of the three people he had just passed.

“Excuse me, I changed my mind. I’d like to see your flyers. Both of them.”

“But actually, we only have this one. We’re expressing our opposition to the introduction of the RU 486 pill because...”

“Yes, but you had a different one in your hand. Isn’t that the one I see sticking out of your pocket?”

“ Look, what I have in my pocket is my business. Do you want our flyer or not? “

“ This Carabinieri ID card certifies that I’m paid precisely to mind other people’s business. I know I can’t search you in this situation, but I can ensure that you’ll encounter some inconveniences when you request permits for your activities again. What are we going to do? “

The other five individuals remained silent, presumably he was talking to their leader. He sighed and handed over the paper he had in his pocket.

“ It’s an internal directive, but there’s nothing illegal. You can inquire with our headquarters.”

“ Indeed, it’s just for record-keeping. Now, excuse us for the disturbance, and good work.”

With that said, Dosi continued on his way. As they walked, he showed the paper to his assistant. It was the composite sketch of the afro guy, the same one as before, with a phone number to report any sightings.

“ In the afternoon, when we’re at the office, you need to find out who this cellphone belongs to.”

The assistant tucked the paper into a pocket.

“As far as I know, the members of Milizia Cristiana and Spartaco’s friends are sworn enemies. Yet both groups have our identikit. Of course, while they’re out there doing the ten-thousandth thing about abortion, they’ll see plenty of people passing by. But couldn’t they change the topic? I’d even agree with them, but enough is enough.”

“It’s normal.” Dosi explained, “ The leaders of any group of that kind, on one hand, mustn’t touch on any topic that might annoy friends and donors. On the other hand, they have to give their militants the impression of achieving something. They always have to keep them active so that they have less time to spend outside the group. So what do they do? They pick one single thing and hammer on it until exhaustion. This might make them boring to the outside world, but they’re aiming for internal cohesion, because they need to make sure the militants cough up money regularly. For the cause, of course.”

“ And we can’t do anything about it, especially since the crime of plagiarism doesn’t exist anymore.”

“ If we were to investigate every case of plagiarism, we’d have to incriminate half of Italy for having deceived the other half.” replied Dosi. “ Just for the trials, it would take a hundred years. And then? After issuing the convictions, where do you put all those people? “

Continuing their discussion, they reached Via del Viminale, where they were supposed to go on with their search. However, it was already well past noon, the barbers had probably closed, and hunger was setting in.

Right at the beginning of the street, there was a small establishment with a wild boar’s head displayed under the sign and sandwiches with porchetta prominently shown. Er Buchetto, The-Hole-in-a-wall, a fitting name since there was only space for two tables inside, one of which was available. They decided to enter and ordered two sandwiches and a pitcher of Castelli’s white wine.

Chiattoni wanted to be picky.

“ Excuse me, could you heat up the sandwiches for us? “

“ No. You eat porchetta like this.” was the response.

Dosi also placed his order.

“ Could you add those marinated eggplants to mine? “

“ I said you eat porchetta like this, aoh! “

Realizing that they were dealing with a purist who wouldn’t compromise on porchetta, they gave up their requests and took their sandwiches as they were supposed to be.

“ I’m starting to suspect that he had friends here.”

They finished their sandwiches, and Dosi was speaking while pouring wine from the pitcher.

“ Unknown friends who hosted him. They could have changed his appearance without using a barber... They might have even taken him out of the city in a private car... Who would find him then? “

The marshal sitting across from him didn’t respond; he was staring at something over Dosi’s shoulder, perhaps the other table.

“ Oh, thanks for your attention, eh? Sorry for the disturbance, now I won’t say anything to you for the rest of the day so you can learn.”

Chiattoni continued to remain silent, pretending to look at his glass, but he was signaling with his eyebrows.

“ What is it? A gal ? A Pariolina? Is it at the other table? “

He showed signs of impatience, but he just couldn’t speak. He made gestures with his hands on his head as if he were scratching.

“ Shampoo? Is the girl washing her hair at the table? “

Chiattoni composed himself and took a sip of wine before responding in a low voice.

“ It’s not a ‘she,’ don’t turn around. For heaven’s sake, don’t turn around.”

“ But who is it then? Beutiful Hairs ? “

The place suddenly seemed quiet to him; he saw the assistant nod. A plate with tuna, beans, and the same marinated eggplants he would have liked, was passing by.

He shifted to a calmer tone of voice, as if discussing office matters.

“Are you telling me that Beautiful Hairs is sitting here and eating tuna with beans? “

“ It’s him, precisely, it all fits. He didn’t even go to the barber, he has his back to the entrance, he’s not looking around. It’s as if he doesn’t care at all about being found. Yet, with half the world looking for him, he must know too.”

Beppe turned to the owner of Buchetto.

“ Can we have two more? Thank you.”

Chiattoni looked at him uncertainly.

“ Don’t we stop him right away? “

“ We need to make sure he’s not just a lookalike. And then let him finish his lunch.”

“ Wouldn’t it be easier to say that you don’t want to involve civilians if he does what he did at Campo dei Fiori? “

“ When he leaves, stand up and go pay the bill, then I’ll follow him. Oh, don’t throw away the receipt; now it’s a work-related lunch at the State’s expense.”

Like a hunter who mustn’t let excitement taint their scent, from that moment on, they only talked about their own matters, ignoring the other table. It was only when the marshal finally went to the counter that Dosi allowed himself a quick turn and a searching gaze for the suspect.

He had taken the direction they had come from; Dosi saw him from behind, and that distinctive afro hairstyle stood out. He estimated the guy to be around six feet tall, he was wearing a blue polo shirt and well-fitted pants. He had a slender frame and moved like a waterbird, proceeding without looking back. Tailing him wouldn’t be a difficult task.

Dosi followed him easily along Piazza dei Cinquecento, and Chiattoni also arrived running. The afro was now heading down Via Solferino, retracing the route they had just taken.

Piazza dell’Indipendenza, the guy kept going, and Dosi and Chiattoni exchanged glances.

“Will the Milizia guys see him? I’m curious to know if they’ll report him to us.”

“Take a good look, Beppe. They’re not there anymore; they’re probably having lunch by now.”

They saw him turn right onto Via Palestro and ran to the corner to avoid losing sight of him.

“It’s two o’clock. Does your barber have extended hours? Maybe he’s heading there now.”

“ He does have extended hours. The Chinese guy next door brings him lunch in exchange for haircuts for the whole family.” Dosi replied.

The guy had stopped precisely in front of the Chinese bar. He seemed unsure, swaying back and forth, staring at the barber’s window.

“ No, come on, it’s unbelievable... “

He resumed moving, passed by the barber shop and the gate immediately after, and finally entered the next building. The two pursuers were taken aback for a moment, but quickly positioned themselves in front of that building.

Three floors, white and salmon pink, arched doorway and windows, a sign above the main arch. The Russian Orthodox Church.

For a while, they stood with their mouths open in front of that doorway. Seeing him enter an Orthodox church didn’t fit into the theories they had developed up to that point. It opened up a whole new set of possible implications. Was he there to pray or to meet someone? The windows on the third floor were different; there could be rooms up there. Perhaps that’s where he had found accommodation, but did he know the priest? Or was there even a foreign intelligence agency involved?

Breaking into a church, potentially causing a diplomatic incident, wouldn’t have been a smart move. However, if he was really staying there, all they had to do was call the headquarters and have the place put under surveillance. They even had ZeroNine’s number in the cell phone.

“Chiatta, go take a look inside...”

The assistant slightly pushed the door and stuck his head inside before returning to report.

“He’s alone, not even the priest is there. He’s praying on his knees.”

“It’s not certain. If there’s a hidden microphone under the bench, he could be secretly communicating with someone!”

“Wow, you’re getting really sci-fi here. To me, it’s possible that he’s just here to pray, if he’s a believer. We’ve already figured out that he’d be immediately spotted in a regular church, but here, who’s looking for him? It would be the first sensible thing I’ve seen him do.”

Instead of responding, Dosi cut a cigar with the appropriate tool and lit it. As usual, his own brilliance was not acknowledged, he was used to that. With the cigar in his mouth, he weighed the cell phone in his hand as if it contained all the possibilities.

Calling the Central right away and washing his hands of the whole situation, or waiting a bit more to ensure that it was indeed his refuge and the right person. Calling ZeroNine first to boast about having beaten him, or maybe to consult with him before taking action. Bursting into the church... No, he had already ruled that out, but he could leave Chiattoni to guard the door and circle around to enter through the priest’s residence, asking a few questions to clarify. There was no solution that had clear advantages over the others.

He stared at the keyboard. He had to admit the truth to himself; what was stopping him from pressing the keys was the fact that the game would be over. He was certain that after finding that person, they would take the case away from him. He wouldn’t be able to interrogate him. He wouldn’t know how the story ended. In his hesitation, fate decided for him. Footsteps from inside and a cold shiver; the afro guy had finished praying and was leaving.

They had no more doubts that it was him; his presence preceded him like a shockwave. Perhaps after all, he wasn’t staying in the church.

Dosi looked around; they could still hide inside Pippo’s and continue tailing him. However, something was odd: The entire street was deserted, no cars, no pedestrians, which explained how he could hear the footsteps from outside. Absurd for that time of day.

The excuse of not wanting to involve civilians didn’t hold anymore; it was as if reality itself was telling him that the moment had come and couldn’t be delayed any longer.

The marshal was sweating, he had positioned himself next to the door frame, while the captain remained rooted in front of the door. The pit of his stomach churned with anxiety, and the medical reports came to mind, describing internal organs that stop and immediately start to rot. He couldn’t get that smile out of his mind; he just couldn’t.

Inside, a hand had settled on the doorknob and began to push. Finally, Dosi could see the face of the person he was looking for. Under that tangle of graying hair were sunken eyes that seemed to gaze at a different world, thin eyebrows, a slightly arched nose positioned just a bit too high. “Branduardi is better.” Beppe thought as he took a breath.

The guy took a step before realizing that his path was blocked.

“Carabinieri! Please show your documents.”

“I’m sorry, officer. I don’t have any.”

It wasn’t the expected response, but before he could reply, he saw the afro guy’s head disappear, replaced by a fist and an arm.

“You’re messing with us. Huh? You’re messing with us!!”

Everything seemed to slow down, Chiattoni had gone into a heavy rage and had thrown a punch at the suspect, sending him flying. He could see every movement, every gesture, the folds of the blue shirt the man was wearing.

Yet, he couldn’t move, as if he no longer belonged to that scene. He stood there with his mouth open, his left hand involuntarily touching his cheek, where a splatter of saliva from the poor guy who had been hit in the jaw had landed.

When the guy hit the ground, time returned to its normal pace. Beppe rushed to restrain his assistant, fearing he might want to continue attacking.

“What the hell are you doing? Piè, what the hell are you doing!!!”

In the commotion, they were close to starting a fight themselves, while the afro, forgotten, could have gotten up and escaped at any moment. He even had the physique of a sprinter, unlike them.

Instead, after getting back on his feet, he remained there, watching them still stuck together.

“Ouch... He let you do that. Maybe that means he likes you.”

He sounded more surprised than angry, a resigned air of someone who has taken so many beatings in life that he doesn’t pay much attention anymore. After those words, he continued to watch them, as if waiting for confirmation.

Dosi took him by the arm to prevent him from running away. The guy seemed even crazier than they had initially thought, but the manual of the perfect trickster suggested agreeing with him to keep him calm.

“ Yes, it’s true, he likes us, so you can trust us. Come sit at that table, and let’s see if they have some dry ice to put on your bump before the swelling gets worse.”

They led him to a table at the Chinese place. The first rule during an arrest is to attract as little attention as possible to avoid forming crowds of onlookers. The people walking on the sidewalks were many, cars, bicycles, all very normal. But then, where were they before?

The owner’s son brought cold tea and some ointment for bruises. It was time for questions.

“So, to begin with, what’s your name?”

“You can call me Giò.”

“Giò like John Dillinger?” Chiattoni chimed in, still angry. “Ever since you landed here, you’ve been making fun of everyone!”

The right recently received had made Giò more respectful. His response was no longer as indifferent as before.

“Ah, that’s why you’re upset. I’m sorry, sir, it seemed like a witty thing to me. Anyway, I am really named John.”

He had immediately admitted to being him, there was no longer a risk of mistaken identity. Beppe felt a bit lighter, passing his phone to his assistant to call for a car from the station. Then he resumed the conversation.

“ Extremely witty! But the fact remains that you entered Italy under a false name, and we have to assume fake documents as well, documents that you now claim not to possess. Furthermore, you are guilty of failure to help on Tuesday in Campo dei Fiori. These are all reasons why we need to bring you to our headquarters for identification.”

“ It wasn’t a refusal to help... There was no way to help that person anymore.”

“An investigation will determine that. Do you live here, at the Russian church?”

Joe had a hint of laughter, as if it were an amusing joke.

“Come to think of it, you could say I truly live in the Church. But no... I understand what you mean... I don’t sleep there.”

A shot of Chinese plum liqueur had joined the tea. Sweet and refreshing. The swelling in Giò’s jaw was still apparent despite the ointment. A noticeable bruise was forming.

“Do you know anything about an experiment involving a particle accelerator earlier this week?”

This time, Joe was taken aback, answering while looking directly into Beppe’s eyes.

“ You’re good at your job. Yes, I know something. And no, I’m not going to give you any explanations about it.”

He was hard to pin down. Initially, he seemed like a madman out of touch with reality, but now he spoke like a clear, confident individual with a wealth of experience.

Dosi continued as if he hadn’t heard the answer.

“And did that experiment continue the next day at Campo dei Fiori?”

A sigh.

“ If you want to believe it was an experiment, it might be better. In any case, I won’t tell you anything because I don’t want to get you into trouble. Being aware of certain things is dangerous.”

Dosi didn’t respond. He felt all too well that Joe was telling the truth.

The patrol car didn’t keep them waiting for long. There were already three officers on board, so Chiattoni was left behind with the order to pay the Chinese, store the receipt and return to the station on his own.

In the car, Joe remained silent. Only at the end, as they were entering the parking lot, did he turn to Dosi and touch his arm.

“Please, tell your friend that I don’t hold it against him for what he did. I’d be sorry if he kept dwelling on it and ruined his weekend.”

The colonel was waiting at the entrance of the headquarters, along with two plainclothes gentlemen who had an unmistakable air of the Ministry of the Interior, even from a distance. They took custody of the fugitive, while the colonel stood Dosi at attention.

“A great job, Captain. Now I want you to go to your office and prepare a written report. When you’re done, take the rest of the day off. We’ll see each other next week.”

The use of “lei” (formal “you”) from the superior indicated that objections wouldn’t be accepted. Dosi shook his hand, saluted as per protocol, and went to compile his report.

He had known from the beginning that it would end like this. And ZeroNine hadn’t even bothered to show up.

***

Around sixteen-something, Beppe Dosi was on the bus 360 heading towards the vicinity of the Villa Borghese park.

While he was handling the paperwork in the office, he had released his assistant and sent out a round of text messages to see if anyone was available that afternoon. The first to respond was the Tiber surfer; they decided to meet at Caffè Greco around five.

Before the appointment, there was time to enjoy a bit of Dolce Vita in the park. In just a few hours, everything had changed. The investigation had concluded, leaving too many questions unanswered. At times, he still felt a sense of urgency, as if there were important things left to do. But it wasn’t the case. He would hardly see Joe again in his life, and it would be better for everyone if the mysteries remained unsolved.

He started humming “Vacanze Romane.” It was truly a sweet life to deal with the X-Files. An operational unit consisting of only two people who mostly dozed off, except for brief and intense moments of investigation. Investigations that could end up in nothing or with a report sent to some university’s parapsychology study center, directed by other desk jockeys like them.

And then silence. After every report the duty was to remain silent, and this time he would remain silent too. The sweet life would take away the doubts within a few weeks. Every time it was like recovering from a crush.

All too soon, it was time to meet David Luthor, the Tiber surfer, at the café.

Whenever David Luthor and Beppe Dosi were together, they either talked about books or cigars. This time, they immediately got into the topic of cigars. Beppe noticed that, for once, David was dressed somewhat presentably, without even his knee-length shorts. So, he decided to introduce him to a trusted cigar supplier of his who had a shop not far away.

When they reached the tobacco shop, they reviewed numerous varieties of cigars in individual packages, while the tobacconist explained each piece’s characteristics as if they were boutique items. They each chose two cigars, one to enjoy right away and another to keep.

Dosi cut his with a brand-name clipper tool he always carried with him. However, due to his lack of manual dexterity, the cut wasn’t perfect. David Luthor stared at it horrified; he, in fact, acted as an alternative, unconventional, offbeat kind of person, but he wanted his own things to be perfectly precise. Naturally, Beppe didn’t catch the meaning behind that look.

“Should I cut yours as well?”

“ Hey beautiful, off the way you and your damn tool! Can’t you see you’ve done it all crooked? It looks like an S; you dropped half of it on the floor…”

At that point, the tobacconist retrieved what looked like a rusty torture device from under the counter.

“Do you want me to cut it for you? I have a cigar guillotine here… If you’d allow me…”

David Luthor’s cigar ended up decapitated under the torture device. The shopkeeper extracted the two parts with a dubious expression and handed them over, attempting to hide them with the back of his hand, but it was futile; the mishap was evident. One of the two segments was significantly longer than the other. David stared at them as if someone had just cut a finger off him.

“Is it not to your liking? Perhaps you’d like me to replace it for you?”

“No, no, it’s fine,” David replied with tears in his eyes and the stub in his hand. “Don’t worry, no, really, nothing happened… Nothing happened…”

Refusing the exchange, he left the shop, followed by an embarrassed Beppe Dosi.

“Oh, come on! I take you to a new place, introduce you to someone, and you cause a scene as if his cigars aren’t any good.”

“But can’t you see? Cigars need to be cut exactly in half. You use four fingers, then you fold your index finger, put your other hand next to it, and find the cutting point. Instead, this one made a super long piece and a tiny stump. And you know the worst part of the cigar is at the end. I might as well throw away the smaller piece.”

“You could’ve had it replaced then.”

“But did you see how he asked? As if it were my fault! I’m the customer, you’re the shopkeeper. You’re the one who cut it badly, so you should replace it without even asking!”

“Alright, alright, whatever you say. But did you notice this one is better than the other? Because the other one isn’t a smoker, while this one is.”

David Luthor abruptly stopped and stood in front of Dosi.

“ Then… You haven’t been listening to a damn thing I’ve been saying all this time! How can the other one be worse? Does he throw them on the ground and jump on them? Does he spit on them when he sells them? He has to do something like that if this one is better! “

Whenever David got angry, he would always form a kind of smile, but with a tense face, all flushed.

Beppe understood it wasn’t the right time to press further; it was better to keep walking and wait for him to cool down.

As they smoked their cigars, they headed toward the flower shop, where they would tell Gebedia the whole story.

***

Marshal Chiattoni was on the couch with his girlfriend, watching TV when the phone rang. Fra didn’t move; she didn’t need to speak to be understood.

“Okay. I’ll go. “

The clock integrated into the phone read eleven PM.

“Hello. Hey, Beppe... Yes, I know... Tomorrow afternoon at the club to discuss our outing... I’m telling you now, if I bring my car, I can only take one passenger. Oh, the afro guy forgives me for hitting him? As if I cared... But any news? Is there more?”

The captain’s voice on the other end became serious.

“Yes, there’s more. Based on how Joe was talking this afternoon, would you say he sounded South American? Where did he seem to be from?”

“Well, even if he came from Montevideo, it doesn’t mean he was born there. And even if he was, he should have been born to Italian parents. I’d say Neapolitan, maybe from my parts. “

“Listening to him talk, did he sound like a Neapolitan to you? Or even like someone from Benevento, like you?”

“Yeah... “

“Then can you explain to me why I heard the same cadence my father had? To me, he could’ve been from Pontremoli, Fivizzano... “

“Well, that’s not possible. I’ve heard your father speak; there’s no resemblance to the way this guy expresses himself.”

“Piè, I know what I heard...”

“I don’t know... Maybe this guy learned Italian without the inflections, and we’re the ones deluding ourselves into finding something familiar... But you know what? I’m too tired to think about it now.”

“Alright, I just wanted to check. Goodnight.”

“See you tomorrow.”

He was really exhausted; even the TV no longer interested him. He decided to go to bed right away.

“Luv, I’m going to bed.”

“Remember not to bother the cat...”

“Bother her only if I find her on the blanket. And she knows that.”

Their bedroom was upstairs, and the cat, of course, was on the blanket. She had heard him coming, but she stayed in her spot with the challenging attitude of felines. Only at the last moment did she jump down and hide under the dresser.

Chiattoni acted as if he hadn’t even seen her and started changing. He knew that curiosity would eventually draw her out into the open.

At a certain point, indeed, the cat emerged from her hiding place, approached him briefly to sniff and rub against him, then made the mistake of giving him her tail. It was the moment he had been waiting for.

“Place kick, three points!!”

The cat flew beyond the door into the hallway, making a “Meowww!!”

Like an echo came from downstairs the shout of Fra: “Pietroooo!!”

Perfect.

Everything was perfect.