The Girl on the Via Flaminia Read Online Free

“I’m smashin’.”
    â€œNo, no!” Nina said, gayly.
    â€œI busted an ankle in Velletri liberating Roma bella,” the soldier said, “and I’m seven thousand miles from Schenectady, and it’s a cold night. Where’s your gratitude?”
    â€œAh, babbee, I am so sorry for you,” Nina said, patting his cheek. “But you do not have teeth like my captain.”
    She turned to the Signora Pulcini.
    â€œCall me when Lisa comes,” she said.
    She waved to the soldier. “Ciao,” she said, “poor babbee,” and she went out of the room.
    When she was gone, the American looked unhappily at the sergeant. “Aw, they save it for the brass,” he said. He looked at Adele Pulcini. “Don’t you know a girl, Mamma, who wants to have dinner with a sad soldato?”
    â€œAlways the girls,” the tall woman said.
    â€œWhat else is there?” the soldier said. “I just want a place I can take her.”
    â€œYou have a girl home,” Mamma Pulcini said.
    â€œThat’s Schenectady,” the soldier said.
    â€œBut you make trouble,” the woman said. “You Americans always make trouble.”
    â€œI won’t make no trouble, Mamma, honest to god,” the soldier said. “Why should I make trouble?”
    The signora looked at him doubtfully. “You will be nice to the girl?”
    â€œSure!”
    â€œIt may not be possible . . .”
    â€œTry,” the soldier said. “I got money. Look at the money I got.” He took a thick bunch of lire from his pocket. “What am I going to do with my goddam dough? Save it until I get back to Schenectady? Go on, Mamma. Call me a girl.”
    â€œVa bene,” the tall woman said. “But it’s only because I have pity for you.”
    â€œSure,” the soldier said.
    â€œAnd remember—no trouble!”
    â€œHonest to god!” the soldier said.
    He was excited now. He followed the tall dark woman in the black dress to the telephone which stood on the bureau. He said to her, eagerly, “What is she, Mamma? A blonde? Does she talk English? What’s her name?”
    â€œMaria,” the signora said.
    She dialed the phone.
    â€œPronto,” she said into the telephone. “Chi parla? Maria? Ciao, Maria.” She spoke for a while into the phone. “This,” she said to Maria, “is the Signora Pulcini. Sì. Come va?” There was, in her house, now, an American, who was lonely, and who wanted to make an appointment. Yes, for this evening, she said. Yes, un soldato americano. Yes, a little drunk, but not bad, not too bad, he had promised to make no trouble. She glanced at the soldier. His face had a muddy and excited look. She noticed the thickening effect the drinking of so much wine had given his face. She noticed how the hair was cut short like an athlete’s.
    She said to the listening soldier. “Where will you take her, she asks?”
    â€œAny place she wants to go,” the soldier said eagerly. “Tell her a restaurant. Ask her if she likes spaghetti.”
    â€œShe prefers meat,” Adele said.
    â€œAll right, meat,” the soldier said. “She can have anything she wants.”
    â€œVa bene,” the tall woman said into the phone. “Ciao, Maria.”
    She hung up.
    â€œIs it all fixed?” the soldier asked. “Did you fix it for me, Mamma?”
    They are so young, Adele thought, and they are so eager for the girls.
    â€œSì,” she said. “I will give you the address. On the Viale Angelico. You know where?”
    â€œI’ll find it,” the soldier said.
    â€œYou go across the bridge and follow the Lungotevere,” Adele said.
    â€œI’ll find it all right, I’ll find it,” the soldier said.
    She wrote out the address for him on the back of an old envelope. The wind blew against the window panes and shook the wooden shutters.
    The