“For you? The Italians wouldn’t let you out of the country.”
“Yes. I know that. But the Swiss. What will they do?”
“They intern you.”
“I know. But what’s the mechanics of it?”
“Nothing. It’s very simple. You can go anywhere. I think you just have to report or something. Why? Are you fleeing the police?”
“Nothing definite yet.”
“Don’t tell me if you don’t want. But it would be interesting to hear. Nothing happens here. I was a great flop at Piacenza.”
“I’m awfully sorry.”
“Oh yes – I went very badly. I sung well too. I’m going to try it again at the Lyrico here.”
“I’d like to be there.”
“You’re awfully polite. You aren’t in a bad mess, are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“Don’t tell me if you don’t want. How do you happen to be away from the bloody front?”
“I think I’m through with it.”
“Good boy. I always knew you had sense. Can I help you any way?”
“You’re awfully busy.”
“Not a bit of it, my dear Henry. Not a bit of it. I’d be happy to do anything.”
“You’re about my size. Would you go out and buy me an outfit of civilian clothes? I’ve clothes but they’re all at Rome.”
“You did live there, didn’t you? It’s a filthy place. How did you ever live there?”
“I wanted to be an architect.”
“That’s no place for that. Don’t buy clothes. I’ll give you all the clothes you want. I’ll fit you out so you’ll be a great success. Go in that dressing room. There’s a closet. Take anything you want. My dear fellow, you don’t want to buy clothes.”
“I’d rather buy them, Sim.”
“My dear fellow, it’s easier for me to let you have them than go out and buy them. Have you got a passport? You won’t get far without a passport.”
“Yes. I’ve still got my passport.”
“Then get dressed, my dear fellow, and off to old Helvetia.”
“It’s not that simple. I have to go up to Stresa first.”
“Ideal, my dear fellow. You just row a boat across. If I wasn’t trying to sing, I’d go with you. I’ll go yet.”
“You could take up yodelling.”
“My dear fellow, I’ll take up yodelling yet. I really can sing though. That’s the strange part.”
“I’ll bet you can sing.”
He lay back in bed smoking a cigarette.
“Don’t bet too much. But I can sing though. It’s damned funny, but I can. I like to sing. Listen.” He roared into “Africana,” his neck swelling, the veins standing out. “I can sing,” he said. “Whether they like it or not.” I looked out of the window. “I’ll go down and let my cab go.”
“Come back up, my dear fellow, and we’ll have breakfast.” He stepped out of bed, stood straight, took a deep breath and commenced doing bending exercises. I went downstairs and paid off the cab.