Perhaps he had lost his loved ones and was wandering over the world seeking forgetfulness. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. He played variations on this theme for the better part of an hour. And, when I have seen him pining away before my eyes, getting thinner and thinner every day, I have sometimes thought my prayers were heard. As they left Florence, dying men and women still scrabbled through the streets, screams emanating from the rows of houses, beggars running up to the horses, sick children in their arms, their eyes bleeding, their noses running, begging to join them in their journey out. Bring me clothing, I beg of you. E. ’ Roding gave a bark of derisive laughter and left the room. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. No— no, it must never be.
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