Florence
A woman colleague from the Scuola Fiorenza had organised a room for me in a little pensione in Florence. I was tired and lay down. I opened Márai's Embers on page 16:
There is a relatedness which is stronger and closer than the link between twins in the womb. Life had mingled their days and nights, they knew each other's bodies, and also each other's dreams.
Just then came a knock on the door of the room. I opened. Before the door stood the owner of the pensione, in floods of tears.
"What's happened?", I asked.
"You have received a book," he bawled at me.
"But that's no reason to wake me up!" I countered.
"You have been sent a 31-page fax, 31 pages, my fax machine is broken, ruined. Do you understand? You don't fax books. This is a little pensione with a little fax machine for two or three pages at a time at the most. Do you understand?"
A text-message rescued me from his tirade. "Can I just interrupt you a moment, I've received a message."
"What, another fax?", and he banged the door shut.
Fortunately it was only a text-message: "There is never enough time to see you." No mention of the sender. Who could it be? The man - or the woman - who sent the fax?
Now I was confused too.
