Кошка под дождем

           Thewifewentdownstairsandthehotelownerstoodupandbowedtoherasshepassedtheoffice.Hisdeskwasatthefarendoftheoffice.Hewasanoldmanandverytall.

           ‘Ilpiove,’thewifesaid.Shelikedthehotel–keeper.

           ‘Si,Si,Signora,bruttotempo.Itisverybadweather.’

           Hestoodbehindhisdeskinthefarendofthedimroom.Thewifelikedhim.Shelikedthedeadlyseriouswayhereceivedanycomplaints.Shelikedhisdignity.Shelikedthewayhewantedtoserveher.Shelikedthewayhefeltaboutbeingahotel–keeper.Shelikedhisold,heavyfaceandbighands.

           Likinghimsheopenedthedoorandlookedout.Itwasrainingharder.Amaninarubbercapewascrossingtheemptysquaretothecafé.Thecatwouldbearoundtotheright.Perhapsshecouldgoalongundertheeaves.

           Asshestoodinthedoorwayanumbrellaopenedbehindher.Itwasthemaidwholookedaftertheirroom.

           ‘Youmustnotgetwet,’shesmiled,speakingItalian.Ofcourse,thehotel–keeperhadsenther.

           Withthemaidholdingtheumbrellaoverher,shewalkedalongthegravelpathuntilshewasundertheirwindow.Thetablewasthere,washedbrightgreenintherain,butthecatwasgone.Shewassuddenlydisappointed.Themaidlookedupather.

           ‘Haperdutoqualquecosa,Signora?’

           ‘Therewasacat,’saidtheAmericangirl.