He asked how long they had been in Europe and how much longer they intended to stay, and when she replied that after visiting Florence and Milan and Geneva they would be returning to Paris and from there to the United States he offered a curious little gesture which somehow expressed sympathy.
“Unfortunate,” he added.
“Have you ever visited America?” she inquired pleasantly.
“No, Madame, I have not.”
“I suppose you must be dying to go.”
The Italian laughed. Lifting both arms in the gesture they had come to know so well, he said, “My dear lady, why go to America?”
Later, when the rain had stopped, he bowed, told them what a pleasure it had been to make their acquaintance, and strolled along the boulevard.
“Don’t let them fool you/’ said Mr. Bridge. “These people would sell their souls to get to the United States.”
81. Change o Itinerary
They came to enjoy sitting on the Via Veneto so much so that Mrs. Bridge said half jokingly, referring to the peculiar Italian who had no desire to go anywhere else, “I really think he has a point.”
They were in front of a different cafe farther up the boulevard, one they had not tried before. The weather being muggy and cloudy as it had been ever since their arrival in Rome, they decided to have some iced coffee. In a few minutes a waiter approached, a very Italian-looking waiter.
“Let’s hope this one understands English/’ she murmured. “Try him and see.”
“What else did you think I was going to speak?” Mr. Bridge replied. He had just finished changing the film in the camera and now placed it on an empty chair and gave the waiter their order.
“Very good, sir. Will there be anything else?”
“No,” he said. “Just coffee with plenty of ice.” The waiter bowed and went inside the cafe. Mr. Bridge wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and shook the sleeves of his linen coat. Mrs. Bridge was fanning herself with a sightseeing folder.
“It certainly does make things simpler when they speak English,” she said, “but my! doesn’t this one have an accent!”
They waited and waited. The iced coffee did not arrive. They looked around. It seemed that people were gathering inside the cafe and that an argument or a discussion of some kind was going on.
“They’re usually so good about the service,” said Mrs. Bridge, still fanning herself with the sightseeing folder.
They waited a while longer. Finally Mr. Bridge got up, saying he would go into the caf and find out what the trouble was.
“For heaven’s sake, don’t let yourself get involved,” she said, for it was obvious the Italians were excited about something. Several of them were waving their arms and denouncing one another; however this went on all the time in Italy and Mrs. Bridge was growing accustomed to it. While her husband went inside she studied the folder. They were planning to visit the Vatican later that afternoon and she was hoping their schedule would permit a drive through the countryside. She looked up with a smile when her husband returned.
“We’re getting out/’ he said as he picked up the camera.
Her smile faded. She knew from his expression that he was not angry.
“What is it?” she said. “What’s happened?”
“The Nazis are in Poland/’
“Oh, my word!”
Two days later Mr, and Mrs. Bridge were on their way home.
82. Inside Europe
At luncheon the day after her return to Kansas City she was questioned about the situation in Europe and she replied that it had been frightening and that she really had no idea what was going on. They had not met any Nazis at least she did not think so and she could not honestly give an opinion. She felt more sure of herself when asked about the sights they had seen. Inevitably someone asked if they had gone to a bullfight,
“No, thank heavens/’ she replied. “We wanted to go to Spain, but Walter felt it would be dangerous so soon after the Civil War. But we did hear a great deal about it. Europe seems to be jam-packed with people who fought on the los-ing side.”
‘It’s hard to understand how the Spaniards can be so blood-thirsty/* Madge Arlen remarked.
“It certainly is,” said Mrs. Bridge promptly.
“The poverty of the Europeans must be simply appalling.”
“Yes, it’s simply unbelievable.”
“They say there’s no middle class at all, just the rich and the poor/’
“Yes, it seems so unfair/’
“I suppose they’re all dying to emigrate to this country/’
“Yes, though of course you can’t blame them,” she replied. “Grace, would you pass the cream?”
Luncheon being over they moved into the living room, where the hostess, Lois Montgomery, had set up card tables. On each table there was a fluted yellow paper basket filled with salted cashews and peppermints, and there were four tasseled tally cards and four tiny pencils.
Being asked what she thought about England, she answered that it was lovely and that the people were quite nice, though rather reserved. The cooking was not as good as French cooking because the English boiled everything. The roast beef, however, was delicious, and the plum pudding. London was foggy and the English accent sounded strange until one got used to it.
“Aren’t we lucky to be living in America!” someone said.
“Isn’t that the truth!”
“Oh, by the way,” said Mrs. Bridge, “all the time we were abroad I kept wondering if that awful hole in the pavement just off Ward Parkway had been fixed/’
“They finally got to it last week. We were just about to give it up as a lost cause.”
“That was so maddening. I was so provoked with Douglas one day that I forgot to watch for it and ran right over it.”
“Well,” said Madge Arlen, who was shuffling the cards with a cigarette in her mouth and one eye closed against the smoke, “you can thank Grace. She sent the mayor a telegram/’
“You’d think with taxes as high as they are the city could do something about those holes without waiting till kingdom come.”
“Well, you know these politicians. Who’s ready for more coffee?”
“Buy any art treasures while you were there?”
“Oh, no. I’m afraid I wouldn’t know one if it hit me. Three no trump.”
“I’ve been trying to talk Ralph into a trip somewhere, but now with this Polish thing I suppose it’ll have to be post-poned.”
“Yes, I don’t suppose it’s safe anywhere any more. Honestly, you can’t imagine why we have so many wars.”
“I’m simply parched!” said Madge. “Lois, do you mind if I scare up some ice water?”
“Oh, sit still. Ill ring for Belinda.”
“Is it true the Italian women get awfully heavy?”
“Yes, we saw some who were positively enormous. I suppose it’s from eating so much starch.”
Late that afternoon as the party was breaking up someone said to her, “I certainly envy you and Walter. It must have been a marvelous trip even if it did end that way.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” said Mrs. Bridge, smiling all around, “and I feel awfully lucky. Even so we were certainly glad to see the Union Station. I suppose no matter how far you go there’s no place like home.” She could see they agreed with her, and surely what she had said was true, yet she was troubled and for a moment she was almost engulfed by a nameless panic.
83. Progress, Madness, Defeat
The only one of her friends who might understand how she felt was Grace Barron, and so it was that a few days after the luncheon she telephoned her. The maid answered and said Mrs. Barron was in bed. Mrs. Bridge asked if she was ill. The maid didn’t seem to know, saying only that she had gone to bed about noon. This was so strange that Mrs. Bridge decided to drive over and find out what was the matter.