Two Weeks in Another Town Read Online Free PDF

were passing the church of Santa Maria Maggiore, massive and forbidding.
    “Some day,” Jack said, “I’m going to stop off on the way in from the airport and actually see what’s inside that building.”
    “This is the one town,” Delaney said, “I’m never tempted to go into a church.” He chuckled drily. “Believe it or not,” he said, “I went to confession in 1942. But that was in California. A heart man told me I was going to die in six months.”
    They rode in silence for a moment, the church disappearing behind them.
    “Ah,” Delaney said, “we had a hot run together for a few years, you and me.”
    “Yes,” Jack said.
    “God, we were lucky for each other,” Delaney said. “For a little while it looked as though there was a federal law prohibiting us from doing anything wrong.” He chuckled a little sadly. “Then the godamn war had to happen.” He shook his head. “Maybe we can still be lucky for each other. Again. It’s possible, isn’t it?”
    “It’s possible,” Jack said.
    “Jesus,” Delaney said, “you were a marvelous boy in those days.” He sighed. “The godamn war,” he repeated softly. Then he looked around him more brightly. “Well, anyway, we’re both alive,” he said. “This isn’t a bad place to be alive, Rome. You ever been here before?”
    “Two or three times,” Jack said. “Just for a few days at a time.”
    “Listen,” Delaney said, “have you got anything on for tonight?”
    “No,” Jack said.
    “No full-breasted little Italian starlet notified to be on the alert for the Big Night?”
    “I have to keep reminding you,” Jack said mildly, “that I work for the government now. All that is behind me.”
    “Okay,” Delaney said. “I’ll call for you in an hour. Give you a chance to take a bath and wipe the dust of travel off your face. I’ve got a surprise for you.”
    “What it is?” Jack asked as they drove up to the hotel and the doorman opened the door of the car.
    “You’ll see,” Delaney said mysteriously, as Jack got out “Be prepared for a funny evening. I’ll see you in the bar in about an hour.”
    The driver already had Jack’s bags out and the doorman was putting them to one side, under the portico, as the car drove off. Jack waved at the rear window and turned and started up the steps of the hotel. Two women and a man were coming out through the revolving door and Jack waited for a moment, as they stood abreast, blocking the entrance. The two women were holding the man solicitously, each by an elbow, as though he were ill, and the taller of the women had her arm around the man’s waist. When Jack started to move past them, the man suddenly broke away from the women and rolled uncertainly across to Jack. He looked at Jack for an instant, smiling loosely, bareheaded, his hair uncombed, his eyes bloodshot. Then he swung and hit Jack on the nose.
    “Sanford!” one of the women wailed, and the other woman said, “Oh, God!”
    Jack stumbled back, the tears starting in his eyes from the blow. He would have fallen if it hadn’t been for a pillar of the portico behind him. He shook his head once, clearing his eyes, and straightened himself, raising his fists instinctively and taking a step toward the man who had hit him. But it was too late. The man had slid down in front of the revolving door, and was sitting there, his legs sprawled under him, smiling foolishly up at Jack, his hands waving languorously in the air, like a bandleader conducting a waltz.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Jack stood over the man, touching him with the point of his shoe, wanting him to get up so he could hit him.
    “Arrivederci, Roma,” the man said.
    The women fluttered around him, pulling limply at his armpits, making little murmurs of disapproval, not budging him. They were all Americans, the women in their forties and dressed like matrons at a flower show, the man about thirty-five, stocky and rumpled.
    “Oh, Sanford,” the