“Yes,” I said.
“I haven’t,” Rinaldi said. “Not if they love each other.”
“Why not?”
“They don’t like me.”
“Why not?”
“I am the snake. I am the snake of reason.”
“You’re getting it mixed. The apple was reason.”
“No, it was the snake.” He was more cheerful.
“You are better when you don’t think so deeply,” I said.
“I love you, baby,” he said. “You puncture me when I become a great Italian thinker. But I know many things I can’t say. I know more than you.”
“Yes. You do.”
“But you will have a better time. Even with remorse you will have a better time.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Oh, yes. That is true. Already I am only happy when I am working.” He looked at the floor again.
“You’ll get over that.”
“No. I only like two other things; one is bad for my work and the other is over in half an hour or fifteen minutes. Sometimes less.”
“Sometimes a good deal less.”