“With permission,” I said.
“The lieutenant is an American,” Bonello said. “He’ll give anybody a ride.”
One of the sergeants smiled. The other asked Bonello if I was an Italian from North or South America.
“He’s not an Italian. He’s North American English.”
The sergeants were polite but did not believe it. I left them and went back to Aymo. He had two girls on the seat with him and was sitting back in the corner and smoking.
“Barto, Barto,” I said. He laughed.
“Talk to them, Tenente ,” he said. “I can’t understand them. Hey!” he put his hand on the girl’s thigh and squeezed it in a friendly way. The girl drew her shawl tight around her and pushed his hand away. “Hey!” he said. “Tell the Tenente your name and what you’re doing here.”
The girl looked at me fiercely. The other girl kept her eyes down. The girl who looked at me said something in a dialect I could not understand a word of. She was plump and dark and looked about sixteen.
“ Sorella? ” I asked and pointed at the other girl.
She nodded her head and smiled.
“All right,” I said and patted her knee. I felt her stiffen away when I touched her. The sister never looked up. She looked perhaps a year younger. Aymo put his hand on the elder girl’s thigh and she pushed it away. He laughed at her.
“Good man,” he pointed at himself. “Good man,” he pointed at me. “Don’t you worry.” The girl looked at him fiercely. The pair of them