The next afternoon I went to call on Miss Barkley again. She was not in the garden and I went to the side door of the villa where the ambulances drove up. Inside I saw the head nurse, who said Miss Barkley was on duty—“there’s a war on, you know.”
I said I knew.
“You’re the American in the Italian army?” she asked.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How did you happen to do that? Why didn’t you join up with us?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Could I join now?”
“I’m afraid not now. Tell me. Why did you join up with the Italians?”
“I was in Italy,” I said, “and I spoke Italian.”
“Oh,” she said. “I’m learning it. It’s a beautiful language.”