THE LAST MOHICAN
115
"Thanks yes or thanks no?"
"Thanks no." The eyes looked away.
Fidelman resumed eating, carefully winding his fork; he had
had
not too much practice in this sort of thing and was soon
involved in the same dilemma with the spaghetti. Seeing Susskind
still
watching him, he soon became tense.
"We are not Italians, professor," the refugee said. "Cut it
in
small pieces with your knife. Then you
will
swallow it easier."
"I'll handle it as I please," Fidelman responded testily. "This
is
my business. You attend to yours."
"My business," Susskind sighed, "don't exist. This morning I
had
to let a wonderful chance get away from me. I had a chance
to buy ladies' stockings at three hundred lire
if
I had money to buy
half
a gross. I could easily sell them for five hundred a pair. We
would have made a nice profit."
"The news doesn't interest me."
"So if not ladies' stockings, I can also get sweaters, scarves, men's
socks, also cheap leather goods, ceramics-whatever would interest
you."
"What interests me is what you did with the money I gave
you for a sweater."
"It's getting cold, professor," Susskind said worriedly. "Soon
comes the November rains, and in winter the tramontana. I thought
I ought to save your money to buy a couple of kilos of chestnuts and
a
bag of charcoal for my burner.
If
you sit all day on a busy street
comer you can sometimes make a thousand lire. Italians like hot
chestnuts. But if I do this I will need some warm clothes, maybe
a
suit."
"A suit," Fidelman remarked sarcastically, "why not an over–
coat?"
"I have a coat, poor that it is, but now I need a suit. How can
anybody come in company without a suit?"
Fidelman's hand trembled as he laid down his fork. "To my
mind you are utterly irresponsible and I won't be saddled with you.
I have the right to choose my own problems and the right to my
privacy."
"Don't get excited, professor, it's bad for your digestion. Eat
in
peace." Susskind got up and left the trattoria.
