186
PARTISAN REVIEW
Fidelman hadn't the appetite to finish his spaghetti. He paid
the bill, waited ten minutes, then departed, glancing around from
time to time to see
if
he were being followed. He headed down
the
sloping street to a small piazza where he saw a couple of cabs. Not
that he could afford one, but he wanted to make sure Susskind didn't
tail
him
back to his new hotel. He would warn the clerk at the desk
never to allow anybody of the refugee's name or description even
to make inquiries about him.
Susskind, however, stepped out from behind a splashing foun–
tain at the center of the little piazza. Modestly addressing the speech–
less Fidelman, he said, "I don't wish to take only, professor.
If
I had
something to give you, I would gladly give it to you."
"Thanks," snapped Fidelman, "just give me some peace of
mind."
"That you have to find yourself," Susskind answered.
In the taxi Fidelman decided to leave for Florence the next day,
rather than at the end of the week, and once and for
all
be done
with the pest.
That night, after returning to
his
room from an unpleasurable
walk in the Trastevere-he had a headache from too much wine at
supper-Fidelman found his door ajar and at once recalled that he
had forgotten to lock it, although he had as usual left the key
with
the desk clerk. He was at first frightened, but when he tried the
armadio in which he kept his clothes and suitcase, it was shut tight.
Hastily unlocking it, he was relieved to see his blue gabardine suit-
a one-button jacket affair, the trousers a little frayed on the cuffs,
but all in good shape and usable for years to come-hanging amid
some shirts the maid had pressed for him; and when he examined
the contents of the suitcase he found nothing missing, including, thank
God, his passport and travelers' checks. Gazing around the room,
Fidelman sawall in place. Satisfied, he picked up a book and read
ten pages before he thought of his brief case. He jumped to
his
feet
and began to search everywhere, remembering distinctly that it had
been on the night table as he had lain on the bed that afternoon,
rereading his chapter. He searched under the bed and behind the
night table, then again throughout the room, even on top of and
behind the armadio. Fidelman hopelessly opened every drawer, no
matter how small, but found neither the brief case, nor, what was
worse, the chapter in it.
