It was the evening of the next day. The two were sitting on Giancarlo’s porch, where they had been discussing at length the Pirandello story Carter had been assigned to read. As Giancarlo had anticipated, it had been a challenging exercise for his pupil. He knew that the tale contained many unfamiliar words and old expressions, most of which Carter would find no mention in his little Italian-English dictionary. Such being the case, it had been difficult at times for the young man to follow the flow of the narrative and appreciate the story’s subtle humor. Giancarlo understood all this and patiently went through the story with him sentence by sentence, and occasionally word by word, but it proved to be a tiresome effort for both student and teacher. Just the same, Giancarlo had persisted, for he felt that this introduction to Italian literature was a worthwhile exercise that would pay dividends in the future. But after nearly an hour, even he had to agree that enough was enough. It was time for a little break.

For a moment the two sat back and relaxed. It was a tranquil, pleasant summer evening.The brisk late afternoon breeze that just a short while earlier had been shaking the leaves on the trees out back like pom-poms had abruptly settled down. The air outside had now grown quite still, but nonetheless it was full of sound: the chirping of the birds as they hurried back and forth from the grass to their nests, the laughter of children playing nearby, the low rumble of a lawn mower somewhere farther off in the neighborhood.

“So, what is that you brought with you tonight?” said Giancarlo at last, nodding to the manila envelope at Carter’s side. “Something to eat?”

“No, no hamburgers tonight,” chuckled Carter. He opened the envelope and let the guidebooks Sheila had given him slide out onto the table. “I thought I’d show you these tonight. Maybe get some ideas from you about where I should go while I’m in Italy.”

“Eccellente,” said Giancarlo, nodding his approval as he reached out to take one of the books in hand. “How did you come by all of these?”

Carter gave a little cough to clear his throat.

“Un amico,” he said a bit sheepishly. “A friend gave them to me.”

Giancarlo cast a skeptical eye on Carter, for by now he knew his student well enough to know when he was being told only part of the story.

“Un amico or un’amica?” he asked, slyly stressing the final vowel to determine with certainty whether Carter was referring to a male or a female friend.

“Un’ amica,” Carter admitted with a shrug, confirming the latter.

“Hmm, that’s interesting,” said Giancarlo as he settled back again and pretended to look over the book he had taken.