When we finished dinner, we decided to do the rounds of the bars and Arianna insisted Graziano and I sit in the backseat of her car. The wine made her drive fast. “Two famous filmmakers and their delightful Girl Friday die tragically on the Muro Torto,” Graziano said, breaking off from singing Elvis Presley to himself. “I just had an idea. How about we go to that disco and look for our two friends? What do you say, Leo?” I said nothing, abruptly grabbing hold of my seat because Arianna had turned the wrong way onto a one-way street at high speed. Miraculously, we dodged a few cars and had almost gotten to the end of the street when we were stopped by a red signaling disk. Immediately, two carabinieri approached us with their hands raised to their caps—but that was the limit to their politeness. “License,” one of the two said to Arianna.

“Please,” she said, and started searching under the dashboard. She searched for a long time, much longer than was necessary, while the two carabinieri waited in silence. At last she made up her mind to find the license and held it out through the window. One of the two took it.

“Are you sure you gave it to the one who can read?” Graziano said serenely.

We ended up at the station house. What happened was, they also knew that joke about how stupid carabinieri are supposed to be and when they asked Graziano to repeat what he’d said he told them the whole joke. Instead of laughing, they made him get in their car. We followed them.

At the traffic lights Graziano waved to us and on one occasion leaned out the window. “They don’t have the slightest sense of humor. What do you think, Leo? Shall I tell them the one about the old lady and the electrician?”

When we reached the station, I started to follow them inside, but they wouldn’t let me. “Don’t worry, Leo,” Graziano said as one of the two carabinieri took him by the arm. “If they hit me I’ll scream. Anyway, I’ll give you custody of the twins.”

We sat, waiting. Arianna was very nervous. “What’ll they do to him?” she said. “Couldn’t he have kept his mouth shut?” I didn’t reply, just sat there looking at the streetlights. I could smell her perfume and feel her eyes on me, like a weight. I had to make an effort not to turn to look at her. She kept staring at me, then said, “Do you love me, Leo?” She said it warily, in a low voice.

“No,” I said, still looking at the street. It was a street like any other.

“Yes, you do,” she said angrily. “You love me.”

“No,” I said again, feeling as if for the rest of my life the only thing I’d be able to say was no.