If the person was a woman, she would squeal and run and show how it was not her fault because it was an accident, and if a man was with her she’d step back and look down at her clothes and show the man how terrible they looked. And he would take off his coat and hold it over their heads even though it was too late. Then he’d have to hold the woman even closer so as to be able to hold the coat over them both. She’d laugh and put her arm around his waist, and if he saw a friend he’d call out something, and the friend would laugh and shake his hand at the man, which was to say he knew all about things like this. If the woman had on high heels she’d take them off, and they’d scamper soaked into the bar by the jetty that was always open no matter what because it was a real bar, and not just one for tourists.

I saw one couple come dashing into the bar where I was standing drinking a limone soda in just that way. The pretty girl took off her soaked sweater and the men in the bar all gathered around to see if she was all right or if she had been hurt or something. And she told all about how the water came down while she pulled on the front of her white blouse so it wouldn’t stick to her and be immodest because you could see her lacy bra under it through the wet cotton.

Then the bar man handed her a dish towel and apologized for the fact that it was all he had for her to dry herself with. The men in the bar suggested different drinks she should have to warm her and make sure she didn’t take a chill.

But the bartender knew best. He fixed her an espresso and put a dollop of brandy in it even though her boyfriend said he thought a shot of Branca Fernett would be better for her.

She stood at the bar with her shoes up on the rail in front of her and the bartender and other men passed her shoes around and discussed whether they were ruined or not.