I replied stupidly, ‘But Senator, the sheets were always perfectly clean!’

He fumed. ‘What do the sheets have to do with it? The inevitable cadaver stink came from you. I repeat, how can you consent to carouse with people of their kind, of your kind?’

I, who already had my eyes on an enchanting sometime seamstress, took offense. ‘It’s not as if one can sleep with nothing but Most Serene Highnesses!’

‘Who said anything about Most Serene Highnessess? They’re bound for the charnel house like the rest. But this isn’t something you’d understand, young man, and I was wrong to mention it. It is fated that you and your girlfriends will wade ever further into the noxious swamps of your foul pleasures. There are very few who know better.’ Gazing up at the ceiling, he began to smile; a ravished expression spread over his face; then he shook my hand and left.

We didn’t see each other for three days; on the fourth I received a telephone call in the editorial office. ‘Is this Signor Corbera? My name is Bettina Carmagnola, I’m Senator La Ciura’s housekeeper. He asks me to tell you that he has had a bad cold, and that now he is better and wishes to see you tonight after dinner. Come to 18 Via Bertola at nine, second floor.’ The call, abruptly interrupted, became unappealable.

The building at 18 Via Bertola was a dilapidated old structure, but the senator’s apartment was large and – thanks, I suppose, to the diligence of Bettina – well maintained. In the entrance hall began the parade of books, of those modest-looking, economically bound volumes found in all living libraries; there were thousands of them in the three rooms I crossed. In the fourth sat the senator, wrapped in a very ample camel-hair dressing gown that was smoother and softer than any I’d ever seen. I learned later that the fabric wasn’t camel at all but was made from the precious wool of a Peruvian animal, and that the gown was a gift from the Academic Senate of Lima. The senator refrained from rising when I entered but welcomed me with considerable warmth. He was better, completely fine, in fact, and planned to be back in circulation as soon as the bitter cold spell that had descended on Turin in those days had passed. He offered me some resinous Cypriot wine, a gift from the Italian Institute of Athens; some atrocious pink lokums from the Archaeological Mission of Ankara; and some more sensible Turinese sweets purchased by the provident Bettina. He was in such good humour that he gave two full-mouth smiles and even went so far as to apologize for his outbursts in Hades.

‘I know, Corbera, I know. I was excessive in my words, however restrained – believe me – in my concepts. Don’t give it another thought.’

I really didn’t think about it; indeed I was full of respect for the old man, whom I suspected of being tremendously unhappy notwithstanding his triumphant career. He devoured the revolting lokums.