Eh ... listen ... but not eh...”That sentence took him at least twenty seconds, so I said:“Well, as long as he’s here, you can speak Italian. I ...nderstand a little. If not, we can ask him,” I said, nodding to Vincenzo. We passed the storm drain and Father George looked down it with a wistful look. He stooped to pick up some vegetables that hadn’t fallen into it, but they were really too far gone for human consumption.Father George told me it wasn’t very far, which suited me fine. He made small. His head felt heavy and sleepy and his throat was dry. The roaring chirr of the cicadas sounded as if they were sitting right above his bed's headpiece. The sound was shrill enough to have him think he was suffering from a major tinnitus.With great effort, he slowly crawled out of bed and tried to walk to his bedroom door on shaky feet. Drowsily, he stepped to the bathroom, staggering as if drunk. When switching on the light, he almost yelled from the stinging brightness of the neon tube, but. More

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