“Too much,” I said and held up the glass and sighted at the lamp on the table.
“Not for an empty stomach. It is a wonderful thing. It burns out the stomach completely. Nothing is worse for you.”
“All right.”
“Self-destruction day by day,” Rinaldi said. “It ruins the stomach and makes the hand shake. Just the thing for a surgeon.”
“You recommend it?”
“Heartily. I use no other. Drink it down, baby, and look forward to being sick.”
I drank half the glass. In the hall I could hear the orderly calling. “Soup! Soup is ready!”
The major came in, nodded to us and sat down. He seemed very small at table.
“Is this all we are?” he asked. The orderly put the soup bowl down and he ladled out a plate full.
“We are all,” Rinaldi said. “Unless the priest comes. If he knew Federico was here he would be here.”