“No.”
They began to show greater interest. A traveler from any but these three countries is something to attract unusual attention in the country inns of Italy.
“Ah!” tried a fourth member of the group. “You are a Frenchman?”
“No.”
The geographical knowledge of the party was used up. There followed a long wrinkled-browed silence. The landlady wandered in with a pot, looked me over out of a corner of her eye, and left slowly. The silence grew intense. A native opened his mouth twice or thrice, swallowed his breath with a gulp, and purred with a frightened air:
“Er, well—what country does the signore come from?”
“From America.”
A chorus of exclamations woke the cat dozing under the fireplace. The hostess ran in, open-mouthed, from the back room. The landlord dropped his pipe and exclaimed “Ma!” in astonishment. The slowest of the party left their games and stories and crowded closely around me.
One man began telling what he knew of America. Among other things, he said the railway trains of America run high up in the air above the houses. When the others did not seem to believe it, he tried to prove it by shouting at them. He said he had read about it in a newspaper. Then he mentioned “Nuova York,” and asked me if it were not also true that its buildings were higher than the steeple of the village church, and whether the railroads were not built high to enable the people to get into such high houses. He seemed to think that Americans never come down to earth. When he gave me a chance to speak, I explained that what he had read was about the New York Elevated and not about the railways of the whole country.
Moreover, “Nuova York” meant America to the whole party. Not a man of them knew that there were two Americas; not one had ever heard the term “United States.” Many country people of Italy think of America as a land somewhere far away,—how far or in what direction they have no idea,—where wages are higher than in Italy. Countless times questions like these were asked: