He said this so sternly that I made up my mind he could know nothing about the theatre—he must be a foreigner who had yet to learn that a Sicilian child’s confidence is not destroyed by a mere threat to stick a knife into him, the idea that anyone is going to hurt him is too preposterous to be taken seriously. Or perhaps he had invested all his imagination in superstitious securities. Or perhaps I had acted better than I knew and had seriously alarmed him. But I had not imitated Giovanni’s realism so closely as to deceive Totò. I looked at him. He was beaming all over his face as he shook his head and said:
“I am not afraid.”
The big waiter scowled and went away, abandoning the reckless child to his fate. Totò put his hand on my arm to attract my attention and emphasise what he was going to say:
“When you are at home, please will you send me a postcard with a picture of London?”
“Certainly, my boy; I’ll send you as many as you like.”
This is all the conversation I had with Totò before I left Messina, which I did that day, but we have corresponded. On returning to London I sent him a card with a view of Oxford Circus full of traffic and, not knowing his full name, addressed it:
A Don Totò,
Piccolo Cameriere all’ Albergo Trinacria,
Messina.
He replied at once, thanking me profusely for the beautiful view of what he called I Quattro Canti di Londra and promising to send me some prickly pears as soon as they were at their best, having heard that they do not mature in London. Presently I sent him another post-card secretly hoping he would show them both to the stupid big waiter. He replied at once and, among other things, asked if I should like him to come to London.
I never like them to come to London unless they are sure of some settled employment, and even then I would rather see them in their native surroundings; so I replied:
No, Totò. Here we already have too many Italians, Austrians, Swiss and Germans. They come because they believe that the streets of London are paved with gold, but too many of them find our streets guttered by the tears of foreign waiters who have failed to find work. You had much better stay where you are like a good boy, and I will come to Messina and see you next autumn.