“Eighteen.”
“How have you managed to become five years older in eighteen months? Is it an effect of the earthquake?”
“I was sixteen at Messina.”
“Then why did that stupid big waiter say you were only thirteen?”
“Ah! well, he is dead now.”
I thought of the fate of Ananias and said: “Poor fellow! Do you remember how angry he was when I wanted to give him my knife and said those words from Omertà?”
“Yes, but he was not really angry with you, he was only pretending.”
“No, Totò! Not really? Do you mean he was acting?”
“Yes. I thought you understood. He was always like that, full of fun, not stupid at all. He was a good man and very kind to me.” And poor Totò’s eyes filled with tears.
So it was someone else who had been stupid, and I left off thinking of Ananias and began to think of those eighteen upon whom the Tower of Siloam fell.