Vinci...its hills, its sun, the trees, the caves, the rocks...they made me happy...grapes made me happy, the clairette, pinkish and very sweet; the yellow-green muscats, so fat...grapes, laughter...kindness...
I still taste those grapes on Maturina’s table.
Cloux
In the afternoon heat, it was a long drive to Pliny’s Villa, outside Rome. Enroute, I witnessed some of the wretchedness of Rome’s slums; we were detained by waifs and by a number of mentally retarded. My driver’s glib humor, levelled at the poor, gnawed at me until we reached the villa among its cypress and olive. There I walked through derelict rooms, some with views of the Tyrrhenian Sea...summer rooms...winter rooms...dining rooms...library. I saw swimming pools, fountain, turrets, Numidian columns, Luna marble. The sea boomed and Pliny, the upright Roman, governor, senator, consul, killer of Christians, stood before me in his white toga:
P - I respect your portico mural but it must be finished by the New Year. Our banquet hall will be ready at that time...we are preparing festivities—you understand. Your unicorn motif is overdone in color...several sea creatures are neglected, it seems to me.
LdV - Then you are dissatisfied?
P - I wouldn’t say that, but changes, changes might be made.
LdV - A matter of details, perhaps?
P - Correct. A matter of details. You are to consult with Valerius. He will...