that night Fabio had promised to think about it.
There now began a period of anxiety and discomfort for the Greens. Their new project manager presented them with his first bill and it seemed a lot in view of the fact that nothing but damage had been done to their house since he had undertaken to manage the project. They phoned to express their discontent and Blemish called on them to explain matters. He sat at their kitchen table, chair pushed back, long legs crossed to show his paisley socks and trust-worthy brogues. His soft brown eyes moved from one Green to another. He had the details of his bill typed neatly on a sheet of paper which he took from his briefcase. He had spent time with the builder, Esposito, and the
geometra
, Signorini. He had been on several occasions, as they themselves knew, to have a look at things.
“It is not that
we
question the hours spent,” Mr. Green said. “It is that there is nothing much to show for it.”
“Nothing but a leaking roof and this hole in the wall.” Mrs. Green pointed to a raggedly gaping hole below the window. “We had to stuff it with newspaper to keep out the draft. I have taken it all out now, so you can see.”
“A man came about ten days ago, armed with a drill,” Mr. Green said. “He was an immigrant—North African, I think. He spoke very little Italian and no English of course and so communication was difficult.”
“Communication was impossible,” Mrs. Green said. “He came and drilled this hole in the wall.”
“He just came,” Mr. Green said, “and made this hole in the wall and went away again.”
“That is for the wiring,” Blemish said. “An essential first step.”
“Then there is the roof. Two men came and walked about on the roof. They said they were checking what tiles needed replacing. However, since they came the roof has been a whole lot worse. The water comes through now, onto the floor, here in the kitchen and in our bedroom.”
“We have had to move the bed,” Mrs. Green said.
“When it rains we have to run with buckets.” Mr. Green felt incredulous himself at this, even as he spoke the words. Indeed, a kind of incredulity had been his main feeling since they had engaged Blemish as their project manager. During the night he would wake and would go to make sure the buckets were positioned correctly in case of rain and he would be possessed by a painful wonder. What were they doing here? Had they come all the way from Michigan only to listen to the wind moving over their broken roof tiles? At odd times during the day he and his wife would look at each other without words and in their glances there was a kind of fear.
“We have a feeling of disconnection,” Mrs. Green said.
“Well of course the wiring will need a thorough—”
“My wife is not talking about the wiring, Mr. Blemish. She means that the steps that should accompany things are somehow missing. The hole remains there, just a hole. No one comes to do anything further. You get to feel that the hole could stay there forever, that the roof will go on leaking through all eternity.”
“Nothing much can be done as yet to the roof as such,” Blemish said.
“The roof as such?”
“We are still waiting for the report of our
geometra
, who is the prince among—”
“Yes, you have told us his virtues.” Mr. Green’s voice held a tone of impatience very unusual in him.
Blemish looked at Mr. Green, at the ash-gray, slightly curly hair, the childlike eyes in the thin face, and he felt a gathering of vengeful dislike. He would make them pay for this lack of respect. “It has only been a month or so,” he said. “As Americans that may seem a long time to you, but the scale is different here, the concept of time is different. As I told you, one of our most important functions here is mediating between cultures, bridging the gap.” Even as he spoke, he knew that the moment had come to offer the Greens the security of a written agreement. The timing of this
There now began a period of anxiety and discomfort for the Greens. Their new project manager presented them with his first bill and it seemed a lot in view of the fact that nothing but damage had been done to their house since he had undertaken to manage the project. They phoned to express their discontent and Blemish called on them to explain matters. He sat at their kitchen table, chair pushed back, long legs crossed to show his paisley socks and trust-worthy brogues. His soft brown eyes moved from one Green to another. He had the details of his bill typed neatly on a sheet of paper which he took from his briefcase. He had spent time with the builder, Esposito, and the
geometra
, Signorini. He had been on several occasions, as they themselves knew, to have a look at things.
“It is not that
we
question the hours spent,” Mr. Green said. “It is that there is nothing much to show for it.”
“Nothing but a leaking roof and this hole in the wall.” Mrs. Green pointed to a raggedly gaping hole below the window. “We had to stuff it with newspaper to keep out the draft. I have taken it all out now, so you can see.”
“A man came about ten days ago, armed with a drill,” Mr. Green said. “He was an immigrant—North African, I think. He spoke very little Italian and no English of course and so communication was difficult.”
“Communication was impossible,” Mrs. Green said. “He came and drilled this hole in the wall.”
“He just came,” Mr. Green said, “and made this hole in the wall and went away again.”
“That is for the wiring,” Blemish said. “An essential first step.”
“Then there is the roof. Two men came and walked about on the roof. They said they were checking what tiles needed replacing. However, since they came the roof has been a whole lot worse. The water comes through now, onto the floor, here in the kitchen and in our bedroom.”
“We have had to move the bed,” Mrs. Green said.
“When it rains we have to run with buckets.” Mr. Green felt incredulous himself at this, even as he spoke the words. Indeed, a kind of incredulity had been his main feeling since they had engaged Blemish as their project manager. During the night he would wake and would go to make sure the buckets were positioned correctly in case of rain and he would be possessed by a painful wonder. What were they doing here? Had they come all the way from Michigan only to listen to the wind moving over their broken roof tiles? At odd times during the day he and his wife would look at each other without words and in their glances there was a kind of fear.
“We have a feeling of disconnection,” Mrs. Green said.
“Well of course the wiring will need a thorough—”
“My wife is not talking about the wiring, Mr. Blemish. She means that the steps that should accompany things are somehow missing. The hole remains there, just a hole. No one comes to do anything further. You get to feel that the hole could stay there forever, that the roof will go on leaking through all eternity.”
“Nothing much can be done as yet to the roof as such,” Blemish said.
“The roof as such?”
“We are still waiting for the report of our
geometra
, who is the prince among—”
“Yes, you have told us his virtues.” Mr. Green’s voice held a tone of impatience very unusual in him.
Blemish looked at Mr. Green, at the ash-gray, slightly curly hair, the childlike eyes in the thin face, and he felt a gathering of vengeful dislike. He would make them pay for this lack of respect. “It has only been a month or so,” he said. “As Americans that may seem a long time to you, but the scale is different here, the concept of time is different. As I told you, one of our most important functions here is mediating between cultures, bridging the gap.” Even as he spoke, he knew that the moment had come to offer the Greens the security of a written agreement. The timing of this
Similar Books
