The Broker

Petty, petty, petty. The games he played.

Erma

"Buon giorno, Erma

"Molto bene, grazie, e to?"

"Molto bene, grazie."

Erma

Marco stepped inside and was once again struck by how sparse and temporary everything looked. He placed his books on the small table in the center of the front room and decided to keep his coat on. The temperature was about forty outside and not much warmer in this tiny apartment.

"Vorrebbe un caffe?" Erma

"Si, grazie." He'd slept about two hours, from four to six, then he'd showered, dressed, and ventured into the streets of Treviso, where he'd found an early bar where the old gentlemen gathered and had their espressos and all talked at once. He wanted more coffee, but what he really needed was a bite to eat. A croissant or a muffin or something of that variety, something he had not yet learned the name of. He decided he could hold off hunger until noon, when he would once again meet Luigi for another foray into Italian cuisine.

"You are a student, right?" he asked when Erma

"Non inglese, Marco, non inglese."

And that was the end of English. An abrupt end; a harsh, final farewell to the mother tongue. Erma

"You've been studying," Erma

"Non inglese, Erma

"Come va?" Luigi asked. How's it going?

Erma

"Vbrrei pranzare," Marco a

Marco was hoping for a nice lunch with some English thrown in to make things easier and perhaps relieve the mental strain of trying to translate every word he heard. However, after Erma

"What about your lunch?"

"I'll eat yours." He gulped the red wine and tried to relax.

"Okay then. I suppose we can do English for one hour."

"Grazie," Marco said before he caught himself.

Midway through the morning session the following day, Marco abruptly changed direction. In the middle of a particularly tedious piece of dialogue he ditched the Italian and said, "You're not a student."

Erma

"I'm tired of Italian right now, okay? You're not a student."

Deceit was difficult for Erma

"No, I don't think so. You're obviously not taking classes, otherwise you wouldn't be able to spend all day teaching me."

"Maybe I have classes at night. Why does it matter?"

"You're not taking classes anywhere. There are no books here, no student newspaper, none of the usual crap that students leave lying around everywhere."

"Perhaps it's in the other room.'

"Let me see."

"Why? Why is it important?"

"Because I think you work for the same people Luigi works for."

"And what if I do?"

"I want to know who they are."

"Suppose I don't know? Why should you be concerned? Your task is to learn the language."

"How long have you lived here, in this apartment?"

"I don't have to answer your questions."

"See, I think you got here last week; that this is a safe house of some sort; that you're not really who you say you are."

"Then that would make two of us." Erma

"I resume classes soon," Erma

Marco was sca

Marco shoved his chair back and said, "I'm going for a walk around the block. I need to clear my head."

The routine changed at di

Luigi had his gloved hands buried deep in the wool pockets of his knee-length rough fabric duster, one that could've been handed down by his grandfather or purchased last week in Milan at some hideously expensive designer shop. Regardless, he wore it stylishly, and once again Marco was envious of the casual elegance of his handler.

Luigi was in no hurry and seemed to enjoy the cold. He offered a few comments in Italian, but Marco refused to play along. "English, Luigi," he said twice. "I need English."

"All right. How was your second day of class?"

"Good. Erma

"You're making progress?"

"How could I not make progress?"

"Erma

"Erma

Marco stared with disapproval. The storefront was no more than fifteen feet across. Three tables were crammed in the window and the place appeared to be packed. "Are you sure?" Marco asked.

"Yes, it's very good. Lighter food, sandwiches and stuff. You're eating by yourself. I'm not going in."

Marco looked at him and started to protest, then he caught himself and smiled as if he gladly accepted the challenge.