Trieste - Part 9
Monday, July 7, 2008 at 02:13PM"Anyong haseyo."
"I'm not Korean."
(silence)
"No, non parlo coreano io. Non lo capisco. Sono americano."
(silence)
"Siete americani?"
"Harry's half and half. English and American. Like Churchill. Although with a few Irish bastards mixed in."
"E lei?"
"American."
The old man came closer to us, looked first at me and then Melancholy, and then he tapped his fingers on Melancholy's chest. Tap, tap. It was strange, but the chill I had felt on the train when we passed Castello Miramare, returned. I didn't like this, at all.
"American?"
"Yes."
(silence)
"You gentlemen would like..."
But before he could finish, another person entered the cafe. I never learned his name, and I do not wish to sound flippant, because I had a premonition he was not to be trusted--definitely not "OK, OP" in Melancholy's book--but I've always thought of him as the Clown. So now, the Clown entered the cafe. 
And our story begins in earnest.