Write it down. We need some others who are a little more … a little more … With Gueli coming, you understand. For example, Casimiro Luna.”

“Wait a minute,” Signora Barmis said, “if Donna Francesca Lampugnani comes, it won’t be difficult to get Betti.”

“But Betti gave The House of Dwarves a bad review. Have you seen it?” Raceni asked.

“What does that matter? It’s even better. Invite him! I’ll speak to Donna Francesca. As for Miro Luna, I hope to bring him along with me.”

“You’ll make Boggiolo happy, really happy! Now write down the Honorable Carpi, and that little cripple . . . the poet . . .”

“Zago, yes! Poor little dear! What beautiful poems he writes. I love him, don’t you know? Look at his portrait there. I made him give it to me. Doesn’t he look like Leopardi with glasses?”

“Faustino Toronti,” Raceni continued dictating. “And Jacono . . .”

“No!” shouted Dora Barmis, throwing down her pen. “You’ve invited that dreadful Neapolitan Raimondo Jacono? Then I’m not coming!”

“Calm down. I had to,” Raceni replied regretfully. “He was with Zago…. If I invited one I had to invite the other.”

“Well, then, I insist on Flavia Morlacchi,” Signora Barmis said. “There: Fla-vi-a Morlacchi. Flavia’s not her real name. Her name’s Gaetana, Gaetana.”

“That’s what Jacono says!” smiled Raceni. “After the tiff.”

“Tiff?” Signora Barmis replied. “But they beat each other with sticks, darling! They spat in each other’s faces, the watchmen came running. . . .”

Signora Barmis and Raceni reread the list, taking their time over this or that name, as if honing their list to a fine point on a grinder as they sharpened their tongues, which hardly needed it. Finally, a large fly quietly sleeping on a door woke up and zoomed in to make a third in the conversation.