A CHANGE OF RESIDENCE
This time I was sure I should never find him. I went three whole
days without seeing him. Every evening I shook my clothes, uselessly
repeating my search. I would have given ten years of my life, and paid
a large sum of money, to have found him. I blamed myself for not having
looked thoroughly; perhaps I had left him on the ground among the
coarse Chinese mats of the house in which I had passed the night.
On the third evening, having a little spare time, I started to develop
some instantaneous photographs that I had taken during the journey.
To my immense surprise Fiam appeared in every picture, or rather his
shadow, thrown across each landscape. It was evident that Fiam was shut
up inside of the camera. I opened it and called inside: “Fiam!” holding
it near my ear.
“For pity’s sake help me!” It was his little voice beseeching. “Take
me out of this!” He was so desperate that he had forgotten his usual
correction of “Miferino.”
“Come out yourself.”
“I can’t. They are holding me by the leg.”
“Who are?”
“I don’t know who; please help me.”
I looked and saw my friend held by one foot caught in the spring of the
box. It was not easy to get him out. His foot was broken, and when I
put him on the table he limped.
“What were you doing in there?”
“That awful place,” he whined.
“But how did you get in there?”
“You left the door open and I wanted to see what it was like. I went
in.... What a horrible place! Pitch dark, and every now and then a
deafening noise and blinding flash, then grinding wheels. I had to
look out or I should have been completely crushed. There wasn’t a safe
corner. At last my foot was caught.”
“Now,” I said seriously, “you can’t live any longer in your little
house. It is for your good. You may live inside of this.” I showed
him my silver cigarette case. “You will be comfortable and live like a
lord. You see the inside is all decorated.”
When he saw the decoration he was resigned, and wanted to see how he
felt in his new home which he called the imperial tomb.
To make up for depriving him of his liberty at night, I found him a
good place to spend his days when he was near me. I put him in the
ribbon of my hat; only his little black head stuck outside. He saw
everything at enormous distances, and always told me what he had
discovered as if he were watching from the bridge of a ship.
“There is a city,” he called one day.
“How far off?”
“Twenty miles.”
“Is it large?”
“Yes, and full of soldiers.”
Then I knew we had reached the army, and were getting into the region
of the fighting.
Fiam had a passion for the top of my hat, which he called the cupola.
When I was alone, traveling on foot through the country, observing the
position of the armies from a distance, he asked me to let him walk on
the brim, which he called the balcony, and then he went around, keeping
near the crown so as not to fall off.
[Illustration: Fiam Overlooks the Battle]