V
Polenta and GoannaNovember 1989
I was still lost in thought as I entered the pub. It was full of smoke, beer fumes and the clamour of voices. It was a large rectangular space with a timber bar and brass footrail stretching the entire length of the main wall. I headed towards the end wall to the left of the entrance, where there was a door leading to a room with a billiard table. I was still upset about the skeleton story in the newspaper, but when I leaned one elbow on the bar and put my foot up on the brass rail I felt, as always, like a character in one of the cowboy films of my childhood.
Mario recognised me and came over to shake my hand. He called out in the direction of the other door at the back of the bar, which led to his house:
“Lucia, come and say hello. The gentleman from
