Shane Malone - Eureka Street

de Paul Society.' I explained that phenomenon.
'So, good works' she said.
'Yes, essentially.'
'Do they believe'
I sensed their doubts. 'Well, yes. The works are a manifestation of it. As it should be.' I knew I
was getting defensive, or perhaps argumentative. 'It's what Christ says the crunch will be. Feeding
the sick, clothing the naked etc.'
The Americans were not to be deflected. 'But do Australians believe in their hearts in the Lord
Jesus '
'I really don't know.'
The husband spoke.' "A man is ju tified by faith. " Romans 3, 28.'
Ah, I thought, I see. 'I'm blowed if I know whether other people really have faith,' I said. 'It's
hard enough knowing about myself.'
'I believe in my heart,' the woman said. Her leg moved in a constant nervous kick. 'So I know
I am saved.' She was not smug.
'You can't know,' I said. 'That's presumption. As much a sin as despair. You know what Saint
Augustine says,' I added, quoting Samuel Beckett, 'Do not depair; one of the thieves was saved. Do
not presume; one of the thieves was damned.'
'Because he was cho en for damnation,' shot in the man, rolling out an extended index finger.
'What do you mean' I said. 'No one is chosen for damnation. God wills the salvation of every
person he creates. Or at least wishes it.'
'Ah no,' said the man, and he edged his chair closer. 'Judas. "None of them has been lost but
the son of perdition." John 17,12.'
'Is this the God who so loved the world that he gave his only-begotten son'
'Predestination is a very hard one,' admitted the engineer with a reluctant shake of his head.
'But the words are there.'
'Yes, but how are they to be interpreted'
'That's the trouble. Once you interpret one problem away, where's it all end'
For two hours we refought the Reformation. The bar closed on us. The woman extended her
hand, 'So good to meet you.' 'Yes, ' I said, vigorously. What do you make of all this I
wondered, waving again at Florence.
0
MY LAST NIGHT 1 THE C ITY, when I went out to dinner, I was put at a table with an Italian man
in his twenties and two Frenchwomen, companions, in their late forties. He spoke fair French, they
spoke only French. I lurched unsystematically between French and Italian. He was a regular in the
restaurant, and was detached. The women were civil servants from Paris, short-cropped and polite
in their friendliness. The woman beside me asked permission to light her cigarette, and then turned
to me and asked, 'Quels sont vas sentiments de Florence1'
I told her I thought it was merviglioso. I told her how I had seen Fra Angelico on my first day.
But after him, I added, a lot was troppo. I felt, aussi, triste, tres triste.'
The Frenchwoman raised her eyebrows.
So much was wine. Everywhere was wine. I asked did they know the Irish poet Yeats. No they
didn't. I said he'd restored a tower, a Norman tower, for his wife, but the lines he wrote to be
inscribed on it ended-and I did a rushed recitation:
And may these characters remain
When all is ruin once again.
I gave a translation.
Et restent ces paroles
Quand tout est ruine encore une fois .
I didn't have the French optative up my sleeve, so Yeats's wish got turned into a statement of
fact. The Frenchwomen nodded slowly, politely. The Italian restorer stared impassively into the
middle distance, then nodded for his bill.
•
Gerard Windsor visited Italy in February this year. Encounters with religious Italy: Lombriasco
will appear in the May issue of Eurel