Mortadello

80 MORTADELLO The devil’s die to cast—and mine the game to-day. Here he comes ! I should like to hide behind the door, Leap out on him and strike, one flounder to the floor, Bury my teeth in that bull-neck, and snap the spine, As a dog kills a rat. Now, manners, mouth o’ mine ! The door opens and MORTADELLO enters as MONICA regains her composure. But throughout the scene she throws off her reserved and modest manner, and behaves as a shame- less and alluring wanton. MORTADELLO. And so we meet at last ! MONICA. The hour I waited for ! MORTADELLO. Its omen overcast with crimson clouds of war ! MONICA. Ah ! that’s for Venice folk, good sentimental fools ! We know that life’s a joke. MORTADELLO. You play with plaguy tools ! I know you, who you are—wanton and murderess. MONICA. Oh, if you knew how far the truth was from your guess ! MORTADELLO. Assassin, hypocrite—your sham stigmata bleed ! MONICA. O man of little wit, O bat of little breed ! They are the very scars—it was mine own surprise. There’s more beneath the stars than meets a critic’s eyes. MORTADELLO. I know you, false and vile. MONICA. The holy wounds are there. Think you no God can smile upon a sinner’s prayer ? MORTADELLO. If they be true, indeed, our holy faith is naught. MONICA. Is that so strange a screed ?