I sat down on a marble bench and looked down on the valley. The real-estate man was right. It was a delicate, delicious piece of scenery. The surrounding mountains were high enough to throw a constant shadow on some part of the valley except at high noon. There was no sign of life, but I was sure that the vineyards were alive with husband-men and their families. An eagle floated serenely on the upper air currents, automatically adjusting himself to their constant changing.
Stretching myself, I gave one look at my car and then walked into the house.
In the kitchen two peasants sat, an old man and an old woman. They rose as I entered.
They simply smiled and waved their hands. I repeated my question in Italian.
"We have always been here. It is our home."
His statement amused me, and I commented, "The masters come and go, but you remain?"
"Alas! yes. They come and go. Nice young men, like you, but they do not stay. They buy and look at the view, and eat with us a few days and then they are gone."
The man shrugged. "How should we know? We simply serve."
"Then prepare me my dinner. And serve it outside, under the grapevine, where I can see the view."
The woman started to obey. The man came nearer.
"Shall I carry your bags to the bedroom?"
"Yes. And I will go with you and unpack."
He took me to a room on the second floor. There was a bed there and a very old chest of drawers. The floor, everything about the room was spotlessly clean. The walls had been freshly whitewashed. Their smooth whiteness suggested wonderful possibilities for despoliation, the drawing of a picture, the writing of a poem, the careless writhing autograph that caused my relatives so much despair.
"Have all the masters slept here?" I asked carelessly.
"Was there one by the name of George Seabrook?"
"I think so. But they come and go. I am old and forget."
"And all these masters, none of them ever wrote on the walls?"
"Of a certainty. All wrote with pencil what they desired to write. Who should say they should not? For did not the villa belong to them while they were here? But always we prepared for the new master, and made the walls clean and beautiful again."
"You were always sure that there would be a new master?"
"Certainly. Someone must pay us our wages."