“The pleasure is mine,” Kappler said, shaking the hand firmly.
“Jimmy runs our little hotel,” Müller announced.
There he goes with “our” again, Kappler thought.
Maybe it is simply one of those boastful “our favorite place”–type expressions.
“When Hans here told me that you would be our guest tonight,” Palasota went on in German, looking between Müller and Kappler, “we made sure the top suite was available.”
Kappler saw that Palasota appeared very relaxed and comfortable with himself—He’s not at all intimidated by Müller—and that his intelligent eyes missed nothing.
What does he mean by making sure the suite was “available”? Kappler wondered. They threw out the guest who was using it?
“It’s quite fine,” he said.
“Good. I hope you enjoy it,” Palasota went on. “Everythi
ng is of course taken care of, but if there is anything else that I can do for you, please say.”
Kappler could not quite put his finger on it, but he thought he detected not so much a Sicilian accent as maybe an American one.
How could that be?
“That is most kind of you,” Kappler said. Then, testing, he added, “So you have spent time in our happy home of Deutschland, Signore Palasota?”
Palasota, hands on his hips, shook his head.
“Not once. Never been near it.” He glanced at Müller, then said: “I’m told constantly that it’s a lovely place.”
“That it is!” Müller put in.
“Then you’re a native Sicilian?” Kappler pursued.
Palasota nodded, bending a bit at the waist as he did so. “Born right here in Palermo,” he said.
“I see,” Kappler said. “But you must forgive me. Something does not quite fit. Perhaps it is my poor hearing—I had a long drive from Messina in a very noisy little Fiat this afternoon—but I do not detect a Sicilian accent.”
Palasota shrugged.
Kappler went on: “Again, forgive me, I mean no insult whatever—and most would indeed take this as an insult—but I think I hear what could be the accent of an American?”
Jimmy Palasota grinned broadly.
“Close. A former American.”
“Former?” Kappler repeated. “How is that?”
“I was an American citizen. I spent many years in New York City before being asked to leave. They took away my citizenship.”
“Really?” Kappler said.
He thought: Just like Hitler did to Fritz Thyssen.
“Really,” Palasota said.
“Educate me, if you would, please. What does it take for one to be ‘asked to leave’ and then have one’s citizenship revoked?”
“Well, I wasn’t asked to leave right away. I spent a few years behind bars. And after I got out, and they said I hadn’t learned my lesson, they deported me back here.”