‘What about you, signore?’ he demanded. ‘Don’t you agree that it’s a disgrace, a national disgrace?’

‘The train was delayed at Mestre,’ the stranger observed with a grave, deliberate courtesy that somehow seemed mocking. ‘That has naturally upset the schedules. There were bound to be further delays.’

‘I know the train was delayed at Mestre!’ retorted the Veronese. ‘You don’t need to remind me that the train was delayed at Mestre. And why, may I ask, was the train delayed at Mestre? Because of an unofficial stoppage by the local section of one of the railway unions. Unofficial! As if we didn’t have enough official strikes, we are also at the mercy of any local gang of workers with a grievance, who can throw the whole transport system of the nation into total chaos without, needless to say, the slightest fear of any reprisals whatsoever.’

The young Roman slapped the leg of his trousers with a rolled copy of a glossy news magazine.

‘Certainly it’s a nuisance,’ he remarked. ‘But don’t let’s exaggerate the inconvenience. Besides, there are worse things than chaos.’

‘And what might they be?’

‘Too much order.’

The Veronese made a contemptuously dismissive gesture.

‘Too much order? Don’t make me laugh! In this country too much order wouldn’t even be enough. It’s always the same. The trains are late? Build a new railway! The South is poor? Open a new factory! The young are illiterate delinquents? Hire more teachers! There are too many civil servants? Retire them earlier on big pensions! The crime rate is soaring? Pass new laws! But for the love of God don’t expect us to make the railways or the factories we have run efficiently, or make the teachers or bureaucrats do an honest day’s work, or make people respect the existing laws. Oh no! Because that would smack of dictatorship, and of tyranny, and we can’t have that.’