Fifteen minutes ago Nino, my landlord, and Giovanna, his 10-year-old daughter, arrived at my door with a globe-like glass bowl containing one small goldfish. I have agreed to take care of it while they are on a holiday in Germany. They will return Saturday. Meanwhile, I must feed this fish—whose name I failed to get—every two days.
I don’t mind doing this because since my cat Pushi died last year, I have had no company in this villa. But then on the other hand I feel mild anxiety. This is a huge and serious responsibility. What will I do if this poor creature suddenly gets sick and dies? What will I tell little Giovanna?