who has the ner’e to talk back to them,rnbut the poHce, under orders not to interferernwith the “demonstration,” do nothing.rnOnly whites are capable of “hate,” afterrnall. A patrolman tells my folks thatrnthere is widespread anger in the ranks, butrnno one knows what to do about it.rnThe house my father built back in thernmid-50’s now has bars on the windows,rnand the clerk at tlie Stop-N-Go is encasedrnin a Plexiglas cage. Warfare betweenrnblack and Mexican gangs erupted notrnlong ago on the very street where I wasrnraised; a shoot-out took place at tiie endrnof the block. My wife and I bravely—orrnfoolishly—continue our rouHne of morningrnwalks and pass within a few yards ofrnthe baseball field at my old high school.rnLater that day, the police find tlie corpsernof another apparent casualt}’ of the gangrnwar near the grandstands. It’s hard to believernthat my brothers and I, unmolested,rnonce roamed empt}’ fields and pasturesrnsurrounding our home. It wasn’t muchrnto look at, but it was a wonderland forrnboys before video games, paved streets,rnand cih’ water spoiled cvcrv-ihing.rnAcross town, George Bush, Sr., residesrnin ease and comfort behind a tall fence,rnaccompanied to his favorite barbecuernjoint by Secret Service bodyguards, perhapsrnglancing occasionally through thernbullet-proof glass of his limo. Does thernold fool realize what he and his kind haverndone to our countn,’? Dubya’s electoralrnstrateg}- seems to echo tiiat of his father.rnWhile betraying his mostly white, middle-rnclass voters who back the execution ofrnsuch beasts on ever)’ other issue he willrndefend the death penalty for now, hopingrnto retain their support until after the election.rnThe only real difference betweenrnGore and Bush appears to be that they attendedrndifferent Ivy League schools.rnFor decades, conservatives have beenrnhalflieartedly preaching about the apocalypsernthat will come if “somebody doesn’trndo something soon.” Most normal peoplernseem to agree, but why don’t they recognizernthe grinning visage of Antichristrnstaring back at them in their mirrors?rnWavne Allensworth is a native Texan.rnLetter From Caprirnby Andrei NavrozovrnWhat Epimenides SaidrnAmong the unaccountable peculiaritiesrnof this diary, and indeed of my generalrnwav of seeing things, is that one can neverrnexpect to learn something of Caprirnfrom my impressions of Capri. And yet, Irnkeep asking as tiiough to placate myself,rnwhy should it be odierwise? I am aboardrnthe Stamos with a group of friends whornhad foregathered at a beachfront yilla inrnSabaudia and then sailed the 90-footrncatamaran—built to race in the AmericasrnCup —to Ponza, Ischia, and Capri. Irndon’t know anthing about sailing apartrnfrom the Dutch naval terms that enteredrnthe Russian language at the time of Peterrnthe Great. I don’t know any more aboutrnthe Amalfi Coast than any sunburnt accountantrnwho has ever eaten the insalatarncaprese or appeased his girlfriend with arnpair of Capri pants in cerulean cottonrntvill. The sea is blue and warm, obvious-rn1′. The coast, as anyone who has seen thernBay of Naples on the wall of a pizzeriarncan recall, is rocky and picturesque. Thernmozzarella is delicious, and the girls arcrnbuxom. So, what is there to say?rnBesides, my mind is back in Venice,rnwhere I just learned that our landlady atrnthe Palazzo Moccnigo, the )’oimg contessarnwith the lawyer whose verbs are alwaysrnin a mysterious mood, does not intend tornrenew our lease when it expires in the an-rnLooking for a g o o d book?rnSupport Chronicles by purchasing books, CDs, and other itemsrnthrough the Amazon.com link and search engine on our website:rnwww.chroniclcsmagazine.orgrnChronicles will receive between 5 and 15 percent on every purchase.rntumn. I now need to find another placernto live, one that woidd be cheap enoughrnnot to alienate myself from the affectionsrnof friends yet grand enough to strike fearrnin the hearts of enemies, one that wouldrnbe beautiful enough to spin tales aboutrnyet modern enough to have central heating.rnAs there are precisely 221 buildingsrnon the Grand Canal, and fewer than halfrnare in private hands, the task of finding anrnapartment to satisfy these modest demandsrnis formidable, even from tiic pointrnof view of simple statistics. But, as so oftenrnin life and always at roulette, the problemrnis less statistical than it is dramatic.rnA neighbor at the Mocenigo was awa’rnin Apulia this summer. One day, whenrnthe tanned and rested Signor A— returnedrnto Venice to check up on thingsrnback home, he saw scaffolding on his balcony.rnThe management of tiie palazzo,rnwhom he had been petitioning for yearsrnto make some repairs to the exterior, hadrnfinally brought the masons round but apparentlyrnneglected to tell him about thernscheduled works. Concluding at oncernthat the scaffolding had not been put uprnwith the delicacy owed to the historic importancernof his ancestral home, rightrntiien and there he suffered a heart attack.rnHe is still in the hospital. But the gruesomernpunch line is that, during the previousrndecade, Signor A— had outlived,rnand buried, both of his sons, young menrnof great charm and abilih’, without anyrnappreciable harm to his famously robustrnconstitution. Losing both of one’s childrenrnin their prime, and lookingrnnonetheless tanned and rested for it, isrnquite normal in this social environment.rnLosing some plaster curlicues on thernfront of your house is a different matterrnentirely.rnI am convinced tiiat back in 1851, atrnthe world premiere of Verdi’s Rigolettornat the Fenice with Teresa Brambilla asrnGilda, Raffale Mirate as the Duke, andrnFelice Varesi as Rigoletto, the audiencernapplauded the new opera because, subconsciously,rnevery Venetian interpretedrnthe court jester’s madly possessive love forrnhis daughter as an allegory of his own privaternfeelings about his corporeal hereditament,rnmeaning his house and all itsrnmovable heirlooms. “La donna e… mobilel”rnthey probably tiiought; tiiafs right,rnat last somebody’s said it, a woman is justrnlike that fine pair of ormolu commodes Irnstand to inherit from my aunt. “Questa ornquella?” sang the dissolute Duke, choosingrnthe object of his seductive attentions,rnbut the audience probably saw an un-rn38/CHRONICLESrnrnrn