I sat at the table with the Italian boys, and they kept talking while three respectable plates of all kinds of pasta we could find in the menu were quickly emptied by us. I'll tell you, Europe is really a little place! Or the rich people in the world perform a very small circle, that's more accurate, maybe. They knew and could tell the roots and rots of most of the people in that dining room. And as we were in a privileged corner of the room, I could observe attentively the objetcs of our talk.

The conversation had started with they telling about themselves. From what I was able to learn amidst the swearing of the darker-haired and the moaning of the other, they were named Lovino and Feliciano, respectively older and younger, and their family belonged to Mafia.

In an attempt to fix them, his father had separated them and sent one to Austria and another to Spain in order to complete their education with two great tutors that, by the way, nowadays taught in this Institute. As it seems, it had not had great results, and the father had gave up the strategy of separating them. They pointed to me the teachers, they were in the dinning room now too, in the teachers table. Both were beautiful guys, the Austriac very stern and the Spaniard very simpatic. They didn't seem old enough to teach there, I was waiting for some mummies covered in Academic titles. But looking carefully, there were other teachers of young appearance there, like a beatiful brown-haired woman, listening enraptured the speech of the Austrian teacher. I asked the Italians who was she.

- Aaah, she, what a piece of a bad way, don't you think? - answered Lovino, resting his chin on his hand and admiring the professor. - This is Elizaveta Hedervary, she...

- She was married to Mr. Roderich - completed Feliciano. - They didn't live happily, you know, Mr. Edelstein thinks just about his art and books, and well, he's a big skinflint too. They divorced three years ago, but I think she still likes him.

- You think? - I laughed. It was evident from the brown haired woman's face.

- He - the older twin chewed, pointing at an albino particularly neat who passed in front of us dressed in a stern blue suit - would eat a truck for her. He's the teacher of Military Diplomacy, Gilbert Beilschmidt. He was a big friend of 's and also his theorical rival. says that he had his glorious times, and he's still smart, but a bit old fashioned in his theories - he turned to his brother. - Did you see that his stinking potato brother is also here? - he asked.

- Where? - exclaimed the other Italian, looking around madly. Lovino roled his eyes.

- I don't know, and I don't wanna know - he said. - I just saw his name in the students list in the internet.

- Ah - Feliciano looked disappointed, and tried to find his friend still a while, until the pasta drew his attention back.

- I don't know why do you like this guy, he's arrogant and unpleasant - turned Lovino, jealous. And then came a intense discussion in Italian, from which they emerged breathless after punching each other in the stomach under the table.

Before they started again, I asked about some students, and they entertained themselves again in the gossip. They told about the moody British student, whom everybody thought was a bit crazy or drank mushroom tea, for he had some hallucinations, the French guy whose life seemed to turn around sex and fashion, the American guy that was so, so, so purely a portrait of the American stereotype... The shy Japanese student and his strange HQs... the sleepyhead Greek student, the Turkish guy that who-knows-why was wearing a mask... Then I pointed to a big youngster with expressionless face sat alone in a table.

- Who's that? - I asked, feeling some pity for his isolation.

- Oooooh, that's Ivan Braginsky, he's Russian - whispered Feliciano. - He's veeeery scary.

- Why? - I turned. He seemed nice for me. Maybe because I always simpathized with Russian people. - Did he kill someone or what? - I ironized.

- Nobody knows - Lovino said, misteriously. - But dad always told us not to tease Russian mafia.

- He is from mafia? - I repeated, astounded. They didn't reply. I don't know if I spoke too loud, but just in that moment the Russian guy looked right on our direction. The Italians dived quickly under the table, as my look crossed with Braginsky's. Was it the distance or he really had purple eyes? He looked away again, uninterested. Feliciano and Lovino came back to their seats.

- And his sister is even creepier, vee~ - said Feliciano. - That's a real pity, 'cause she's so cute - he sighed.

- I wonder why she's not with him - Lovino said. - She never leaves him alone. Seriouly, I even pity the guy.

- Wait, wait, wait - I stop them to talk about a thing that has been bothering for a long time. - Isn't this institute supposed to receive just one student from every country? How come there is so many siblings here?

They exchange a look.

- Well, there's always a way - said Lovino, shrugging.

- Mr. Ivan's sisters are registered not in Russia, but in Ukraine and Belarus - explained Feliciano. - Mr. Alfred and Mr. Mathew have just the same mother, but different parents.

- As for us, our dad told the headmaster: you cannot separate my kiddos! They were born together! Can a knife separate the two halves of a ball and it still work for a game? Can a bullet separate the two halves of your brain and you remain alive? What if we try it?

- And then we're in - said Feliciano, with a meek smile. - Hey, miss, can we have more wine? - he added cheerfully for a sort of waitress that passed by, while the pasta on my plate felt not that tasteful to me anymore.