“Pardonmesirandmaam, can you tell me if that there building is a church?” he asked, pointing to the floodlit Basilica behind us.
“Yes, it is,” we replied in unison.
“Saint Mark’s Basilica,” added Alison.
“Me and the family are staying just round the corner,” explained Elvis, “and I have to make sure the family goes to Mass tomorrow morning. So do you know if this Basilica does Mass… Catholic Mass?”
Alison looked to me for an answer; brought up Catholic, supposedly I knew about that sort of thing.
“Yes, it does,” I said. I remembered reading a notice outside the Basilica about the Mass services. “But you’ll have to get there early. People will be queuing up from first thing.”
“That’s no problem, sir,” smiled Elvis. “Thankyouverymuch. Thankyouverymuch.”
“Where are you from?” Alison asked as he turned to go.
“Memphis, Tennessee, ma’am.”
Spooky.
“We’re from Scotland.”
“Scaatland. Yeah, I was there once a long time ago. But it was only a stopover at some airport.”
Even spookier.