“Does this ship take passengers,” Vito and I would say to each other, in emulation of Monica Vitti in Red Desert, a despairing housewife clutching her coat, looking for an escape from her neurosis. Does this ship take passengers? she asks a sailor from a docked boat. There is no vessel that can remedy what ails her, but the sailor cannot understand her question, doesn’t speak Italian, and responds in untranslated Turkish.