Alberto Moravia - Two Friends

“Exactly,” Sergio said, somewhat taken aback by his friend’s calm. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“But then,” Maurizio interjected, fiddling with his glass, “I said that it wasn’t true … I know everything about Communism that a person like myself can know … Didn’t I say that?”

“Yes, it’s true.”

There was a pause. Sergio’s cheeks were still burning. He attributed this to the whiskey. Even his sight seemed to be obscured by the tension he felt. He couldn’t see Lalla, and could only barely make out Maurizio’s face. Sighing, he continued: “Yes, that’s where we were when you suddenly stood up and walked off. Actually, I must admit that it crossed my mind that you left because you had no more arguments with which to defend yourself and wanted to escape our discussion. But then I changed my mind when you called the next morning.”

Maurizio said nothing. Lalla was sitting very close to Maurizio, smoking, looking at each of them in turn. She had unbuttoned her coat. She got up abruptly. “I hope you don’t mind if I take this off. It’s very hot in here.” And without waiting for a response, she removed her coat. Maurizio poured more whiskey into her glass. He returned to his seat and once again faced Sergio, who took a puff of his cigarette and said: “In other words, looking at the issue from the negative side, you yourself have said that you are dangling

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from the branch of the bourgeoisie like an overripe fruit, about to drop … Nothing keeps you there, not even money …”

“Least of all, money,” Maurizio said, completely calm.

Lalla interrupted: “Wait a minute … Are you saying you would be willing to give up this house, your butler, your old habits, and go to work?”

“I already work,” Maurizio said, without looking at her, “in agriculture.”

“You mean, you manage your properties.”

“Actually, I’m a land surveyor and assessor …,” he said, calmly. “But of course I also manage my properties, which are quite vast.”

Sergio felt impatient. He waited for this parenthesis to close before continuing. “As we were saying, from the negative point of view, you are ripe, about to drop from the branch … so let’s move on to the positive side of the question: you claim to understand our ideas, our aspirations, our doctrine, and all the rest.”

“More or less, yes.” There was a moment of silence. “Well enough, anyway,” he added in an ambiguous tone. “You don’t need to repeat them … it would be pointless.”

Sergio had not expected this last comment. He had prepared a series of arguments, based on his readings and on the enthusiasm he felt for the cause. With this comment, Maurizio rendered all of this irrelevant. “Are you so sure?” he asked, somewhat vexed. “Many people think they understand Marx, without ever having read his writings.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve read Marx.”

“And you can’t stop there … You have to read Lenin, and Stalin …”

“I’ve done that as well.” Maurizio paused to reflect for a moment, and then went on: “You see, I’m very conscientious, even pedantic … When I have doubts about something, I leave no stone unturned, I try to find out as much as I can … I read and study. As soon as I saw that I did not approve of the bourgeois way of life, I turned to your beliefs, of course … But I wasn’t satisfied with the marches, the militant songs, and the red flags. I began to read and study. I’ve done little else the last five years.”

“Five years?”

“That’s right … I also read about Russia and the

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Soviet state, in English and in French.”

“You also speak English?”

“I learned when I was a prisoner of war.”

“So you’re sure I can’t tell you anything you don’t know?”

“Forgive me for saying it, but I don’t think so.” He took the whiskey bottle and, after asking “Would you like another drop?” poured more into their glasses without waiting for a response. Sergio noticed that it was the fifth time Maurizio had filled their glasses, while his own remained untouched. He leaned forward. “Well, then … I have to ask: What effect have your readings had? Did they convince you that we are on the right path?”

Maurizio paused to reflect. “They convinced me that Communism is a serious matter and that unless something dramatic happens, the world will most likely become Communist.”

“You think so.”

“Yes, I do,” Maurizio said, calmly.

Sergio felt a question on the tip of his tongue, but he resisted asking it, saying instead, “On paper, after reading about our doctrine, you have no arguments against Communism.”

“None.”

“You think the Communists have it right.”

“Yes, of course … certainly they do.”

The moment had come for the crucial question: “So, since you are practically a Communist already, why don’t you join the Party?”

Lalla began to laugh out loud, which irritated Sergio intensely. He turned to her angrily and snarled, “What is there to laugh about?”

“Nothing, it’s just that I’ve been expecting this question, and you finally got around to asking it.”

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“You’re right, there’s nothing to laugh about,” Maurizio said, and then paused for a moment. “I’m not going to join the Party … that’s all there is to it.”

“But why?”

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“For no reason. I’m just not going to do it.”

“But that’s not a reasonable answer.”

“I know.”

There was a long silence. Sergio realized that he was almost drunk, but he didn’t mind. He felt a powerful affection toward Maurizio and would have liked to embrace him. Finally, he said, warmly, “I’m still waiting for your answer …”

“I’ve already given it to you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Maurizio laughed, showing his white teeth. “Listen,” he said, “try to follow my logic … There are rational arguments that can be countered with other, equally rational arguments … right? If one does not have a rational argument, it means that one is in the wrong. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course.”

“But then there are irrational arguments … Do you agree that such a thing exists?”

“Of course.”

“Well then … rationally, I have no response to your arguments. You’re right, I agree, I should be a Communist. But irrationally … I have many objections. You yourself admit that such irrational objections exist. Well, for irrational reasons, I cannot become a Communist.”

“Fear is one example,” Sergio said, with some bitterness.

Maurizio waved away Sergio’s words. “No, I don’t mean contemptible reasons like fear, money, or self-interest … don’t worry.”

“So what is it then?”

“I already said it … no reason … What does it matter?”

“It does matter, it matters a lot … I may be able to respond, explain, argue …”

“But you would respond with rational arguments, and reason has no power to refute its opposite … You would need to find an irrational argument that is more powerful than my own.”

“Perhaps I can.”

Maurizio reflected for a moment. “If you did, you

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wouldn’t be a Communist.”

“Why?”

“Because Communists argue with reason and not with irrational arguments … It is the Fascists who use irrational arguments.”

“By now, Communism has incorporated even the irrational arguments of Fascism.”

“But I don’t believe in Fascism anymore.”

Sergio realized that there was nothing he could do, at least for now. He suddenly became aware of how tired and drunk he felt. His head was spinning, his throat was dry, and he had no arguments left. Or rather, the process of converting his feelings into rational arguments was no longer possible because his thoughts had been frozen by the alcohol and his exhaustion. Still, he felt he had not done quite enough to try to convince Maurizio. He said, in an exasperated voice, “What you say sounds clever, but I’m telling you, if you, who claim to be a Communist in every way except for a few irrational objections, keep living like this, going against your true nature, stifling what is best in you, you will end up in a bad way … That’s what I think …”