Alberto Moravia - Two Friends

Maurizio smiled. “But if I were to become a Communist, I wouldn’t be following my true nature but rather denying it … The irrational part of me is who I really am.”

“Those are just words.”

What exasperated Sergio more than anything was Lalla’s silence. He imagined her to be full of skepticism and irony. He turned to her. “Why are you so quiet? Say something, speak.”

She laughed. “I’m not saying anything because I’m drunk … Maurizio has made me drunk.”

“And besides,” said Sergio, picking up where he had left off, “there aren’t as many irrational arguments as you claim … The only irrational obstacle that counts is a lack of courage … You’re afraid to take the leap … that’s all.”

“ Hic Rhodus, hic salta … What you say is nothing new … it’s the Rubicon all over again …,” Maurizio said, quietly.

“That’s right, it’s just like the Rubicon,” Sergio said,

79

becoming impassioned. “People like you don’t have the courage to cross.”

“People like me?”

“Bourgeois types like you, who are convinced of the decadence and corruption of the bourgeoisie … A working man would leap over the abyss, but not you.”

“For the working man there is no abyss … that’s why he jumps.”

“So you admit,” Sergio exclaimed, in a loud voice, “that what holds you back is your social class, your butler in his striped jacket, your silver trays, your whiskey bottles.”

Maurizio did not respond directly to this attack. He seemed to reflect for a moment, and then smiled. “If you look carefully, it turns out that Communism does not seek to persuade through rational arguments, though it makes much of rationality and pretends to base itself solely upon it … The Party apparatus is rational, but its means of persuasion is absolutely irrational … Even the worker cannot be seduced through reason, though you insist that it is so. The truth is that it takes something other than reason.”

“And what is that?”

“I don’t know … hope for a better world … the hatred of injustice … the will to struggle, and to vanquish …”

“And?”

“The same is true of people like me,” Maurizio laughed; “even a debased bourgeois like me needs an irrational argument to be won over.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that man is not a rational animal … or rather that man is rational only when he speaks, not when he acts … In order to make him act, one must call on something beyond reason …”

“Such as?”

“Well, it’s different for each person, for each group … I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to complete your task … you know better than I.”

“What task?”

“Do you deny,” Maurizio said, in a calm voice, “that you came here specifically to win me over?”

“I don’t deny it, no.”

80

“Well then that is your task.”

There was a long silence. Maurizio played with his glass, peering up at Sergio with his dark, perfectly limpid, calm eyes. Lalla’s laughter broke the silence:

“Sergio, you’ve been defeated … time to throw in the towel.”

“Perhaps I’ve been defeated, at least superficially,” Sergio said, bitterly, “but he is the true loser … He admits that he is in conflict with his nature.”

“Yes, but still, you’ve been defeated …,” she said, laughing drunkenly, “at least today. Your plans for today have been foiled.”

Lalla laughed again, and Sergio looked at her, as if for the first time. It was as if a fog had suddenly lifted. She was sitting very close to Maurizio with her powerful legs crossed, her chest protruding beneath her dress. There was no more than a palm’s width between her and Maurizio on the couch. Sergio could clearly see that their hands were touching, or rather that Maurizio was holding her hand. It all happened in a moment; then, like a fog that is momentarily lifted by the wind but returns once again, he could no longer see anything at all, and even doubted what he had seen before. For the first time, he thought: “What if all these discussions about Communism are simply a pretense? What if Maurizio is simply trying to seduce Lalla?” He noted that he was not jealous, perhaps because of his affection for Maurizio or perhaps because the alcohol made it seem quite natural for the two of them to be holding hands on the couch. As if guessing at his thoughts, Maurizio asked: “Why do you care if I convert to Communism? Why does it matter to you?”

“Because I like you.”

“Thank you …” Maurizio looked down.

“Yes,” Lalla exclaimed drunkenly, “Maurizio is very nice.” She pressed herself against him, squeezing his arm.

Somewhat dazed, Sergio went on: “I feel a real friendship toward you … and I’m convinced that it would not take much to make a good comrade out of you … That’s why it upsets me that you don’t want to join.”

There was a pause. “Well,” Maurizio said in his

81

calm voice, “I’ll join … that is, if you can find an argument that will convince me.”

“But arguments are connected to reason, and you just said that you can’t be won over by reason.”

“I said argument, but I meant ‘the thing.’ ”

“What do you mean, ‘the thing’?”

“The ‘thing’ that will convince me to join.”

“And what is that?”

“It’s up to you to discover it … You’re the one who wants to convert me.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Maurizio hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Yes.”

“So,” Sergio said, as if to summarize their conversation, “there is something that would convince you to become a Communist.”

“Yes.”

“And this thing,” Sergio hesitated, “belongs to me … It is at my disposal …”

“I think so.”

“Is this thing a means to an end?”

“Yes, or at least it could be.”

“Is it legitimate?”

“For a Communist, all means are legitimate, are they not?”

Sergio considered this statement for a moment and then said: “Yes, as long as they are truly justified.”

“But doesn’t Communism justify anything and everything?”

“This is not a joke,” Sergio said, suddenly becoming angry. “Communism aims to change the face of humanity … And to improve the lives of millions of people who are suffering and cannot express themselves … It aims to aid in the progress of humanity, to bring happiness … It’s not a joke.”

“I’m not laughing,” Maurizio interjected. “Don’t you think that such goals justify any means?”

“Of course.”

“What I can’t understand is what difference my joining the Party would make.”

“Every person counts,” Sergio exclaimed. “We want the best people, those who have something to offer,

82

to join our side, one by one … And then the other side will be extinguished, it will perish … You yourself are not important …”

“Well, thank you.”

“No, listen … you’re not important, but still, you’re something … Our victory will come in small increments … One more … People like you will help us reach our goal … Until people like you decide to join us, we cannot be victorious … Our strength does not lie in force or violence, but in persuasion and numbers … When everyone of value is on our side, the battle will be won.”

The image of Maurizio holding Lalla’s hand returned to him. Suddenly it all became clear. “I know the argument that will convince you to join our cause.”

Maurizio looked at him with a slightly surprised air. “What do you mean?”

Sergio felt drunk, and was afraid that he would reveal what he had seen: “You want to know too much … I’ll only say that I know.”