Alberto Moravia - Two Friends

Sergio felt ridiculous. The revolver, symbol of his conventional, vulgar jealousy, weighed heavily in his pocket. He sat down. “Wasn’t she here?”

“She came in for a moment, but then she ran off.”

Maurizio paused before going on: “I could hardly believe it but she did what you promised … She came in here to offer herself to me … just as we had agreed.”

“She offered herself to you?”

“Yes,” Maurizio answered, with a kind of cruelty, “she sat right here on the bed, embraced me, and offered me her lips … just like that.”

Sergio bit his lip: “What did you do?”

Maurizio laughed. “I’ll tell you … I hadn’t expected her to come so soon, or perhaps I just wasn’t ready … but I turned her away.”

“You turned her away?”

“Yes, I felt that my freedom was worth more than her love or her person … Faced with the choice of possessing her and becoming a Communist, on the one hand, or not joining the Party and giving her up,

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I chose the latter.”

Sergio observed him in silence. He felt like a man who has long desired an object and decides to buy it at any price, but then overhears another customer who declares it to be of no value; suddenly Lalla, who a moment earlier had seemed irreplaceable, lost all her value and uniqueness. He felt his image of Lalla deflating, losing weight, becoming hollow and deconsecrated; she became a valueless object, like before. As the scale tipped away from his love for Lalla, it tipped more and more toward his political beliefs and Maurizio’s conversion. Lalla had been turned away, and Maurizio would not join the Party; Sergio would once again feel inferior to his friend. This thought loomed over him. He remembered the feeling of insecurity and impotence that had taken hold during his first conversations with Maurizio, and his desperate will to overcome his friend’s arguments. He saw everything clearly now: on the one hand, there was Lalla, a woman like any other who had been willing to give her body to the dancer at Moroni’s party, who was insufferably sentimental, and whose beauty meant nothing, like everything that is not the product of reason; on the other hand, everything he had fought and struggled for. Suddenly he said, in a trembling voice: “But you said you loved her.”

Maurizio said calmly: “I did love her … or rather I desired her intensely … I still do.”

“So why did you turn her away?”

“No reason.”

“No reason is not an answer.”

“Well, it seemed to me that you were getting the better deal.”

“Why?” Sergio asked, sincerely intrigued.

Maurizio spoke calmly and slowly: “I’ll explain it to

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you … I desire Lalla … but if you look closely, what is Lalla? A woman like so many others … I have a strong desire to make love to her … but this love is not so different from what I could experience, for example, in a brothel … I would make love to her on this bed, and then she would get up, return to you, and I would be left with the memory of an embrace which was no different from any other. We’re no longer children … only children believe that women are irreplaceable … But the truth is that women are all interchangeable.” He laughed, adding: “I remember something that happened long ago … I went to a brothel … I was eighteen … My cheeks were burning, with a mixture of shame and desire, and I was as nervous as if it had been a romantic assignation. It was the first time I had been to such a place, and I felt intimidated … Perhaps because of this, I turned away one woman after another; none of them lived up to my expectations … Finally, the madame came over and said, almost affectionately: ‘Women are all the same, one is just as good as the next … Take it from me, my boy, they’re all the same.’ I remember she said this with deep conviction, and after that I no longer had the courage to refuse and took the next one who came along … I can’t remember whether or not I was satisfied with my choice.”

“What are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that you are like the Devil in an old fairy tale: you want to buy my soul with Lalla, who is beautiful, yes, but hardly unique … But my soul is truly unique, if perhaps not beautiful, and once I’ve sold it … that’s it … I don’t have another. The truth is, everything happened too quickly, but no matter, it just reinforces my conviction that Lalla holds little value compared to what you want in exchange … I refuse your offer.”

“You refuse …,” Sergio mumbled.

“Yes.”

Sergio felt that he was going mad. “Don’t you realize

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that you desire Lalla intensely? I warn you, you may regret your actions.”

“Why should I?”

“Because …” Sergio suddenly felt perfectly lucid and eloquent, despite his agitation. “I’ll explain that in a moment … You said that you were willing to join the Party, isn’t that so?”

“Yes.”

“And this hasn’t changed?”

“No,” Maurizio said after a moment.

“Well,” Sergio said, triumphantly, “I offered you the chance to join while gaining something for yourself, in other words Lalla … That way, you would become a respectable man, and to top that off, you would have the pleasure of possessing Lalla … But if you don’t accept, your desire to become a Communist goes unfulfilled, your disgust in your current lifestyle continues, and on top of everything else, you will have to live with the regret of letting Lalla slip through your fingers. Are you sure you’re making the right choice?”

Sergio felt strong and lucid; he was convinced that he had Maurizio in a bind. He thought he saw a hint of worry in Maurizio’s eyes. His friend was silent for a moment, then asked: “What do you mean? I can change my mind?”

“Whenever you like.”

“If I were to ask you to call Lalla back to my room, you would do it?”

“Yes,” Sergio answered, feeling almost drunk.

Maurizio seemed to debate something in his mind. “All right,” he said in a low, hoarse voice, “call her.”

Sergio did not hesitate. As if transported by a magical breeze, he floated out of Maurizio’s room and into Lalla’s. Maurizio’s analogy, equating Sergio to a Devil who expects a soul in exchange for earthly gifts, exalted him and freed him from his last remaining scruples; it endowed him with a kind of clear-sighted, demonic lucidity. “Yes, I want his soul; it is the most important thing in the world to me … What do I care about Lalla?” He burst into

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her room and closed the door behind him. Lalla was in bed; only her head and one arm were visible above the covers. But she was awake and she watched Sergio, her eyes open wide. “Come on,” Sergio said quickly, “go to Maurizio.”

“Why?” she asked, surprised.

“He has accepted the deal,” Sergio said, almost joyfully; “come on … he said yes.”

She did not seem to understand. “What do you mean, he said yes?”

“He will convert to Communism if you give yourself to him.”

“And what about you?”

“I want you to do it,” Sergio said. He paced around the room. Then, hurriedly: “No, don’t move … I’ll call Maurizio. I’ll have him come here, it’s better.” He had the impression that Lalla wanted to say something, but he didn’t give her the chance. He opened the connecting door and said to Maurizio, who was still sitting on the bed: “Please … come in.”

Maurizio smiled slightly as he entered the room. Lalla stared at him, then at Sergio, and remained willfully silent, as if waiting to see what would happen next. Sergio said to Maurizio: “Go ahead … I’m leaving,” pointing at Lalla, who still lay under the covers with her eyes open wide and one bare arm next to her head. Still smiling, Maurizio went to the bed and slowly caressed Lalla’s face. Lalla watched him, still saying nothing. Sergio took a step toward the door, but Maurizio raised one hand and said, in a clear voice: “Don’t go.”