Alberto Moravia - Two Friends

Sergio felt his heart skip and stopped in his tracks, his hand still on the doorknob: “Why?”

“I want to say something,” Maurizio said. “Sit there.” He pointed to a chair near the headboard.

Sergio sat down. His heart was beating furiously, and his face was burning. “You fell for it,” Maurizio said, slowly.

“What do you mean?”

“You fell for it,” Maurizio repeated, sitting at the foot of the bed, his legs elegantly crossed: “I’ve been

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waiting for this moment for over a month … You fell for it and there’s no going back.”

“But what do you mean?” Sergio asked once again, in an agitated voice.

Calmly, Maurizio explained: “I’m not in love with Lalla, nor have I ever been. Even though I find her very beautiful and very desirable, I have never desired her and don’t desire her now … but I wanted to prove something to you. In other words, I too wanted your soul … and I knew it would be mine if I convinced you to do certain things … You wanted me to become a Communist, and I wanted to show you what Communism can lead to. And one more thing … I have no intention or desire to become a Communist … I never have … Not only do I have no desire to do so, but I have always hated Communism … In other words, I am and have always been an anti-Communist. And that is why I became involved in this whole ruse.”

“What does that mean?” Sergio asked, aghast.

“It means that while you did your best to convince me to sell my soul for an hour of lovemaking with your woman, I was trying to manipulate you into selling yours … by doing something which, when you look back, will make you deeply ashamed … In simple terms: I wanted to see whether, in the name of Communism, you would sell the woman who loves you and whom you love. And I succeeded. Judge for yourself which one of us has lost his soul to the other.”

“So none of it was true. You weren’t tempted by Communism … You didn’t love Lalla …”

“All lies.”

“Why did you give her the money?”

“In order to trick you … A man who accepts money from his wife’s lover is lost … And that money was not easy for me to obtain … I’m not as rich as you think … I had to sell some of my mother’s jewels.”

“You wanted so desperately to prove me wrong?”

“At least as desperately as you wanted me to sell my soul,” Maurizio said, coldly.

“But what have you gained?”

“Just as I said … I have proved that you Communists

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are not as clever as you think … You are willing to give away what is real for an illusion … and you are capable of dishonorable behavior … In other words: I am now in possession of your soul … It’s almost as if I had it here in my pocket … and you will never have my soul.”

“So you were always my enemy?” Sergio asked in a breathless voice.

“On an ideological level, yes … Of course you are an intelligent, pleasant person … but this is quite a debacle for you, isn’t it?”

“A debacle?”

“Well, you’ve done the following,” Maurizio said, counting on his fingers; “you’ve accepted money from me for the woman you love, you attempted to sell her to me, and, when I rejected her, you desperately tried to make me reconsider … all of this in order to secure a political conversion that will never take place.”

“Perhaps,” Sergio said, exasperated, “but you’ll be the loser in the end … You’ll go on living without a positive purpose.”

“To the contrary,” Maurizio said. “The positive purpose of my life is the opposite of the base actions I

have pushed you to commit: a respect for humanity and a rejection of the idea that a person can be used as a means to an end, even a noble one; respect for oneself; and the freedom to choose, a freedom that all men and women possess … a freedom which, in Lalla’s case, you did not respect.”

They heard a scream. Lalla was now sitting upright on the bed, half naked, tired, upset: “Finally, one of you has said something that is true … Neither of you has shown any respect for my right to choose … You have done so in the name of Communism, and you in the name of anti-Communism … You’ve both treated me like an object … but I’ve had enough.”

They stared at her in bewildered silence. She pulled up the strap of her dress and continued, now in a low voice, rendered hoarse by the power of her emotions: “I want to reclaim my freedom … I’ve come to a decision … The two of you should go back to Rome today … I will stay here with Moroni.”

“With Moroni?” Sergio asked, sarcastically.

“Yes, Moroni,” she said, suddenly angry. “At least I

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know that if I decide to marry him, as he wishes it, he will love me … without getting mixed up in debates about Communism and anti-Communism … He’ll hold me in his arms, love me, say sweet things to me, take me, make love to me, make babies with me, and make me feel like I am living with a man made of flesh and blood and not with a marionette like the two of you. You may not realize it, but you’re just like two marionettes.”

“And what about Moroni?”

“Moroni is different … Even if the Communists take over and he loses everything, he will be a man;

the two of you are just puppets without a drop of blood in your veins. Your heads are full of words … You’re just the same, the two of you … Even if things change, for me nothing would change.”

Sergio stood up. He realized he had offended her and was suddenly terrified of losing her. “Lalla, please forgive me,” he began, “I’m so sorry … from now on I’ll love you and think of nothing else … Of course you’re hurt … I promise I will never do it again … We’ll live together and I’ll love you forever.”

“It’s too late,” she said bitterly. “Why don’t you just go to bed with the Communist Party … and he can go to bed with his political party … I, on the other hand, will go to bed with a real man … Giacomo … Giacomo …,” she called out, in a loud voice. The door opened and Moroni entered, as if on cue. Lalla called out to him: “Giacomo, come here,” and he went to her, standing next to the bed. “From this moment, he is my fidanzato ,” she said. “Take a good look, and then please do me a favor and get out.”

Maurizio stood up. “Let’s go, Sergio. It’s best,” he said, with an almost satisfied air. But Sergio insisted, “But, Lalla …”

“You don’t believe me,” she yelled, with a kind of fury, “but I will make love to him right here in front of you, and you can’t do anything about it … Come here, Giacomo, make love to me,” she said, making space for him on the bed, and then bending over to unbutton his trousers. Moroni looked embarrassed. Then she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him, still saying, “Come here, make love to me.”

Now feeling less awkward, Moroni began to caress Lalla, with a strange smile on his lips. Sergio could see it was all over for him. He took a step toward

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the door as Lalla repeated, “Make love to me, make love to me.” She was naked to the waist, with Moroni next to her, already half undressed. Sergio and Maurizio left the room; Maurizio walked ahead, with a haste that seemed almost triumphant, merciless. They went downstairs, still pursued by Lalla’s voice crying out “Make love to me, make love to me,” and finally they stepped outside. Her voice still rang in their ears as they stood in the courtyard. The car was there. Maurizio got in. “It’s really better if we leave,” he said. In shock, Sergio tried to say something but did not have the strength to oppose him. He climbed into the car, and they left.

[VII]