Alberto Moravia - Two Friends

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his bed, as usual, with a cigarette in one hand and a book in the other. One of his sisters ducked into his doorway and gave him the news, dramatically. Sergio paused and collected his thoughts for a moment before getting up to join the crowds that, he was sure, were forming in the streets of the city. Then he changed his mind and gave up on the idea of going out. The next day, even after hearing about the celebrations, he felt no regrets for not taking part.

And then, suddenly, in the days that followed the fall of Fascism, he was finally presented with an opportunity to act, as if by miracle. This was the opportunity he had sought for so long, in vain. One day as he was crossing the sun-baked street, fiddling with a packet of cigarettes in his pocket, he heard someone calling him from across the road. He hesitated and then looked up, quickly recognizing the person calling out to him: it was Maurizio, this time on foot, no longer in an officer’s uniform but rather in a civilian shirt and crumpled trousers. Sergio noticed that his friend was waving enthusiastically. With some hesitation, he crossed the street.

Maurizio said quickly: “I’m not an officer anymore … I threw my uniform into the weeds … What are you up to? You must be happy!”

“Why should I be happy?”

“You wanted the regime to fall, and now you have what you wanted!”

“Yes,” Sergio said, distractedly, “now I have what I wanted.”

Maurizio did not seem to be listening. Cheerfully, he said, “I’m getting out of here. This won’t last. The Fascists will be back and who knows what will happen. It’s better to get out of Rome. I’m going south … to Capri.”

“Capri?”

“Yes, Capri … After all, it’s an island … You never know … The Allies are already in Calabria … In a few days they’ll be in Naples, maybe even farther north … Do you want to come?”

“With you?”

“That’s right.”

“But I …” Sergio began, buying time to reflect on Maurizio’s proposal. “I’m totally … broke … and Capri is an expensive town.”

Maurizio laughed; he seemed overexcited and unusually affectionate. “I’ll lend you all the money you need … I’ll pay for the trip … It’ll be fun … There are lots of pretty girls there … They must be feeling uneasy because of the war … We can console them.”

This time, Sergio said, without reflecting: “I don’t think this is the time to be dreaming about pretty girls … People are dying … We’re in the middle of a revolution. Don’t you think your idea is a bit unseemly?”

His friend began to laugh: “I knew you would say that. You wouldn’t be an intellectual if you didn’t say such things. But my dear Sergio, what can we do? The things which are taking place around us are out of our control. Did they ask us if they should go to war? Are they asking us whether we want a revolution? The only thing I know is that we could die here, just like that, for no reason. You know what they say: every man for himself. Come on, let’s go to Capri.”

“No, I can’t,” Sergio answered, somewhat irresolutely.

“I knew it. Always the same. What are you doing here in Rome? Well, it doesn’t matter … I’ll call you tomorrow morning … I’m leaving in the afternoon. You have twenty-four hours to think about it … Good-bye.” Maurizio shook Sergio’s hand and walked off.

Sergio was in a state of anxiety, filled with indecision and disgust. Maurizio was right. For him, and others like him, the only option was to leave town and save his own skin. It was true that he too had no reason to stay, no cause to defend, no side to uphold. Maurizio, who, as usual, was more honest and clear than he, had come to the only logical conclusion commensurate with his circumstances, which were not really so different from Sergio’s: he had decided to leave town, hide, and wait for the storm to pass. Maurizio joyfully,

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resolutely embraced that which Sergio felt forced to accept with regret, sadness, and indecision. On the other hand, somehow he had had the courage to utter those austere words in response to Maurizio’s offer. They had slipped out of his mouth, without reflection or forethought, almost against his wishes. What did they mean? Perhaps simply that he had a conscience, vigilant though inert and inoperative, and that this conscience did not allow him to behave thoughtlessly and selfishly as Maurizio did, while failing to motivate him to do the opposite.

Finally, he reflected that he had twenty-four hours to consider Maurizio’s offer, and with this prospect in mind he was able to momentarily quiet his doubts. But he realized on some level that if at first he had refused Maurizio’s offer, it was mainly out of pique. All that separated him from his friend was an almost physiological rivalry, the desire to be different, to behave differently than he did. He felt contempt toward Maurizio, only barely mitigated by his involuntary sympathy and attraction. Maurizio was, in his mind, a typical representative of the society that had driven Italy to war, of the people who had sent the powerless into the battlefield and who, when danger approached, threw their uniforms “into the weeds,” as Maurizio had put it. Of course, Maurizio was more charming, spontaneous, and, it must be said, more disinterested than the corpulent commendatori of the Via Veneto. But it was a question of age; one day, Maurizio too would become one of those pleasure-seeking fat cats, cynical and opportunistic. Sergio did not want to follow in Maurizio’s footsteps or imitate his actions, even though in truth, he had no real reason not to.

That day, at the table, he could feel his family’s sadness, bewilderment, and worry as they gathered around a spartan meal. Their anxiety felt like a reproach as he debated the question of whether or not to leave Rome. He knew that his family would not flee. More important, it was clear that they had no desire or thought of fleeing. His father, an aging public employee who for the last forty years had worked at one of the government ministries; his two spinster sisters, who were terrified by what was happening; and his mother, who understood nothing except that she had a son in uniform in a far-off land whom she did not know when she would see again, all seemed to consider the events around them to be a horrifying calamity, however inevitable. Sergio sensed that their vulnerable, frank unhappiness showed greater courage than his doubts and indifference. He told them that he had been invited by Maurizio to go to Capri and saw, shamefaced, how quickly they embraced the idea and begged him to accept this providential offer. Sergio’s father sighed and said: “I would happily leave if I could. My place is at the ministry. But you have no reason not to … Why stay here?” His mother encouraged him anxiously: “Yes, you should go … go now … It’s a good idea. That way you can have a little holiday; you need it, you’re so pale.” His two sisters said the same thing, although their arguments were tinged with envy, however innocent. Faced with their disinterested and, in its own way, courageous affection, Sergio felt even more guilty and disgusted with himself. He said he would consider it and retreated to his room.

As he lay on his bed he tried to reflect on the situation.

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It occurred to him that, given his family’s courageous resignation, the option of accepting Maurizio’s offer was not, after all, as contemptible as he had thought. But in truth he was not afraid of staying, and did not even know why he should be. His doubts were not born of a debate between courage and fear, but rather from his eternal feeling of inertia. As usual, he did not take action, or feel the impulse to take action. Maurizio, on the other hand, had taken action by inviting him to come to Capri with him, and this invitation forced Sergio to make a decision and to act. In other words, the choice was not between courage and fear, but rather between inertia and action. If he had not crossed Maurizio’s path, it would never have occurred to him to leave Rome, just as it did not occur to his family. Because of his lack of reflection, Maurizio had been able to do something that the vastly more introspective Sergio was incapable of: he had put the options on the table, forcing him to make a decision, no matter what it was. In other words, he was shaking Sergio out of his apathy and inertia.