The Woman of Rome (Italia) Read online

  “Do you live with her?” I asked at random.

  “No,” he answered. “She’s living in —” and he mentioned a far-off provincial town, “and I’m living here — alone — I hope you’ll come to visit me.”

  I pretended I had not heard the information he had given me in a tragic and almost convulsive fashion.

  “Why? Don’t you like living with your wife?” I asked.

  “We are legally separated,” he said, grimacing. “I was only a boy when I got married. The marriage was arranged by my mother. You know how they do these things — a girl of good family, with a handsome dowry. The parents fix everything up and it’s the children who have to get married. Live with my wife? Would you live with a woman like this?” He took his wallet from his pocket, opened it, and handed me a photograph. I saw two dark, pale children, looking like twins, dressed in white. A little dark, pale woman, with close-set eyes like an owl’s and a malicious expression, stood behind them placing her hands on their shoulders. I returned it to him. He put it away in his wallet.

  “I’d like to live with you,” he sighed,

  “You don’t know me at all,” I said, disconcerted by his attitude of obsession.

  “I know you very well, though! I’ve been following you for a month. I know all about you.”

  He was seated a little way off and he addressed me respectfully, but the whole time he was speaking, the depth of his feelings almost made his eyes roll.

  “I’m engaged,” I said.

  “Gisella told me,” he said in a strangled voice. “Don’t let’s talk about your fiancé. What does he matter?” He made a brief, jerky movement of feigned indifference with his hand.

  “He matters a lot to me,” I replied.

  He looked at me. “I like you immensely.”

  “I noticed that.”

  “I like you immensely,” he repeated. “Perhaps you don’t realize how much.”

  He talked like someone out of his mind. But the fact that he sat apart from me and made no further attempt to take my hand reassured me. “There’s no harm in your liking me,” I said.

  “Do you like me?”

  “No.”

  “I’m rich,” he said, contorting his features into a grimace. “I’m rich enough to make you happy — if you come to see me, you won’t regret it.”

  “I don’t need your money,” I replied calmly, almost kindly.

  He did not seem to have heard.

  “You’re very lovely,” he said, looking at me.

  “Thanks.”

  “Your eyes are beautiful.”

  “Do you think so?”

  “Yes — so’s your mouth — I want to kiss it.”

  “Why are you saying these things to me?”

  “And I’d like to kiss your body, to … all of your body.”

  “Why are you talking to me like this?” I protested. “It isn’t right. I’m engaged and going to be married in a couple of months.”

  “Please forgive me,” he said. “But I get such pleasure out of saying these things — imagine I’m not speaking to you.”

  “Is Viterbo far now?” I asked in order to change the subject.

  “We’re nearly there. We’ll have a meal at Viterbo. Promise you’ll sit beside me at lunch.”

  I began to laugh because this obsessive intensity of his was very flattering to me. “All right,” I said.

  “Sit beside me as you are doing now,” he continued. “Just to smell your body is enough for me.”

  “But I’m not wearing any perfume.”

  “I’ll make you a present of some,” he said.

  We had reached Viterbo by now and the car slowed down as we entered the town. During the whole trip Gisella and Riccardo had not said a word. But as we began to thread our way slowly along the crowded main street, Gisella turned around.

  “How are you two getting along? Do you think I didn’t see you?” she asked.

  Astarita said nothing. “You can’t have seen anything. We were only talking,” I protested.

  “Right!” she said. I was utterly astonished by Gisella’s behavior and also rather annoyed by Astarita’s persistent silence.

  “But if I tell you —” I began.

  “Right!” she repeated. “Anyway, don’t get so excited, we won’t say anything to Gino.”

  Meanwhile we had reached the square, so we got out of the car and began to walk, in the mild and brilliant October sun, along the Corso among the crowd dressed up in their Sunday best. Astarita did not leave my side for one moment; he was still serious, indeed gloomy, carried his head stiffly above his high collar and kept one hand in his pocket, the other dangling at his side. He looked as though he were my keeper rather than my companion. Gisella, on the contrary, was laughing and joking with Riccardo and many people turned around to stare at us. We went into a café and had a vermouth standing at the bar. I suddenly noticed Astarita mumbling something threateningly and asked him what was the matter.

  “There’s an idiot over there by the door staring at you,” he said heatedly.

  I turned around and saw a slim, fair young man standing in the doorway of the café looking at me. “Why not?” I said cheerfully. “Suppose he does look at me?”

  “It wouldn’t take much to make me go over and hit him in the face.”

  “If you do, I’ll never look at you again and I won’t say a single word more to you,” I said, feeling rather annoyed. “You’ve no right to interfere — you have nothing to do with me.”

  He said nothing and went over to the cash desk to pay for the drinks. We left the café and continued our walk along the Corso. The sun, the noise, and the movement of the crowd, all those healthy, rosy faces of the country people, cheered me up. When we reached an isolated little square at the end of one of the roads crossing the Corso, I suddenly said, “There, look! — if only I had a little house like that one over there, I’d be delighted to live there.” And I pointed to a simple little two-storied house in front of a church.

  “God forbid!” said Gisella. “Fancy living in the provinces — in Viterbo, what’s more! I wouldn’t, even if I was smothered in gold.”

  “You’d soon be fed up with it, Adriana,” remarked Riccardo. “When you’re used to living in a big town, you can’t settle down in the provinces.”

  “You’re wrong,” I said. “I’d gladly live here with a man who loved me — four clean little rooms, an arbor, four windows — I wouldn’t want anything more.” I was quite sincere in what I said, because I imagined myself living in that little house in Viterbo with Gino. “What do you think?” I asked, turning to Astarita.

  “I’d live here with you,” he replied in an undertone, trying to avoid being overheard by the others.

  “The trouble with you, Adriana,” said Gisella, “is that you don’t aim high enough. Those who ask too little of life get nothing.”

  “But I don’t want anything,” I objected.

  “You want to marry Gino, though,” said Riccardo.

  “Yes, that I do want.”

  It was late by now, the Corso was emptying itself, and we entered the restaurant. The ground-floor room was packed, mostly with peasants in their Sunday best who had come to Viterbo for the market. Gisella turned up her nose, saying it stank enough to take your breath away, and asked the manager if we could go up to the second floor to eat. He said we could and led the way into a long, narrow room with only one window that gave onto the side street. He opened the shutters and closed the windows, then spread a cloth on the rustic table that filled most of the room. I remember the walls were covered with a faded wallpaper, torn in places, with a pattern of flowers and birds. Besides the table there was only a little glass-fronted sideboard full of dishes.

  Meanwhile Gisella was walking around the room examining everything, even looking through the window that gave onto the side street. At last she pushed open a door that seemed to lead into another room and after having peeped in, she turned toward the proprietor and asked him in a
tone of assumed carelessness what room it was.

  “It’s a bedroom” he said. “If any of you want to rest a bit after lunch —”

  “We’ll have a rest, won’t we, Gisella?” said Riccardo with his silly giggle. But Gisella pretended she had not heard and after having peeped once more into the room, she carefully shut the door but did not quite close it all the way.

  The cozy little dining room had cheered me up, and therefore I thought no more about the half-shut door or the glance of understanding that I imagined had passed between Gisella and Astarita. We sat down at the table and I had Astarita beside me as I had promised, but he did not seem to notice; he was so absorbed he could not even speak. After a while the proprietor came back with hors d’oeuvres and wine, and I was so hungry I flung myself on the food, and made the others laugh at me. Gisella took the opportunity to begin her usual teasing about my marriage.

  “Go on, eat,” she said. “You’ll never get so much to eat with Gino, nor such good food.”

  “Why?” I asked. “Gino’ll earn money.”

  “You bet, and you’ll eat beans every day!”

  “Beans are all right,” laughed Riccardo. “In fact, I’m going to order some at once.”

  “You’re a fool, Adriana,” Gisella went on. “You need a man with something behind him, a decent man, who does things properly, who cares about you and doesn’t oblige you to go without things, who makes it possible for you to set off your good looks. And instead of that you go and get mixed up with Gino.”

  I kept a stubborn silence, my head bent over my plate while I went on eating. Riccardo laughed. “In Adriana’s place I wouldn’t give up anything,” he said, “neither Gino, since she likes him so much, nor the seriously intentioned fellow — I’d take both — and quite possibly Gino wouldn’t have anything to say against the arrangement.”

  “He would,” I said hastily. “If he even knew I’d gone on this trip with you today, he’d break off the engagement.”

  “Why?” asked Gisella, on her high horse.

  “Because he doesn’t want me to see anything of you.”

  “That dirty, ugly, dead-broke ignoramous!” said Gisella furiously. “I’d like to put him to the test — to go and say to him, ‘Adriana is seeing me, she’s been with me all day, so go ahead and break off the engagement!’ ”

  “No, please!” I begged her, terrified. “Don’t do it.”

  “It’d be the best thing that could happen to you.”

  “Maybe. But don’t do it,” I besought her again. “If you’re fond of me, don’t do it.”

  During this conversation, Astarita said nothing and ate hardly a mouthful. He still kept his eyes on me the whole time, with an exaggeratedly significant, desperate expression I found extremely embarrassing. I wanted to tell him not to stare at me like that, but I was afraid Gisella and Riccardo would make fun of me. For the same reason, I did not dare protest when Astarita seized the opportunity to squeeze my left hand, which I had placed on the bench where we were sitting, obliging me to go on eating with one hand only. I ought to have protested because Gisella suddenly burst out laughing. “She’s quite true to Gino in what she says! But when it comes to deeds! Do you think I can’t see you and Astarita holding hands under the table?”

  I blushed awkwardly and tried to free my hand. But Astarita kept tight hold of it.

  “Let them alone,” said Riccardo. “What’s the harm? It they hold hands, let’s do the same.”

  “I was joking,” said Gisella. “I don’t mind, I’m glad.”

  When we had eaten our pasta, we were kept waiting for the next course. Gisella and Riccardo kept on laughing and joking and drinking, in the meantime, and made me drink too. It was good red wine, very strong, and soon went to my head. I liked the warm, sharp taste of it and, in my state of intoxication, did not feel at all drunk, but able to go on drinking indefinitely. Astarita, serious and absorbed, went on holding my hand and I now let him. I told myself that, after all, this was the least I could do. There was an oleograph stuck over the door, of a man and woman dressed in the fashion of fifty years earlier, who were embracing one another in an artificial, awkward way on a rose-covered balcony. Gisella noticed it and said she could not imagine how they could possibly kiss one another in that position. “Let’s try,” she said to Riccardo, “let’s see if we can copy them.”

  Riccardo stood up, laughing, and assumed the attitude of the man in the oleograph, while Gisella, giggling too, leaned against the table in the same position as the woman in the picture against the rose-bedecked side of the balcony. With a tremendous effort they managed to bring their lips together, but almost at the very moment they lost their balance and toppled over together onto the table.

  “Now, it’s your turn!” said Gisella, excited by the fun.

  “Why?” I asked, apprehensive. “What’s it got to do with me?”

  “Go on, try.”

  I felt Astarita put his arm around my waist and tried to free myself. “I don’t want to,” I said.

  “Oh, what a spoilsport you are!” said Gisella. “It’s only a joke.”

  “I don’t want to.”

  Riccardo was laughing and urging on Astarita to make me kiss him. “If you don’t kiss her, Astarita, I’ll never look you in the face again.” But Astarita was in earnest and almost frightened me: for him, this was obviously something more than a joke.

  “Let me alone,” I said, turning from him.

  He looked at me, then glanced at Gisella with a query in his eyes as if he expected her to encourage him. “Go on, Astarita!” exclaimed Gisella. She seemed far more determined than he was, in a way I could vaguely sense was cruel and merciless.

  Astarita held me still more tightly by the waist, pulling me toward him. Now it was no longer a joke and he wanted to kiss me at all costs. Without saying a word, I tried to free myself from his grasp, but he was very strong, and the more I pushed with my hands against his chest, the closer I could feel his face gradually approaching mine. But perhaps he would not have succeeded in kissing me, if Gisella had not come to his aid. Suddenly, with a triumphant squeal, she got up, ran behind me, grasped my arms, and pulled them backward. I did not see her but I felt her dogged determination in the way her nails buried themselves in my flesh and in her voice, which kept on repeating between bursts of laughter, in an excited, cruel and jerky way, “Quick, quick, Astarita! Now’s your chance!” Astarita was now upon me. I did my best to turn my face away, the only movement I could make, but with one hand he took hold of my chin and forced my face toward his, then he kissed me hard and long on my mouth.

  “Done!” said Gisella triumphantly, and went back to her place, delighted.

  Astarita let go of me. “I’ll never come out with the lot of you again,” I said, feeling annoyed and hurt.

  “Oh, Adriana!” said Riccardo, making fun of me. “And all for a single kiss!”

  “Astarita’s covered with lipstick!” exclaimed Gisella ecstatically. “What would Gino say if he came in now?”

  Astarita’s mouth really was covered with my lipstick, and even to me he looked ridiculous with a scarlet streak like that across his gloomy, sallow face. “Come on,” said Gisella, “make up, you two — rub off his lipstick with your handkerchief. Whatever will the waiter think when he comes in, if you don’t?”

  I had to put a good face on the matter and, wetting a corner of my handkerchief with my tongue, I gradually wiped the lipstick off Astarita’s sullen face. I was wrong, though, in showing how yielding I was, because immediately, as soon as I had put my handkerchief away, he put his arm around my waist. “Let go,” I said.

  “Come on, Adriana!”

  “What difference does it make?” said Gisella. “If he likes it — and it doesn’t do you any harm. He’s kissed you anyway. Let him do as he likes.”

  So I yielded once again, and we stayed beside one another, his arm around my waist while I sat there stiffly and unwillingly. The waiter came in with the second course. While we
were eating my bad mood passed, although Astarita held me close. The food was very good and, without noticing, I drank all the wine Gisella kept on pouring out for me. After the second course we had fruit and dessert. It was an excellent dessert, I wasn’t used to things like that and therefore, when Astarita offered me his share I could not say no, and ate that too. Gisella, who had also drunk a great deal, began to coax Riccardo in all sorts of ways, putting little quarters of tangerines into his mouth and giving him a kiss with each one. I felt pleasantly tipsy, and Astarita’s arm around my waist no longer troubled me. Gisella got up, more and more restless and excited every moment, and went to sit on Riccardo’s knee. I could not help laughing when I heard Riccardo pretend to cry out in pain as if Gisella’s weight were crushing him. All of a sudden, Astarita, who had not moved until then, content to have one arm around my waist, began to kiss me breathlessly on my neck, breasts, and cheeks. I did not protest this time, first because I was too tipsy to struggle and then because he seemed to be kissing another person, so little did I participate in his outburst, but kept as still and as stiff as a statue. In my state of intoxication I had the impression that I was standing outside myself, in some corner of the room, looking on indifferently, merely as a curious spectator, at Astarita’s wild passion. But the others took my indifference for love and Gisella called out. “Good for you, Adriana — that’s the way!”

  I wanted to reply but changed my mind, I don’t know why, and raising my glass full of wine I said clearly and resonantly, “I’m drunk!” and emptied it at one breath.

  I believe the others clapped their hands. But Astarita stopped kissing me and, looking fixedly at me, said under his breath, “Let’s go into the other room.”

  I followed his eyes and saw he was looking at the half-open door of the next room. I imagined he must be drunk, too, and nodded my refusal, but gently, almost flirtatiously.

  “Let’s go into the next room” he repeated, like a man in his sleep.

  I noticed Gisella and Riccardo had stopped laughing and chatting and were watching us.