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By Root 689 0

withdrawing herself from possession. I stood right up against her, as I had done shortly before in the bathroom; and from the barely perceptible hint of a movement of her buttocks against my belly, I seemed to understand that not merely would she not be opposed to an embrace so inconvenient and so unusual, but would even welcome it, as though to compensate me, by means of a false surrender, for the true surrender of herself which she was at the same moment making to the man who was telephoning to her. I was pressing myself against her, filled with anger and desire, when I recalled that Balestrieri had had her in the kitchen in the same manner, and probably with the same feeling. I drew back abruptly; Cecilia felt that I was no longer standing close against her and threw me a questioning glance over her shoulder; then, still talking on the telephone, she put out her free hand behind her and clasped mine. I allowed her to do this and leaned against the wall behind her, my face bowed down on my chest, my mind in confusion. Finally Cecilia said: “Well, good-bye, see you soon,” then she replaced the receiver and stood for a moment deep in thought, her hand in mine. “I’m sorry,” she said at last, turning toward me, “but I shan’t be able to come to the studio today. I’m expected in half an hour by that film producer.”

“Very well, I’ll leave you at once.”

“Wait a bit—and now come with me.”

She walked in front of me down the passage toward her room. She went in first; as soon as I had come in, she carefully closed the door. “Would you like to make love now—here?” she asked. “But we must be quick about it, because I really haven’t time.”

Faced with this very charming, very cynical proposal, I felt once again that desire for her which seemed never to be satisfied, for the simple reason that it was not her body—always so ready and so docile—which I desired, but the whole of her. However I said: “No, don’t think of that now, I don’t like doing things in a hurry.”

“But we needn’t be in a hurry. Only that I shall have to run away right afterward.”

“No, I’m not like Balestrieri, it’s of no consequence to me to make love in your home.”

“How does Balestrieri come into it?”

“Speaking of Balestrieri—there’s one thing I want you to tell me.”

“What’s that?”

“That time you made love in the kitchen, had there been an argument, a quarrel, a disagreement between you shortly before?”

“How can you expect me to remember? It happened such a long time ago.”

“Try and remember.”

“Well, yes, I think there had been a bit of an argument. Balestrieri was so tiresome, he always wanted to know everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything: whom I saw, where I went, what I did.”

“And had you had an argument of this kind on that occasion?”

“Yes, I believe we had.”

“How did it finish?”

“It finished in the usual way.”

“What d’you mean by that?”

“There came a point when I stopped answering him, and then he wanted to make love.”

“Just like me!” I could not help exclaiming.

“No, you’re exactly the opposite, you don’t want to make love. Come on, then, why shouldn’t we?”

She gave me a tempting look, as though she felt herself to be in debt to me and wished to pay me back at all costs, so as not to have to think about it any more. I should have liked to reply: “I don’t want to make love because I don’t want to do the same things as Balestrieri.” But instead, kissing her on the neck, I said: “We’ll do it tomorrow at my studio, calmly.” She shook her head in sign of slight disappointment, then went and opened the wardrobe, took out the parcel containing the bag and removed the tissue paper. “D’you see?” she said, smiling at me, “I’m using your bag.”

We left the room and went out of the flat. Cecilia walked downstairs in front of me, and as I followed her I thought over what had happened. I told myself that although the effort had been almost superhuman, I had avoided making love to her in the passage in spite of a furious desire to do so; that is, I had avoided, this time at least, doing precisely the same thing that Balestrieri had done before me;