Contempt - Alberto Moravia [29]
But the idea came into my mind that she was embracing me like that so as not to show me the expression on her face, which was perhaps merely bored and at the same time diligent, the expression of a person who does something in which his spirit has no share, purely from volition; and as I pressed my face, in a desperate longing for love, against her breast, half-bared and rising and falling with her calm breathing, I could not help thinking: “These are only gestures...but she is bound to give herself away by some remark or some intonation in her voice.” I waited a little, and then she ventured to say, cautiously: “What would you do if I really had ceased to love you?”
So I was right, I thought in bitter triumph; she had betrayed herself. She wished to know what I would do if she had ceased to love me, so as to weigh up and estimate all the risks of complete frankness. Without moving, speaking into her soft, warm breast, I said: “I’ve already told you...the first thing I’d do would be to refuse Battista’s new job.” I should have liked to add: “And I should part from you”; but I had not the courage to say it at that moment, with my cheek against her breast and her hand on my forehead. In reality I still hoped that she might love me, and I was afraid that this separation, even by the admission of its mere possibility, might really come to pass. Finally I heard her say, while she still went on embracing me closely: “But I do love you...and all this is absurd. Now, you know what you’re going to do? As soon as Battista telephones, you must make an appointment with him and then you must go and accept the job.”
“But why should I do that, seeing that you’ve ceased to love me?” I cried in exasperation.
Her answer, this time, was given in a tone of reasonable reproof. “I love you, but don’t go on making me repeat it...and it means a lot to me to stay in this flat. If it doesn’t suit you to take this job, I shall not make any objection...but if you don’t want to take it because you think I’ve ceased to love you or because you think the flat doesn’t mean anything to me, let me tell you you’re quite wrong.”
I began almost to hope that she was not lying; and at the same time I realized that, at least for the moment, she had persuaded me. And yet, in desperation, I now wanted to know more, to be utterly sure, to have incontestable proofs. Then, as though she had an intuition of my desire, she loosened her hold of me all of a sudden and whispered: “Kiss me—won’t you?”
I raised myself up and looked at her for a moment before kissing her; I was struck by the air of fatigue, almost of exhaustion, that was visible in her face, now more disintegrated, more irresolute than ever. It was as though she had undergone a superhuman strain while she had been speaking to me and caressing and embracing me; and as though she were preparing to undergo another, even more painful, during the kiss. Nevertheless I took her chin in my hand and was on the point of bringing my lips close to hers. At that moment the telephone rang. “It’s Battista,” she said, disengaging herself with obvious relief and running into the next room. From the sofa, where I remained seated, I saw her, through the open door, take off the receiver and say: “Yes...yes, he’s here, I’ll get him at once...How are you?”
A few words followed, from the other end of the line. Then, with a gesture of understanding towards me from where she stood, she said: “We were just talking about you and your new film...”
A few more mysterious remarks. In a calm voice she said: “Yes, we must meet as soon as possible. Now I’ll get Riccardo for you.”
I got up, went into the other room and took the receiver. Battista told me, as I had foreseen, that he