Contempt - Alberto Moravia [34]
I said nothing; I looked at Rheingold out of the corner of my eye and saw him nod his approval, his smile hanging in the middle of his face like a sickle moon in a cloudless sky. Battista went on; “I’m always intending to spend a few months there, away from business, without doing anything, but I never manage it. We in the city here lead a life that is altogether against nature. Man isn’t made to live amongst files of papers, in an office...and the people of Capri do, in fact, look far happier than we do. You ought to see them in the evening, when they come out to take a walk—young men and girls, smiling, serene, attractive gay. It’s because they have a life made up of small things, with small ambitions, small interests, small troubles. My goodness, how lucky they are!”
There was silence again. Then Battista resumed: “As I was saying, I have a villa in Capri and I’m never there, worse luck. I must have stayed there just about a couple of months altogether, since I acquired it. I was just saying to Rheingold that the villa would be the best possible place for writing the script of the film. The landscape would inspire you...especially because, as I was pointing out to Rheingold, the landscape is in harmony with the subject of the film.”
“One can work anywhere, Signor Battista,” said Rheingold; “certainly Capri might be useful...especially if, as I think, we take the exterior shots of the film in the Bay of Naples.”
“Exactly...Rheingold, however, says he would rather go to a hotel, because he has his own habits and, besides, he likes to be alone at certain times and to think over the work by himself. But I think that you, Molteni, might stay at the villa, together with your wife. It would be a pleasure for me, if at last there was someone living there...The villa has every convenience, and you would have no difficulty in finding a woman to look after you...”
At once I thought of Emilia, as always; and I felt that a stay in a lovely villa in Capri might perhaps solve many difficulties. What I am saying is true: all of a sudden, for no reason, I was absolutely certain that it would indeed solve them. It was therefore with genuine warmth that I thanked Battista. “Thank you,” I said. “I also think that Capri would be the best possible place for writing the script...and my wife and I would be delighted to stay at your villa.”
“Excellent; that’s understood, then,” said Battista, holding up his hand, with a gesture that vaguely offended me, as if to check a flood of gratitude which I really had no intention of letting loose. “That’s understood; you’ll go to Capri and I’ll come and join you there. And now let us talk a little about the film.”
“High time too!” I thought, and looked closely at Battista. I had, now, an obscure feeling of remorse at having accepted his invitation so promptly. I did not know why, but I guessed instinctively that Emilia would have disapproved of my hastiness. “I ought to have told him I must think it over,” I said to myself with some irritation, “that I must first consult my wife.” And the warmth with which I had accepted the invitation seemed to me misplaced, a thing to be almost ashamed of. Battista, meanwhile, was saying: “We’re all agreed that something new in the way of films has got to be found. The after-the-war period is now over, and people are feeling the need of a new formula. Everyone—just to