Contempt - Alberto Moravia [40]
“Yes,” I answered with an effort, “yes, it’s agreed.”
“Excellent,” declared Battista with satisfaction. “Then let us arrange it like this. Rheingold has to go to Paris tomorrow morning and will be there for a week. You, Molteni, during that week, will make me a summary of the Odyssey and bring it to me...and as soon as Rheingold comes back from Paris, you’ll go together to Capri and start on the work at once.”
After this conclusive remark, Rheingold rose to his feet, and mechanically I rose also. I realized that I ought to speak about the contract and the advance, and that, if I did not do so, Battista would have got the better of me; but the thought of Emilia upset me and, even more, the strange resemblance between Rheingold’s interpretation of Homer and my own personal affairs. I managed nevertheless to murmur, as we went off towards the door: “And how about the contract?”
“The contract is ready,” said Battista in an entirely unexpected manner and in a casual, magnanimous tone of voice, “and the advance is also ready, together with the contract. All you have to do, Molteni, is to go to my secretary, and to sign the one and take away the other.”
Surprise almost stunned me. I had expected, as had happened in the case of other film-scripts, that there would be the usual maneuvers on the part of Battista to cut down my remuneration or delay its payment; yet here he was paying me at once, without any discussion. As we all three passed into the adjoining room, which was the manager’s office, I could not help murmuring: “Thank you, Battista. You know I need it.”
I bit my lip: in the first place it was not altogether true that I needed it—not urgently, anyhow, as my remark implied; and besides, I felt that I ought not to have spoken those words, though I did not quite know why. Battista’s reply confirmed my regret. “So I guessed, my dear boy,” he said, clapping me on the back with a protective, fatherly gesture, “and I saw that you had what you wanted.” Then, to a secretary who was sitting at a desk, he added: “This is Signor Molteni...for that contract and the advance.”
The secretary rose to his feet and at once opened a portfolio and took from it an already drawn-up contract to which was pinned a check. Battista, after shaking Rheingold by the hand, clapped me on the shoulder again, wishing me good luck with my new job, and then went back into his office. “Signor Molteni,” said Rheingold, coming up to me in his turn and holding out his hand, “we shall meet again on my return from Paris. In the meantime you’ll be making that summary of the Odyssey...and then taking it to Signor Battista and discussing it with him.”
“Very well,” I said, looking at him in some surprise because I thought I had seen him give me a sort of understanding wink.
Rheingold noticed my look and, all of a sudden, took me by the arm and put his mouth close to my ear. “Don’t worry,” he whispered to me hurriedly; “don’t be afraid. Let Battista say what he likes. We’ll make a psychological film, a purely psychological film.” I noticed that he pronounced the word “psychological” in the German way—“psüchologhical”; then he smiled at me, shook my hand with a brisk nod of the head and a click of the heels, and walked away. Watching him go, I started when I heard the secretary’s voice saying to me: “Signor Molteni...will you be so good as to sign here?”
9
IT WAS ONLY seven o’clock, and when I reached home, I called in vain to Emilia through the deserted flat: but she had gone out and would not be back till dinner-time. I was disappointed and in a way felt positively bitter. I had counted on finding her and talking to her at once about the incident of the typist; I was sure that that kiss had been at the bottom of our differences, and, feeling myself full of a new boldness, was confident that I could dispel the misunderstanding with a few words and then tell her the good news of the afternoon—my contract for the Odyssey, the advance I had received, our departure to Capri. It is true