Foucault's pendulum - Umberto Eco [144]
“My name’s not Simon,” Riccardo said, his tongue thick. “We’re not talking about you,” Belbo said. His behavior had been making me uneasy for some while now. He, as a rule so guarded about his feelings, was having a lovers’ quarrel in front of a witness, in front of a rival, even. But this last remark made me realize that with his baring of himself before the other man—the true rival being yet another—Belbo was reasserting, in the only way he could, his possession of Lorenza. Meanwhile, holding out her cup for more drink, Lorenza answered: “But it’s a game. I love you.”
“Thank God you don’t hate me. Listen, I’d like to go home, I have a stomachache. I’m still a prisoner of base matter. Simon hasn’t done me any good. Will you come with me?”
“Let’s stay a little longer. It’s so nice. Aren’t you having fun? Besides, I still haven’t looked at the pictures. Did you see? Riccardo made one on me.”
“There are other things I’d like to do on you,” Riccardo said.
“You’re vulgar. Stop it. I’m talking about Jacopo. My God, Jacopo, are you the only one who can make intellectual jokes with your friends? Who treats me like a prostitute from Tyre?
You do.”
“I might have known. Me. I’m the one pushing you into the arms of old gentlemen.”
“He’s never tried to take me in his arms. He isn’t a satyr. You’re cross because he doesn’t want to take me to bed but considers me an intellectual partner.” “Allumeuse.”
“You really shouldn’t have said that. Riccardo, get me something to drink.’’
“No, wait,” Belbo said. “Now, I want you to tell me if you take him seriously. Stop drinking, dammit! Tell me if you take him seriously!”
“But, darling, it’s our game, a game between him and me. And besides, the best part of the story is that when Sophia realizes who she is and frees herself from the tyranny of the angels, she frees herself from sin...” “You’ve given up sinning?”
“Think it over first,” Riccardo said, kissing her chastely on the forehead.
“I don’t have to,” she replied—to Belbo, ignoring the painter. “Those things aren’t sins anymore; I can do anything I like. Once you’ve freed yourself from the flesh, you’re beyond good and evil.”
She pushed Riccardo away. “I’m Sophia, and to free myself from the angels I have to perpet...per-pet-rate all sins, even the most marvelous!”
Staggering a little, she went to a corner where a girl was seated, dressed in black, her eyes heavily mascaraed, her complexion pale. Lorenza led the girl into the center of the room and began to sway with her. They were belly to belly, arms limp at their sides. “I can love you, too,” Lorenza said, and kissed the girl on the mouth.
The others gathered around, mildly aroused. Belbo sat down and looked at the scene with an impenetrable face, like a producer watching a screen test. He was sweating, and there was a tic by his left eye, which I had never noticed before. Lorenza danced for at least five minutes, with movements increasingly suggestive. Then suddenly he said: “Now you come here.”
Lorenza stopped, spread her legs, held her arms straight out, and cried: “I am the saint and the prostitute!”
“You are the pain in the ass.” Belbo got up, went straight to her, grabbed her by the wrist, and dragged her toward the door.
“Stop it!” she shouted. “Don’t you dare...” Then she burst into tears and flung her arms around his neck. “But darling, I’m your Sophia; you can’t get mad...”
Belbo tenderly put an arm around her shoulders, kissed her on the temple, smoothed her hair, then said to everybody: “Excuse her; she isn’t used to drinking like this.”
I heard some snickers from those present, and I believe Belbo heard them, too. He saw me on the threshold, and did something—whether for me, for the others, or for himself, I’ve never figured out. It was a whisper, when everybody else had turned away from the couple, losing interest.
Still holding Lorenza by the shoulders, he addressed the room, softly, in the tone of a man stating the obvious: “Cock-a-doodle-doo.”
51
When therefore a Great