Free The Woman of Rome by Alberto Moravia Page A

refusal. But instead, Mother welcomed the suggestion eagerly, showing once more the same sardonic calm that had so disconcerted me the evening after I had been to the villa with Gino.
    “And he’s giving nothing?” was all she asked.
    “Of course he is,” I lied. “He’s already said so — but I must give something too.”
    She was sewing by the window and had stopped her work in order to talk to me. “Go into my room,” she said. “Open the top drawer in the bureau, where you’ll find a cardboard box. My savings book is in it and also my bits of gold — take both the book and the gold — you can have them.”
    The bits of gold did not amount to much — a ring, two earrings, a little chain. But ever since I was a baby, that little treasure, concealed among rags and only glimpsed in extraordinary circumstances, had aroused my imagination. Impulsively I hugged Mother. She pushed me away, not roughly but coldly, saying, “Mind — I’ve got a needle — you’ll prick yourself.”
    But I was not content. It was not enough to have got what I wanted and even more; I also wanted Mother to share my happiness. “Mother,” I said, “if you’re only doing it to please me, I don’t want it.”
    “Of course I’m not doing it to please him,” she replied, taking up her sewing again.
    “You don’t really believe I’ll marry Gino, do you?” I asked her tenderly.
    “I’ve never believed it, and today less than ever.”
    “Then why are you giving me the money to do the room up?”
    “That’s not throwing money away. You’ll always have the furniture and linen — money or goods, it’s the same thing.”
    “Won’t you come round the shops with me and choose the things?”
    “Good Lord!” she shouted, “I don’t want to have anything to do with it at all. Do what you like, go where you like, choose what you like — I don’t want to know anything.”
    She was quite unapproachable on the question of my marriage; and I realized that her unreasonableness was not due so much to her idea of Gino’s character, ways, and means, as to her own way of looking at life. So there was a kind of silent wager on between Mother and me — she wanted my marriage to fall through and me to become convinced of the excellence of her own plans, and I wanted the marriage to go on and Mother to be persuaded that my way of looking at things was right. I therefore clung even more ardently to the hope of being married; it was as though I were gambling my whole life desperately on a single card. I was bitterly conscious all the time that Mother was watching my efforts and hoping to herself that they would fail.
    I must mention here that Gino’s model behavior never broke down, not even during the preparations for our wedding. I had told Mother that Gino had given me something toward the expenses; but I had lied, because until then he had never hinted at such a thing. I was surprised and at the same time exaggeratedly delighted when Gino, without my asking him, offered me a small sum of money to help me out. He apologized for the smallness of the sum by saying that he could not give more because he often had to send money home. Today, when I think back on his offer, I can find no other explanation of it than that he gloried in being meticulously faithful to the part he had decided to play. Perhaps this faithfulness had its origin in his remorse at having deceived me and his regret at not being in the position to marry me, as he really wanted to at that time. I hastened triumphantly to tell Mother of Gino’s offer. She contented herself with saying how small it was — not so little as to make him look cheap, but just enough to throw dust in my eyes.
    I was very happy during this period of my life. I used to meet Gino every day and we made love wherever we could — on theback seat of the car, or standing up in a dark corner in some deserted street, or in a field in the country, or at the villa again in Gino’s room. One night