Free The Woman of Rome by Alberto Moravia Page B

when he took me home, we made love in the dark on the landing outside my front door, lying on the floor. Another time we made love at the movies, huddled together at the back right underneath the projection room. I liked joining the crowds in the streetcars and public places with him beside me, because people pushed me up against him and I took advantage of this to press my body to his. The whole time I wanted to squeeze his hand or ruffle his hair or caress him in some way, anywhere, even when others were present, and I almost tricked myself into believing it would not be noticed, as we always do when we give way to some irresistible passion. The act of love delighted me, perhaps I loved love itself even more than I did Gino, for I felt myself impelled to it, not only by my feelings for Gino, but also by the pleasure I derived from it. Of course, I did not imagine I could have had the same pleasure from any other man but Gino. But I realized in a dim way that the ardor, the skill, the passion I put into my caresses were not to be accounted for merely by the fact that we were in love. They had a character of their own, as if I had a gift for lovemaking that even without Gino would have shown itself sooner or later.
    But the idea of my marriage took first place. In order to save money, I helped Mother all I could and often stayed up late. By day, if I was not posing in the studios, I went round the shops with Gino to choose our furniture and the material for my trousseau. I had little to spend and, for this very reason, I looked about all the more carefully. I even made them bring out things I knew I could not buy, and turned them over at my leisure, discussing their value and haggling over the price; afterward I assumed a dissatisfied air or promised I would return, then left the shop without having purchased anything. I did not realize it, but these frantic expeditions to the shops, this exhausting handling of goods I could not afford, brought home to me the truth of what Mother had said — that there was little happiness to be had without money. This was the first time, after my visit to the villa,that I had a paradise of wealth, and since I felt excluded from it through no fault of my own, I could not help being rather embittered and upset. But I tried through lovemaking to forget this injustice, as I had done at the villa. Love was my only luxury, it alone made me feel I was the equal of many other women richer and more fortunate than I.
    At last, after much discussion and research, I decided on my extremely modest purchases; and I bought a suite of furniture in modern style, on the installment plan because I had not enough money to pay for it outright — there was a double bed, a chest of drawers with a mirror, bedside tables, chairs, and a wardrobe. It was common stuff, cheap and roughly made, but no one would believe the passion I felt immediately for these few sticks of furniture. I had had the walls of the room whitewashed, the doors and windowpanes varnished, the floor scraped, so that our room was a kind of island of cleanliness in the filthy sea surrounding us.
    The day the furniture came was certainly the happiest in my life. I could hardly believe that a clean, tidy, light room like that, smelling of whitewash and varnish, was my very own; and this incredulity was mixed with an endless feeling of satisfaction. Sometimes when I was sure Mother was not watching, I went into my room, sat down on the bare mattress and stayed there for hours looking around me. Still as a statue, I gazed on my new possessions as if I were unable to believe they were real and was afraid they might vanish into thin air at any moment, leaving the room empty. Or else I got up and lovingly dusted them and heightened their polish. I think that if I had really let myself give way to my feelings, I would have kissed them. The curtainless window looked down onto a huge, dirty courtyard of a prison or hospital, but entranced as I was, I no