Two Friends by Alberto Moravia Read Free Book Online Page A

arrive in a week or less. Go to Capri, and when you come back it will all be over.”
    When he looked down at his plate, he saw it contained some greens and a can of sardines. He could not help but reflect that Maurizio would not be reduced to such meals for long. He picked up a sardine and answered: “That’s precisely why I’m staying. In a week it will all be over.”
    “But what do you care? Go to Capri … Just this once, why don’t you listen to your mother, who loves you?”
    He looked at his mother, a small woman who resembled him in many ways. She had thick black eyebrows and a serious mouth that seemed designed for murmuring prayers in church, and her hair was gathered on top of her head. Suddenly he was irritatedby her anxious expression, though he did not quite know why: “Do you really want to know why I’m staying? I’ll tell you.”
    He picked up another sardine and went on: “I’m staying because the invitation came from Maurizio … Do you know what Maurizio represents to me? Through no fault of his own, perhaps, he reminds me of all the people who desired Fascism, who were eager to enter this war on the side of the Germans and who now flee, when danger is near, leaving others, like Sandro, to fight and die on their behalf.”
    “Die … Don’t say such things, even lightly,” his mother pleaded, fearing for her son in distant Russia.
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    She had clasped her hands together, as if to invoke divine protection.
    “Others die, or, in any case, fight, on behalf of those who run off to Capri,” Sergio went on, angrily and with his mouth full. One of his sisters, the younger one, Gisella—a smaller and thinner, bird-like version of his elder sister, Carolina, who was shapely and tall but also had thick eyebrows and a pointy nose like a bird—observed: “It’s true, you know: all those young men from good families who were my classmates at university avoided military service or at the very least were allowed to stay in Italy. But poor wretches like Sandro were sent off to war.”
    “But,
figlio
,” his mother implored, “that may be true, but I already worry so much about Sandro … If I knew you were in Capri, it would reassure me … But instead …”
    “No,” Sergio said, taking the folded article out of his pocket. “I’m staying, and this is the first article I’ve written denouncing them … denouncing peoplelike Maurizio and the Germans. I’m taking it down to the newspaper now. And I’ll keep writing.”
    His mother clasped her hands: “But if you write such things you’ll compromise yourself … What if the Fascists should return? Think about what you are doing,
figlio mio.
”
    “That is precisely what I’m doing,” he answered, with a slight feeling of falseness. “I’m thinking.” The
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    meal ended in silence. Then his mother and sisters, having given up trying to convince him to go to Capri, began to discuss the political situation as they often did, repeating neighborhood rumors and what was said in the papers. Now that he had rejected Maurizio’s offer, their comments sounded less frightened and anxious. Evidently, the three women were reassured by his presence. Sergio felt almost annoyed: he had committed himself, more deeply than he had in his offhanded comment to Maurizio in the street. He finished eating in silence and, after announcing that he was going to deliver his article to the newspaper, went out.
    Once he was in the street, he felt guilty for what he had said about Maurizio at the table. It was true that each day he felt more contemptuous of this easily defined group who, out of thoughtlessness, incompetence, avarice, selfishness, and corruption, had led Italy into catastrophe. They were the Fascist bosses, and the wealthy men of all stripes who supported them, along with their families and the society that for twenty years had allowed them to govern without opposition, doing exactly as they pleased. But now for some reason he felt