She said: “Every day at this hour I study. It would happen that today I had to work on that urgent task!”
“But can’t you see that I don’t care a thing about your singing?” I shouted, and I assailed her with a violent embrace that drove me to kiss her first on the mouth, then at once on the same spot where I had kissed her the day before.
Strange! She burst into floods of tears and pulled away from me. She said, sobbing, that she had suffered too much, seeing me come in like that. She wept with that self-compassion usual in those who see their suffering sympathized with. The tears are produced not by grief, but by their own story. One weeps when one protests against injustice. It was, in fact, unjust to impose studying on that beautiful girl who could be kissed.
All in all, things went worse than I had imagined. I had to explain myself, and to be brief, I didn’t allow myself the time required for invention, and I told the exact truth. I told her of my impatience to see her and to kiss her. I had decided to come to her early; I had even passed the night with that determination. Naturally I was unable to say what I had imagined happening when I came to her, but that was of scant importance. It was true that when I was determined to come and tell her I meant to abandon her forever, I had felt the same painful impatience as when I was rushing to her to take her into my arms. Then I told her about the events of the morning, and how my wife had made me go out with her and had taken me to my father-in-law’s, where I was forced to listen to their discussion of business matters that didn’t affect me. Finally, with great effort, I manage to free myself and hurry all the long way here—and what do I find? … The room all cluttered with that sheet!
Carla burst out laughing because she realized that there was nothing of Copier in me. On her lovely face that laughter seemed a rainbow, and I kissed her again. She didn’t respond to my caresses, but she accepted them meekly, an attitude I adore perhaps because I love the weaker sex in direct proportion to its weakness. For the first time she told me she had learned from Copier that I loved my wife very much.
“Therefore,” she added, and I saw the shadow of a serious purpose pass over her face, “between the two of us there can be a sincere friendship and nothing more.”
I had little faith in that very wise determination, because the same mouth that uttered it could not even then evade my kisses.
Carla spoke at length. Obviously she wanted to arouse my compassion. I remember everything she said to me, which I believed only when she vanished from my life. As long as I had her close, I constantly feared her as a woman who would sooner or later take advantage of her power over me to ruin me and my family. I didn’t believe her when she assured me that she asked nothing beyond security for her own life and her mother’s. Now I know for certain that she never intended to obtain from me more than she needed, and when I think of her I blush with shame at having understood and loved her so inadequately. She, poor child, had nothing from me. I would have given her everything, because I am one of those people who pay their debts. But I always waited for her to ask something of me.
She told me of the desperate condition in which she had found herself at her father’s death. For months and months she and the old lady had been forced to work day and night on embroidery commissioned from them by a merchant. Ingenuously she believed that help had to come from divine providence, and in fact at times she would remain for hours at the window, looking down at the street, from whence that help should arrive. Instead, Copier came. Now she said she was content with her condition, but she and her mother spent uneasy nights because the help given them was quite precarious. What if, one day, it should turn out that she had neither the voice nor the talent to be a singer? Copier would abandon them. Further, he spoke of having her perform in a theater in a few months’ time. And what if that proved a total fiasco?
Continuing this effort to stir my compassion, she told me that the financial misfortune of her family had also shattered her dream of love: her fiancé had abandoned her.
I was still a long way from compassion. I said to her: “I suppose that fiancé kissed you a lot? Like me?”
She laughed because I was preventing her from speaking. Thus I saw before me a man pointing out the way to me.
The hour at which I should have been home for lunch was long past. I would have liked to leave. Enough for that day. I was quite far from the remorse that had kept me awake during the night, and the uneasiness that had drawn me to Carla had totally disappeared. But I was not calm. It is, perhaps, my fate never to be. I felt no remorse because Carla had promised me all the kisses I wanted in the name of a friendship that couldn’t offend Augusta. I thought I was discovering the cause of the discontent that as usual was sending vague pains through my organism. Carla saw me in a false light! Carla might despise me, seeing me so desirous of her kisses when I loved Augusta! That same Carla who made a show of respecting me so much because she had such need of me!
I decided to win her esteem, and I spoke words that should pain me like the memory of a cowardly crime, like a betrayal committed in complete freedom, without necessity and without benefit.
I was almost at the door, and with the look of someone who is serene and is reluctantly confessing, I said to Carla: “Copier has told you how fond I am of my wife. It’s true, I have the greatest respect for my wife.”
Then I told her, in complete detail, the story of my marriage, of how I had fallen in love with Augusta’s older sister, who would have nothing to do with me because she was in love with someone else, and how I had then tried to marry another of her sisters, who also rejected me, and how finally I came to marry Augusta.
Carla immediately believed the accuracy of this story. Then I learned that Copier had heard some of it at my house and had repeated to her various details not entirely, but almost, true, which I had now rectified and confirmed.
“Is your wife beautiful?” she asked, pensive.
“It’s a matter of taste,” I said.
There was some prohibiting core still active inside me. I had said I respected my wife, but I hadn’t yet said I didn’t love her. I had said neither that she attracted me nor that she couldn’t attract me. At that moment I felt I was being quite sincere; now I know that with those words I ‘was betraying both women and all love, theirs and mine.
Frankly, I wasn’t yet at ease; therefore something was still wanting. I remembered the envelope of my good resolution, and I handed it to Carla. She opened it and gave it back to me, saying that only a few days before, Copier had brought their monthly allowance and for the moment she had no need of money. My uneasiness increased thanks to an idea I had conceived long ago, that truly dangerous women never accept small sums. She became aware of my discomfort, and with delightful naïveté, which I appreciate only now as I write, she asked me for a few crowns with which she could buy some crockery that the two women had been deprived of after a disaster in the kitchen.
Then something happened that left an indelible mark in my memory. At the moment of leaving, I kissed her, but this time with complete intensity, she returned my kiss. My poison had worked. She said, in all innocence: “I’m fond of you because you are so good and not even wealth could spoil you.”
Then she added, slyly: “Now I know I must never keep you waiting but, beyond that danger, there’s nothing else to fear from you.”
On the landing she asked again: “Can I send the singing teacher to the devil, along with Copier?”
Rapidly descending the stairs, I said to her: “We’ll see!”
So something still remained unresolved in our relations; all the rest had been clearly defined.
It caused me such discomfort that when I came out into the open air, undecided, I turned in the direction opposite my home. I would almost have wanted to go back at once to Carla and explain something else to her: my love for Augusta. It could be done because I hadn’t yet said to Carla that I loved her. Only, as conclusion to that true story I had told her, I had forgotten to say that now I truly loved Augus
ta. Carla, then, had deduced that I didn’t love Augusta at all, and therefore she had returned my kiss so ardently, underlining it with her own declaration of love. It seemed to me that if this episode hadn’t occurred, I could have borne more easily Augusta’s trusting gaze. And to think that, a short time before, I had been happy to learn that Carla knew of my love for my wife and thus, through Carla’s decision, the adventure I had sought was being offered me in the form of a friendship spiced with kisses.
At the Public Garden I sat on a bench, and with my cane I absently traced that day’s date in the gravel. Then I laughed bitterly: I knew that date would not mark the end of my infidelities! On the contrary, they were just beginning on that day. Where was I to find the strength not to return to that desirable woman who was expecting me? Further, I had already assumed some obligations, obligations of honor. I had received kisses and I had not been allowed to return their value except in the form of a few dishes! It was an unpaid invoice that now bound me to Carla.
Lunch was sad. Augusta sought no explanation for my tardiness, and I offered her none. I was afraid of giving myself away, especially because, during the brief walk between the Public Garden and home, I had toyed with the idea of telling her everything, and the story of my infidelity might therefore be written on my honest face. That would have been the only way of saving myself. Telling her everything, I would have placed myself under her protection and under her surveillance. It would have been such a decisive act that then, in good faith, I could have marked that day’s date as a start toward honesty and health.
We talked of many indifferent things. I tried to be light-hearted, but I couldn’t even attempt to be affectionate. She was short of breath; surely she was waiting for an explanation that didn’t come.
Then she left the room, to continue her great task of storing the winter clothing in special wardrobes. I glimpsed her often in the afternoon, intent on her work, there at the end of the long corridor, assisted by the maid. Her great suffering didn’t interrupt her healthy activity.
Restless, I passed often from my bedroom to the bath. I would have liked to call Augusta and tell her at least that I loved her, because for her—poor simple thing!—this would have been enough. But instead I continued meditating and smoking.
I naturally went through various phases. There was even a moment when that access of virtue was curtailed by a lively impatience for the next day to come, so I could rush to Carla. It may be that this desire also was inspired by some good resolve. After all, the great difficulty was to be able to commit myself, alone as I was, to something and be bound by my duty. The confession that would have won me my wife’s collaboration was unthinkable; so there remained Carla, on whose lips I could have sworn my vow, with a last kiss! Who was Carla? Not even blackmail was the greatest danger I risked with her! The next day she would be my mistress: Who could say what would then ensue? I knew her only through what that imbecile Copier had told me; and on the basis of such information, a more clever man than I, Olivi for example, wouldn’t agree even to stipulate a contract.
All of Augusta’s beautiful, healthy activity throughout my house was wasted. The drastic marriage cure I had undertaken in my desperate search for health had failed. I remained sicker than ever and married as well, harming myself and others.
Later, when I was in fact the lover of Carla, returning in my mind to that sad afternoon I was unable to understand why, before making any further commitment, I hadn’t stopped myself with a manly decision. I had wept so over my infidelity before committing it, that it should conceivably have been easy to avoid it. But hindsight can always be ridiculed and so can foresight, because they are of no use. In those anguished hours, in big letters in my dictionary at the letter C (Carla) that day’s date was written, with the words “last infidelity.” But the first genuine infidelity, which committed me to subsequent infidelities, followed only the next day.
At a late hour, knowing nothing better to do, I took a bath. I felt my body was defiled and I wanted to wash it. But when I was in the water I thought: “To be clean, I would have to dissolve completely in this water.” Then I dressed, so devoid of willpower that I didn’t even dry myself properly. The day vanished, and I remained at the window looking at the new green leaves on the trees in my garden. I suddenly started shivering, and with a certain satisfaction I thought I had a fever. It was not death I desired, but sickness, a sickness that would serve me as a pretext to do what I “wanted, or that would prevent me from doing it.
After having hesitated for such a long time; Augusta came looking for me. Seeing how sweet she was, without any bitterness, I felt my shivering increase until my teeth began to chatter. Frightened, she made me go to bed. My teeth were still chattering from the cold, but I already knew I didn’t have a fever, and I prevented her from calling the doctor. I asked her to turn off the light, to sit beside me, and not to speak. I don’t know how long we remained there: I regained the necessary warmth and also some confidence. My mind, however, was still so befuddled that when she again spoke of calling the doctor, I told her I knew the reason for my ill health, and I would tell her later what it was. I was returning to my resolution to confess. No other way remained open for me to rid myself of all this oppression.
So we stayed there somewhat longer, mute. Later I realized that Augusta had risen from her chair and was beside me. I was afraid that perhaps she had guessed everything. She took my hand, stroked it, then lightly placed her hand on my head, to see if it was feverish, and finally she said to me: “You should have expected it. Why this painful surprise?”
I was amazed at these strange words and, at the same time, at hearing them through a stifled sob. It was obvious she wasn’t referring to my adventure. How could I have foreseen something like this? With a certain asperity I asked her: “What do you mean? What should I have foreseen?”
Confused, she murmured: “The arrival of Guido’s father for Ada’s wedding…”
Finally I understood: she believed I was suffering at the imminence of Ada’s marriage. It seemed to me she was wronging me: I was not guilty of such a crime. I felt as pure and innocent as a newborn babe, and freed immediately from all oppression. I leaped out of bed.
“You think I’m suffering because of Ada’s marriage? You’re crazy! Ever since I’ve been married I haven’t given her another thought. I didn’t even remember that Senor Cada Vez had arrived here today!”
I kissed her and embraced her with total desire, and my tone was so obviously sincere that she was ashamed of her suspicion.
Her ingenuous face, too, was freed of every cloud and we quickly went to supper, both hungry. At that same table where we had suffered so much, we now sat like two good companions on a holiday.
She reminded me that I had promised to tell her the reason for my indisposition. I feigned sickness, that sickness that supposedly entitled me to do, blamelessly, anything I liked. I told her that, earlier, in the company of the two old gentlemen that morning, I had felt profoundly dejected. Then I had gone to collect the glasses that the oculist had prescribed for me. Perhaps that sign of age had depressed me still further. And I had walked through the streets of the city for hours and hours. I also told her something of the fantasies that had made me suffer so, and as I recall, they contained even a hint of confession. I don’t know in what connection with the imaginary illness, I talked also about our blood, which flowed round and round, kept us erect, capable of thought and action and therefore of guilt and remorse. She didn’t understand that this was all about Carla, but to me it seemed as if I had told her everything.
After supper I put on the eyeglasses and pretended for a long time to read my paper, but those glasses blurred my vision. I felt a surge of emotion, the happiness of an alcoholic.
I said I couldn’t understand what I was reading. I continued acting the sick man.
I spent an almost sleepless night. I was awaiting Carla’s embrace with complete, immense desire. I desired her specifically, the girl with the thick,
crooked braids and the voice so musical when the note wasn’t forced on her. She had been rendered desirable also by everything I had already suffered for her. I was accompanied all night by an ironclad resolution. I would be sincere with Carla before making her mine, and I would tell her the whole truth about my relations with Augusta. In my solitude I started laughing: it was very original to set out on the conquest of one woman with a declaration of love for another on your lips. Perhaps Carla would revert to her passivity! And then what? For the moment no action of hers could have lessened the value of her submission, which I felt I could count on.
The following morning, as I dressed, I murmured the words I would say to her. Before becoming mine, Carla had to know that Augusta, with her character and also with her health (I could have spent many words to explain what I meant by health, and they would have contributed to Carla’s education), had been able to win my respect, and also my love.
Taking my coffee, I was so absorbed in preparing an elaborate speech that Augusta received no sign of affection from me beyond a light kiss before I left. But I was all hers! I was going to Carla in order to rekindle my passion for Augusta.
As soon as I entered the room serving as Carla’s studio, I felt such relief at finding her alone and ready that I immediately drew her to me and passionately embraced her. I was frightened by the energy with which she repelled me. Downright violence! She would have none of this, and I remained agape in the middle of the room, painfully disappointed.
But Carla, promptly recovering, murmured: “Can’t you see that the door’s been left open and somebody’s coming down the stairs?”
I assumed the mien of a formal visitor until the intruder had passed. Then we closed the door. She paled, seeing me also turn the key. Thus all was clear. A little later, in my arms, she murmured in a choked voice: “You want this? You really want it?”