laughed.
"Have you quarreled with Clelia?"
"What do you mean? I have things to do," he said. "Keep me company."
We walked all that morning, discussing even politics. Doro talked strangely. Several times I asked him to keep his voice down: he was behaving aggressively and sardonically, in a way I hadn't seen in him for a long time. I tried to steer the conversation back to his own affairs, hoping to hear something about Clelia, but he immediately began laughing and said: "Hands off. I think we'll let that pass." Then we walked a little more in silence, until I started to feel hungry and asked if he would let me treat him.
"We might as well sit down," he said. "Have you something to do?"
"I was supposed to be going to see you."
"In that case, you can keep me company"
He sat down first. The whites of his eyes as he talked were as restless as a dog's. Now that I saw him closely, I realized he seemed sardonic chiefly because of the contrast between his face and his teeth. But he didn't leave me time to mention it, saying suddenly: "How long it's been."
I wanted to know what he was getting at. I was annoyed. So I lit my pipe to let him see I had plenty of time. Doro pulled out his gold-tipped cigarettes, lit one and blew the smoke in my face. I kept quiet, waiting.
But it was not until it began to get dark that he let himself go. At noon we had lunch in a trattoria, both of us dripping with sweat. Then we continued our walk, and he kept entering various shops to let me know he had errands to take care of. Toward evening we took the old road toward the hill that we had walked together so often in the past, ending up in a little room halfway between a restaurant and a brothel that had seemed the ne plus ultra of vice when we were students. We strolled under a fresh summer moon that revived us a little from the day's sultriness.
"Are those relatives of yours still living up here?" I asked Doro.
"Yes, but I'm still not going to look them up. I want to be alone."
From Doro this was a compliment. I decided to make peace with him.
"Forgive me," I said quietly. "Can I come to the sea?"
"Whenever you like. But first keep me company. I want to escape to the old places."
We talked about this as we ate. One of the owner's daughters served us, a pale, disheveled girl, maybe the same one who had lured us up so often in the past. But I noticed that Doro paid no attention to her or to her younger sisters, who appeared from time to time to serve couples in the corners. Doro drank; this he did, and with gusto, egging me on to drink, growing enthusiastic as he talked about his hills.
He had been thinking about them for some time, he told me; it had been—how long?—three years since he had seen them,- he needed a vacation. I listened and his talk got under my skin. Many years before he married, the two of us on foot and with knapsacks had made a tour of the region, carefree and ready for anything, around the farms, below hillside villas, along streams, sleeping sometimes in haylofts. And the talks we had had—I blushed to remember, they seemed hardly believable. We were at the age when a friend's conversation seems like oneself talking, when one shares a life in common the way I still think, bachelor though I am, some married couples are able to live.
"But why don't you make the trip with Clelia?" I asked innocently.
"Clelia can't, she doesn't want to," Doro stammered, putting down his glass. "I want to do it with you." He said this emphatically, furrowing his brow and laughing as he used to during our wilder discussions.
"In other words, we are boys again," I muttered; but perhaps Doro didn't hear.
One thing I couldn't get straight that evening was whether Clelia was aware of this escapade. From something in Doro's manner I had the idea that she wasn't. But how to get back to a subject my friend had dropped so conclusively? That night I made him sleep on my sofa—he didn't sleep very well—and I wondered why the devil, just
"Have you quarreled with Clelia?"
"What do you mean? I have things to do," he said. "Keep me company."
We walked all that morning, discussing even politics. Doro talked strangely. Several times I asked him to keep his voice down: he was behaving aggressively and sardonically, in a way I hadn't seen in him for a long time. I tried to steer the conversation back to his own affairs, hoping to hear something about Clelia, but he immediately began laughing and said: "Hands off. I think we'll let that pass." Then we walked a little more in silence, until I started to feel hungry and asked if he would let me treat him.
"We might as well sit down," he said. "Have you something to do?"
"I was supposed to be going to see you."
"In that case, you can keep me company"
He sat down first. The whites of his eyes as he talked were as restless as a dog's. Now that I saw him closely, I realized he seemed sardonic chiefly because of the contrast between his face and his teeth. But he didn't leave me time to mention it, saying suddenly: "How long it's been."
I wanted to know what he was getting at. I was annoyed. So I lit my pipe to let him see I had plenty of time. Doro pulled out his gold-tipped cigarettes, lit one and blew the smoke in my face. I kept quiet, waiting.
But it was not until it began to get dark that he let himself go. At noon we had lunch in a trattoria, both of us dripping with sweat. Then we continued our walk, and he kept entering various shops to let me know he had errands to take care of. Toward evening we took the old road toward the hill that we had walked together so often in the past, ending up in a little room halfway between a restaurant and a brothel that had seemed the ne plus ultra of vice when we were students. We strolled under a fresh summer moon that revived us a little from the day's sultriness.
"Are those relatives of yours still living up here?" I asked Doro.
"Yes, but I'm still not going to look them up. I want to be alone."
From Doro this was a compliment. I decided to make peace with him.
"Forgive me," I said quietly. "Can I come to the sea?"
"Whenever you like. But first keep me company. I want to escape to the old places."
We talked about this as we ate. One of the owner's daughters served us, a pale, disheveled girl, maybe the same one who had lured us up so often in the past. But I noticed that Doro paid no attention to her or to her younger sisters, who appeared from time to time to serve couples in the corners. Doro drank; this he did, and with gusto, egging me on to drink, growing enthusiastic as he talked about his hills.
He had been thinking about them for some time, he told me; it had been—how long?—three years since he had seen them,- he needed a vacation. I listened and his talk got under my skin. Many years before he married, the two of us on foot and with knapsacks had made a tour of the region, carefree and ready for anything, around the farms, below hillside villas, along streams, sleeping sometimes in haylofts. And the talks we had had—I blushed to remember, they seemed hardly believable. We were at the age when a friend's conversation seems like oneself talking, when one shares a life in common the way I still think, bachelor though I am, some married couples are able to live.
"But why don't you make the trip with Clelia?" I asked innocently.
"Clelia can't, she doesn't want to," Doro stammered, putting down his glass. "I want to do it with you." He said this emphatically, furrowing his brow and laughing as he used to during our wilder discussions.
"In other words, we are boys again," I muttered; but perhaps Doro didn't hear.
One thing I couldn't get straight that evening was whether Clelia was aware of this escapade. From something in Doro's manner I had the idea that she wasn't. But how to get back to a subject my friend had dropped so conclusively? That night I made him sleep on my sofa—he didn't sleep very well—and I wondered why the devil, just
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