The Nice Old Man and the Pretty Girl by Italo Svevo

II
    A tram was running down the long Viale di Sant’Andrea. The driver, a pretty girl of twenty, kept her brown eyes fixed on the broad, dusty road, bathed in sun. She enjoyed driving the car at full speed, so that the wheels creaked when she changed gear and the body of the crowded tram jolted. The avenue was empty, but as she sped along the girl never ceased pressing her small nervous foot on the lever that rang the bell. This she did not as a precaution, but because she was young enough to be able to turn her work into a game, and she enjoyed going a good pace and making a noise with this amusing toy. All children like shouting when they run. She was dressed in old coloured clothes, which made her great beauty look as if disguised. A faded red jacket left free her neck, whichwas massive in comparison with her small, rather pinched face; free, too, the clean-cut hollow that runs from the shoulder to the delicate curve of the breasts. The blue skirt was too short, perhaps because in the third year of the war there was a scarcity of material. The tiny foot looked naked in a small cloth shoe and the blue cap crushed her black curls, which were cut short. Judged only by her head she might have been a boy, if the pose of that alone had not betrayed coquettishness and vanity.
    On the footboard round the fair driver there were so many people that it was hardly possible to work the brakes. Among them was our old man. He had to bend backwards at some of the more violent jerks of the tram to prevent being shot on to the driver. He was dressed with great care, but in a sober style suited to his age. His appearance was really well bred and pleasing to the eye. Well-nourished though he was, among all these pale and anaemic people, there was nothing to give offence in him, because he was neither too fat nor too prosperous looking. From the colour of his hair and his short moustache you would have said he was sixty or rather less. There was no sign about him of an attempt to look younger. Years may be a hindrance to love, and for many years he had ceased to give it a thought, but they favour business, and he carried his years with pride, and, so to speak, youthfully.
    On the other hand he had the caution of his years, and he was not happy in that gigantic car driven atsuch a pace. The first word he spoke to the girl was one of warning: “Signorina!”
    At such polite language the girl turned her beautiful eyes towards him doubtfully, not being sure that he was addressing her. Her bright look gave the nice old man so much pleasure that his fears almost vanished. He changed the warning that would have had a touch of bitterness into a joke: “It makes no difference to me whether I am a minute or two sooner or later at the Tergesteo.” The people round him might believe that he was smiling at his own joke, but as a matter of fact his smile had been directed towards her eye, which had struck him as full of delicious impertinence and at the same time innocent. Beautiful women always strike us at first as intelligent. A beautiful complexion or a beautiful line are, in fact, the expression of the highest intelligence.
    She did not catch the words, but she was completely reassured by the smile that allowed no doubt as to the kindly feelings of the old man. She understood that he was uncomfortable standing and made room for him to lean upon the rail close by her. She kept on at breakneck speed to the Campo Marzo.
    Then the girl, looking at the nice old man as if asking him to agree with her, sighed: “Here’s where the real trouble begins.” And the tram began to jolt slowly and heavily over the rails.
    When a really young man falls in love, his love often sets up in his brain reactions that end by having nothing to do with his desire. How many youngmen who might enjoy peace and bliss in a hospitable bed, insist on abandoning at least their homes, in the belief that, in order to sleep with a woman, you must first conquer, create or destroy!