Read Online The Woman of Rome by Alberto Moravia - Free Book Online
Authors: Alberto Moravia
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fury, without once giving vent to a single word. I tried to defend myself with my arm, but Mother, as if she could see what I was doing, always found a way of delivering some nasty blow from underneath that got me full in the face. At last she grew tired and I felt her sit down beside me on the sofa, panting heavily. Then she got up, went and lit the lamp in the middle of the room, and came to sit beside me, with her hands on her hips, staring at me. I felt full of shame and embarrassment as she watched me, and tried to pull down my dress and tidy myself up.
“I bet you and Gino have been making love,” she said in her usual voice.
I wanted to say yes, it was true; but I was afraid she would hit me again; and now it was light, I was more afraid of the precision of her blows than of the pain itself. I hated the idea of walking about with a black eye, especially before Gino.
“No, we haven’t — the car broke down during the trip and made us late,” I replied.
“And I say you’ve been making love.”
“We haven’t.”
“Yes, you have — go and look at yourself in the mirror — you’re green!”
“I’m tired — but we haven’t been making love.”
“Yes, you have.”
“We haven’t.”
What astonished and rather worried me was that she showed no indignation while she kept on insisting like this, but only a strong and by no means idle curiosity. In other words, Mother wanted to know whether I had given myself to Gino, not in order to punish me or reproach me with it, but because, for some hidden motive of her own, she simply had to know. But it was too late; and although I was sure by now that she would not hit me again, I continued obstinately to deny it. All at once Mother stepped forward and made as if to take me by the arm. I raised my hand to protect myself, but she only said, “I won’t touch you — don’t be afraid. Come along with me.”
I did not understand where she wanted to take me, but, since I was frightened, I obeyed her all the same. Still holding me by the arm, she led me out of the apartment, made me go downstairs, and accompanied me into the street. It was deserted at this time of night, and I realized immediately that Mother was hurrying me along the pavement toward the little red light burning outside the chemist’s shop where the first-aid station was. I made a last effort to resist her when we were on the chemist’s doorstep, and dug my feet in, but she gave me a push and I entered, all of a heap, almost falling on my knees. Only the pharmacist and a young doctor were in the shop.
“This is my daughter. I want you to examine her,” Mother said to the doctor.
The doctor made us go into the back room where the first-aid bed was.
“Tell me what’s the matter — what must I examine her for?” he asked Mother.
“She’s bee making love with her fiancé, the little bitch, and she says she hasn’t,” shouted Mother. “I want you to examine her and tell me the truth.”
The doctor began to be amused, his lips twitched as he smiled and said, “But this isn’t a diagnosis — it’s a matter for a specialist.”
“Call it what you like,” answered Mother, shouting at the top of her voice all the time. “I want you to examine her — aren’t you a doctor? Don’t you have to examine the people who ask you to?”
“Calm yourself.… What’s your name?” He turned to me.
“Adriana,” I answered. I was ashamed but not deeply. Mother’s scenes were as well known in the whole neighborhood as my own mildness of temper.
“And suppose she has? continued the doctor, who seemed aware of my embarrassment and was trying to avoid making the examination. “What’s the harm? They’ll get married later on, and it’ll all end well.”
“Mind your own business.”
“Keep calm, keep calm!” repeated the doctor pleasantly. Then turning to me, “You see your mother really wishes it — so take your things off, I won’t be a moment and then you can go.”
I
“I bet you and Gino have been making love,” she said in her usual voice.
I wanted to say yes, it was true; but I was afraid she would hit me again; and now it was light, I was more afraid of the precision of her blows than of the pain itself. I hated the idea of walking about with a black eye, especially before Gino.
“No, we haven’t — the car broke down during the trip and made us late,” I replied.
“And I say you’ve been making love.”
“We haven’t.”
“Yes, you have — go and look at yourself in the mirror — you’re green!”
“I’m tired — but we haven’t been making love.”
“Yes, you have.”
“We haven’t.”
What astonished and rather worried me was that she showed no indignation while she kept on insisting like this, but only a strong and by no means idle curiosity. In other words, Mother wanted to know whether I had given myself to Gino, not in order to punish me or reproach me with it, but because, for some hidden motive of her own, she simply had to know. But it was too late; and although I was sure by now that she would not hit me again, I continued obstinately to deny it. All at once Mother stepped forward and made as if to take me by the arm. I raised my hand to protect myself, but she only said, “I won’t touch you — don’t be afraid. Come along with me.”
I did not understand where she wanted to take me, but, since I was frightened, I obeyed her all the same. Still holding me by the arm, she led me out of the apartment, made me go downstairs, and accompanied me into the street. It was deserted at this time of night, and I realized immediately that Mother was hurrying me along the pavement toward the little red light burning outside the chemist’s shop where the first-aid station was. I made a last effort to resist her when we were on the chemist’s doorstep, and dug my feet in, but she gave me a push and I entered, all of a heap, almost falling on my knees. Only the pharmacist and a young doctor were in the shop.
“This is my daughter. I want you to examine her,” Mother said to the doctor.
The doctor made us go into the back room where the first-aid bed was.
“Tell me what’s the matter — what must I examine her for?” he asked Mother.
“She’s bee making love with her fiancé, the little bitch, and she says she hasn’t,” shouted Mother. “I want you to examine her and tell me the truth.”
The doctor began to be amused, his lips twitched as he smiled and said, “But this isn’t a diagnosis — it’s a matter for a specialist.”
“Call it what you like,” answered Mother, shouting at the top of her voice all the time. “I want you to examine her — aren’t you a doctor? Don’t you have to examine the people who ask you to?”
“Calm yourself.… What’s your name?” He turned to me.
“Adriana,” I answered. I was ashamed but not deeply. Mother’s scenes were as well known in the whole neighborhood as my own mildness of temper.
“And suppose she has? continued the doctor, who seemed aware of my embarrassment and was trying to avoid making the examination. “What’s the harm? They’ll get married later on, and it’ll all end well.”
“Mind your own business.”
“Keep calm, keep calm!” repeated the doctor pleasantly. Then turning to me, “You see your mother really wishes it — so take your things off, I won’t be a moment and then you can go.”
I
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