Two Friends (13 page)

Sergio had not expected this last comment. He had prepared a series of arguments, based on his readings and on the enthusiasm he felt for the cause. With this comment, Maurizio rendered all of this irrelevant. “Are you so sure?” he asked, somewhat vexed. “Many people think they understand Marx, without ever having read his writings.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve read Marx.”

“And you can’t stop there … You have to read Lenin, and Stalin …”

“I’ve done that as well.” Maurizio paused to reflect for a moment, and then went on: “You see, I’m very conscientious, even pedantic … When I have doubts about something, I leave no stone unturned, I try to find out as much as I can … I read and study. As soon as I saw that I did not approve of the bourgeois way of life, I turned to your beliefs, of course … But I wasn’t satisfied with the marches, the militant songs, and the red flags. I began to read and study. I’ve done little else the last five years.”

“Five years?”

“That’s right … I also read about Russia and the

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Soviet state, in English and in French.”

“You also speak English?”

“I learned when I was a prisoner of war.”

“So you’re sure I can’t tell you anything you don’t know?”

“Forgive me for saying it, but I don’t think so.” He took the whiskey bottle and, after asking “Would you like another drop?” poured more into their glasses without waiting for a response. Sergio noticed that it
was the fifth time Maurizio had filled their glasses, while his own remained untouched. He leaned forward. “Well, then … I have to ask: What effect have your readings had? Did they convince you that we are on the right path?”

Maurizio paused to reflect. “They convinced me that Communism is a serious matter and that unless something dramatic happens, the world will most likely become Communist.”

“You think so.”

“Yes, I do,” Maurizio said, calmly.

Sergio felt a question on the tip of his tongue, but he resisted asking it, saying instead, “On paper, after reading about our doctrine, you have no arguments against Communism.”

“None.”

“You think the Communists have it right.”

“Yes, of course … certainly they do.”

The moment had come for the crucial question: “So, since you are practically a Communist already, why don’t you join the Party?”

Lalla began to laugh out loud, which irritated Sergio intensely. He turned to her angrily and snarled, “What is there to laugh about?”

“Nothing, it’s just that I’ve been expecting this question, and you finally got around to asking it.”

“I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“You’re right, there’s nothing to laugh about,” Maurizio said, and then paused for a moment. “I’m not going to join the Party … that’s all there is to it.”

“But why?”

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“For no reason. I’m just not going to do it.”

“But that’s not a reasonable answer.”

“I know.”

There was a long silence. Sergio realized that he was almost drunk, but he didn’t mind. He felt a powerful affection toward Maurizio and would have liked to embrace him. Finally, he said, warmly, “I’m still waiting for your answer …”

“I’ve already given it to you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Maurizio laughed, showing his white teeth. “Listen,” he said, “try to follow my logic … There are rational arguments that can be countered with other, equally rational arguments … right? If one does not have a rational argument, it means that one is in the wrong. Don’t you agree?”

“Of course.”

“But then there are irrational arguments … Do you agree that such a thing exists?”

“Of course.”

“Well then … rationally, I have no response to your arguments. You’re right, I agree, I should be a Communist. But irrationally … I have many objections. You yourself admit that such irrational objections exist. Well, for irrational reasons, I cannot become a Communist.”

“Fear is one example,” Sergio said, with some bitterness.

Maurizio waved away Sergio’s words. “No, I don’t mean contemptible reasons like fear, money, or self-interest … don’t worry.”

“So what is it then?”

“I already said it … no reason … What does it matter?”

“It does matter, it matters a lot … I may be able to respond, explain, argue …”

“But you would respond with rational arguments, and reason has no power to refute its opposite … You would need to find an irrational argument that is more powerful than my own.”

“Perhaps I can.”

Maurizio reflected for a moment. “If you did, you

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wouldn’t be a Communist.”

“Why?”

“Because Communists argue with reason and not with irrational arguments … It is the Fascists who use irrational arguments.”

“By now, Communism has incorporated even the irrational arguments of Fascism.”

“But I don’t believe in Fascism anymore.”

Sergio realized that there was nothing he could do, at least for now. He suddenly became aware of how tired and drunk he felt. His head was spinning, his throat was dry, and he had no arguments left. Or rather, the process of converting his feelings into rational arguments was no longer possible because his thoughts had been frozen by the alcohol and his exhaustion. Still, he felt he had not done quite enough to try to convince Maurizio. He said, in an exasperated voice, “What you say sounds clever, but I’m telling you, if you, who claim to be a Communist in every way except for a few irrational objections, keep living like this, going against your true nature, stifling what is best in you, you will end up in a bad way … That’s what I think …”

Maurizio smiled. “But if I were to become a Communist, I wouldn’t be following my true nature but
rather denying it … The irrational part of me is who I really am.”

“Those are just words.”

What exasperated Sergio more than anything was Lalla’s silence. He imagined her to be full of skepticism and irony. He turned to her. “Why are you so quiet? Say something, speak.”

She laughed. “I’m not saying anything because I’m drunk … Maurizio has made me drunk.”

“And besides,” said Sergio, picking up where he had left off, “there aren’t as many irrational arguments as you claim … The only irrational obstacle that counts is a lack of courage … You’re afraid to take the leap … that’s all.”

“
Hic Rhodus, hic salta …
What you say is nothing new … it’s the Rubicon all over again …,” Maurizio said, quietly.

“That’s right, it’s just like the Rubicon,” Sergio said,

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becoming impassioned. “People like you don’t have the courage to cross.”

“People like me?”

“Bourgeois types like you, who are convinced of the decadence and corruption of the bourgeoisie … A working man would leap over the abyss, but not you.”

“For the working man there is no abyss … that’s why he jumps.”

“So you admit,” Sergio exclaimed, in a loud voice, “that what holds you back is your social class, your butler in his striped jacket, your silver trays, your whiskey bottles.”

Maurizio did not respond directly to this attack. He seemed to reflect for a moment, and then smiled. “If you look carefully, it turns out that Communism
does not seek to persuade through rational arguments, though it makes much of rationality and pretends to base itself solely upon it … The Party apparatus is rational, but its means of persuasion is absolutely irrational … Even the worker cannot be seduced through reason, though you insist that it is so. The truth is that it takes something other than reason.”

“And what is that?”

“I don’t know … hope for a better world … the hatred of injustice … the will to struggle, and to vanquish …”

“And?”

“The same is true of people like me,” Maurizio laughed; “even a debased bourgeois like me needs an irrational argument to be won over.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that man is not a rational animal … or rather that man is rational only when he speaks, not when he acts … In order to make him act, one must call on something beyond reason …”

“Such as?”

“Well, it’s different for each person, for each group … I wouldn’t presume to tell you how to complete your task … you know better than I.”

“What task?”

“Do you deny,” Maurizio said, in a calm voice, “that you came here specifically to win me over?”

“I don’t deny it, no.”

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“Well then that is your task.”

There was a long silence. Maurizio played with his glass, peering up at Sergio with his dark, perfectly limpid, calm eyes. Lalla’s laughter broke the silence:

“Sergio, you’ve been defeated … time to throw in the towel.”

“Perhaps I’ve been defeated, at least superficially,” Sergio said, bitterly, “but he is the true loser … He admits that he is in conflict with his nature.”

“Yes, but still, you’ve been defeated …,” she said, laughing drunkenly, “at least today. Your plans for today have been foiled.”

Lalla laughed again, and Sergio looked at her, as if for the first time. It was as if a fog had suddenly lifted. She was sitting very close to Maurizio with her powerful legs crossed, her chest protruding beneath her dress. There was no more than a palm’s width between her and Maurizio on the couch. Sergio could clearly see that their hands were touching, or rather that Maurizio was holding her hand. It all happened in a moment; then, like a fog that is momentarily lifted by the wind but returns once again, he could no longer see anything at all, and even doubted what he had seen before. For the first time, he thought: “What if all these discussions about Communism are simply a pretense? What if Maurizio is simply trying to seduce Lalla?” He noted that he was not jealous, perhaps because of his affection for Maurizio or perhaps because the alcohol made it seem quite natural for the two of them to be holding hands on the couch. As if guessing at his thoughts, Maurizio asked: “Why do you care if I convert to Communism? Why does it matter to you?”

“Because I like you.”

“Thank you …” Maurizio looked down.

“Yes,” Lalla exclaimed drunkenly, “Maurizio is very nice.” She pressed herself against him, squeezing his arm.

Somewhat dazed, Sergio went on: “I feel a real friendship toward you … and I’m convinced that it would not take much to make a good comrade out of you … That’s why it upsets me that you don’t want to join.”

There was a pause. “Well,” Maurizio said in his

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calm voice, “I’ll join … that is, if you can find an argument that will convince me.”

“But arguments are connected to reason, and you just said that you can’t be won over by reason.”

“I said argument, but I meant ‘the thing.’ ”

“What do you mean, ‘the thing’?”

“The ‘thing’ that will convince me to join.”

“And what is that?”

“It’s up to you to discover it … You’re the one who wants to convert me.”

“Do you know what it is?”

Maurizio hesitated for a moment, and then said, “Yes.”

“So,” Sergio said, as if to summarize their conversation, “there is something that would convince you to become a Communist.”

“Yes.”

“And this thing,” Sergio hesitated, “belongs to me … It is at my disposal …”

“I think so.”

“Is this thing a means to an end?”

“Yes, or at least it could be.”

“Is it legitimate?”

“For a Communist, all means are legitimate, are they not?”

Sergio considered this statement for a moment and then said: “Yes, as long as they are truly justified.”

“But doesn’t Communism justify anything and everything?”

“This is not a joke,” Sergio said, suddenly becoming angry. “Communism aims to change the face of humanity … And to improve the lives of millions of people who are suffering and cannot express themselves … It aims to aid in the progress of humanity, to bring happiness … It’s not a joke.”

“I’m not laughing,” Maurizio interjected. “Don’t you think that such goals justify any means?”

“Of course.”

“What I can’t understand is what difference my joining the Party would make.”

“Every person counts,” Sergio exclaimed. “We want the best people, those who have something to offer,

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to join our side, one by one … And then the other side will be extinguished, it will perish … You yourself are not important …”

“Well, thank you.”

“No, listen … you’re not important, but still, you’re something … Our victory will come in small increments … One more … People like you will help us reach our goal … Until people like you decide to join us, we cannot be victorious … Our strength does not lie in force or violence, but in persuasion and numbers … When everyone of value is on our side, the battle will be won.”

The image of Maurizio holding Lalla’s hand returned to him. Suddenly it all became clear. “I know the argument that will convince you to join our cause.”

Maurizio looked at him with a slightly surprised air. “What do you mean?”

Sergio felt drunk, and was afraid that he would reveal what he had seen: “You want to know too much … I’ll only say that I know.”

“?????”

“I will use this knowledge when the time is right … but not now.”

“When the time is right but not now …,” Maurizio repeated, as if reflecting on Sergio’s words. He picked up the bottle. “Would you care for some more whiskey?”

Sergio said no with a firm gesture. “You’ve already given me far too much … You deliberately made me drunk.”

“What do you mean, deliberately?”

“Yes, you made me drink … and Lalla too … Look at her, she’s completely drunk.”

Lalla got up, as if she could take no more of this perilous discussion. “Where is … the bathroom?” she asked casually. “I’d like to powder my nose, as they say.”

“How crass of you, Lalla,” Sergio said languidly, without moving.

She stood up completely. “What do you want me to say, that I need to pee?”

“Nothing, I don’t want you to say anything.”

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Maurizio also stood up. “Please,” he said, with his usual gentle, relaxed courtesy, “Come with me.” Lalla followed him out of the sitting room.

Now alone, Sergio stood up and stretched his legs. He felt overexcited, drunk, and at the same time amazed at his lack of jealousy, given what he had just seen. It was clear; Maurizio was trying to seduce Lalla, and at that very moment they were probably kissing
in some dark corner, perhaps in the bathroom, between the sink and the toilet. He walked briskly to the door through which they had disappeared, and looked out. He did not know whether what he felt was curiosity or jealousy. He saw a wide, dark hallway, with three doors on either side and a glass door at the end. There were elegant carpets and cabinets with bibelots, as well as paintings and arms, all of them immersed in the sumptuous, dusty, somnolent atmosphere of the house. He took a few steps toward the glass door, which he assumed led to the bathroom, but halfway there he discovered a staircase up to the second floor. As soon as he looked upward, he saw Maurizio descending with his light step.