22
ALBERTO MORAVIA
he trusts you, and you, on the other hand, are trying to take his
girl friend away from him. Those are the facts."
"But what's that got to do with it? Anybody might try and
make love to you."
"Yes, but for you it's different ... You and Luciano are
friends."
There was nothing to be done then. Sweat-soaked and
furious, Sergio remained silent. "I ought to leave her and drop
the whole thing," he thought. But the pressure of Albina's
arm, the light contact of her rounded hip, sufficed to make him
change his mind. They came to a dark square which was in
pr~
cess of demolition. Violet neon signs cast reflections upon heaps
of trampled mud, and here and there red lamps gave warning
of the presence of deep holes full of water. "Wait for me here,"
said Albina; "I'm going into the post office for a moment."
She went into the post office building and Sergio stayed in
the doorway. It was still raining, and the light from the lamp–
posts showed a thick drizzle that looked almost like a cloud of
dust. People were going in and out of the post office, many of
them humble, working-class women like Albina. "Surely this
is the moment to vanish," he said to himself; and he walked
slowly away along the side of a high fence. But as he went he
remembered that he had a letter to post, and he turned back
again. Just as he was putting his letter into the box he felt some–
one touch him on the arm. "Come along," said Albina.
She was turning a letter round and round in her hands.
Then, without opening it, she put it in her pocket. "Aren't you
going to read it?" asked Sergio.
"It's from my husband. All in good time ..."
"From your husband?"
"Yes," she replied, "I'm married, you know ... or didn't
you know? He's in the Goretti Variety Company . . . poor
devil ... He's traveling, traveling all the time, and he's always
