What'll I Do?

By BRIAN GLANVILLE

THE thing is, now that it's happened, what'll I do? It's a strange situation, anything I do is wrong, and another thing, a guy like me has no experience of dealing with this kind of thing. It's sort of arbitrary, you come to Rome and you think you've thought out all the problems, you know what they're going to be even if you don't know whether you can deal with them, but then along comes one you never even dreamed about, and it naturally takes a while to come to terms with.

Another thing, Italians are very passionate people, there's a lot of violence there, more than we're used to in the States, and when they lose control, you never know where it's going to end; in fact, that was how the whole thing started. Maybe it was something I should have taken into account, Italians being the way they are, but I think it would have been a little presumptuous; nothing like it ever happened to me before in my life, so why should it happen to me now, now I'm forty?

See, I haven't got any illusions about myself; there's no doubt about it, I do not attract women; this is just a fact I've learned to live with. I'm a little guy, five feet seven, around about 160 pounds; I'm pretty swarthy, and I've got curly black hair; that's one thing I've always been proud of, that I've kept it. Looking at me, you might even think I was Italian, though as a matter of fact I don't happen to have any Italian blood at all, my father was of Portuguese extraction I believe, and my mother's grandmother was French. .

When my mother died, I came into a little money, mostly from selling up our house, and I threw in my job and came to Rome. I had a job in the town hall in Philadelphia, I was there just over twenty years, and when I left they were all very surprised. I suppose to them I was just part of the scenery, the sort of guy that has no am- bitions, I'd be there till they gave me my pension and told me to quit. So when I not only told them I was leaving but that I was going to Rome, that really threw them. They said, 'What are you figuring on doing in Rome, Mr. August?' (My father changed it from Augusto) and I said, 'I thought maybe I'd write a book,' and they said, 'A book about what?' and I said, 'A book about the Forum.'

When I told them that, they looked at me like I was crazy, and I guess you couldn't blame them, really, because how were they to know that this was an idea I'd been contemplating for many years? Because the Forum is history, architectur- ally and politically; you chronicle what happened to the Forum and you're chronicling the rise and fall of the Roman Empire. And you're not even limited to Rome, because there's historical asso- ciations to every triumphal arch they put up there. Like if you write about the Emperor Titus's arch, right away ydu're dealing with Jewish his- tory.

So I just took off, and I went by boat to Naples. First of all, I stayed in a pensione down in the Cola di Rienzo; there were five or six other Americans there and that helped me, because my Italian wasn't too good. Then, after that, I got myself this room above a block of shops; it was in a quiet little street, just in back of the Piazza Cavour, and I liked it there.

Rome is a very, very beautiful city. I'd seen pictures of it and I'd read a lot about it, but I guess I still wasn't prepared for what I found. For the first month I'd just walk and walk around the streets on my own, just ambling, looking at things; there were so many beautiful sights to see you never knew what was going to be around the next corner. Part of the time I spent in the Forum, I got a student's pass, but most of it I'd just be wandering.

lived pretty quietly. I still do, because although I had this money, it wasn't a lot of money. I figured maybe it might last int a few years and by that time I'd have finished the book, or if I hadn't finished the book, then maybe I could give English lessons, I'd put an advertise- ment in the Messaggero, like a lot of them did, a lot of other Americans.

My landlady was always very kind to me, Sig- nora Montanan, she'd correct me with my Italian and she'd always say, 'If there's anything you want, just tell me, Signor August, you've only got to tell me.'

She must have been around about my age, although Italian women get to look old very quickly. Once they're married, they put on a lot of weight, like Signora Montanan i had; she was kind of dark and heavy, with big breasts. She had nice teeth though, very white, they were the nicest thing" about her; she looked good when she smiled. Only, like most Italians, she was up and down a lot, she'd be smiling one day and the next day she'd be depressed, which usually meant she'd been fighting with her husband.

I got on pretty well with him, too. Not that he was in a lot; he ran a filling station out on the edge of town, and most of the time he was home he'd be in dungarees. He was a big, strong, masculine-looking guy, and he was a Communist, he used to read L'Unita, and want to argue with me about American policy, but I'd say to him, 'Frankly, Signor Montanan, politics don't in- terest me a lot, I never really followed them at home.' Then his wife would say, 'Basta! Why can't you leave the signore alone, don't you see he doesn't want to talk about it? Just because you're crazy about politics, that doesn't mean everybody else is,' and he'd say. 'What do women. know about politics?' then he'd let it alone.

After I'd been there a while, she used to com- plain to me about him, mostly when they'd had a quarrel. They'd got no children, and I guess that was at the bottom of it. She'd say, 'He goes on like it was my fault, as if I didn't want any children. He's not a gentleman, he's not educato like you are, Signor August.'

Another time she said, 'You kno\w something, Signor August, he won't leave me alone? A woman's got rights as well as a man, isn't that so? There's times she feels like it and times she doesn't, but he won't understand that,' and I'd say, 'I'm very sorry, signora,' then she'd sigh and say, 'Ah, e molto dura, la vita, life's very hard.' She'd sigh ,a lot when she was in that kind of mood.

Sometimes she used to talk about the last per- son they'd had staying with them, he was an Englishman and she hadn't liked him. She'd say, 'I always had to ask him for the rent, Signor August, always; he wasn't like you, paying right away. And another thing; he told lies about his age. He used to say he was thirty-five, and I didn't believe that; I told my husband, "If he's thirty- five, then I'm seventeen." So one day I looked at his passport and you know how old he was? Forty-three.'

When the summer came round and it got real hot like it does in Rome, I got into the Italian habit of taking a siesta, I'd come back after lunch and I'd sleep between half-past two and four. One day the signora looked in and asked me would I like some coffee, and after that it got into a routine, I'd get under the sheet, then she'd come along and she'd bring me coffee. I appreciated it.

What I want to make clear is there was nothing more in it than that. We'd have a lot of laughs together, and now and again I'd maybe give her a feel, just to keep her happy, but that was all. I wasn't looking for that kind of trouble. I was in Rome to work on my book, though to be honest about it, it was going pretty slowly. There were a lot of distractions in Rome.

I'd never met so many interesting people. I used to eat twice a day in this restaurant Vit- torio's, in back of the Corso; the food wasn't that good, but it was cheap, 400 lire prezzo fisst , and the people there were wonderful. I'd meet writers and poets and painters and singers, the kind of people I'd never have dreamed of coming across at home, and a lot of the conversation was really very fascinating. Afterwards as often as not we'd go off to a café or maybe to the English club, which was really a kind of Catholic Irish club not very far away, and we'd keep right on talking, so what with that and the siestas, I didn't get a great deal done.

One afternoon, I got back home from lunch a lot later than usual. It was a very hot day, I re- member that, and I'd drunk wine at lunch,.which I didn't usually do, so I felt pretty drowsy. When I got into bed, I fell asleep right away.

I woke up because I felt someone touching me. I opened my eyes, I was still pretty heavy, and I saw it was Signora Montanan. To tell the truth, I wasn't too pleased to be woken up, but I said, 'Oh, it's you, signora, have you brought me some coffee?' and she said, `No, I haven't brought you coffee,' and I was just starting to wonder then what does she want when she ripped the sheet off me, she was crying, 'Non posso resistere pia, non posso resisiere pill, I can't hold out any more.'

Then before I could even sit up, she'd jumped on me and it was happening, and I can just re- member this thought going through my head, there's life in the old dog yet!

When she'd gone, I got to waking up properly, and at first it seemed like it had been a dream, it was so unexpected I couldn't believe it. Then while I was still lying there, trying to figure it out, she came back in again carrying a plate and on this plate there were apples and oranges and pears and bananas and plums and grapes and peaches and figs, she said, 'Per ter and suddenly I realised : I'd become her lover.

What happened then was I just got out of the apartment, I got dressed and got out. When she heard me in the hall she called out, 'Dow vai, dove vai? she was calling me tu, which of course she never had before; but I didn't answer, I just ran down the stairs as fast as I knew how.

I walked along.the Lungotevere and I tried to think things through, I leaned over the parapet and tried to make sense of it all. My first re- action was, I'd have to look for another place to stay, because things weren't going to end here. I might be ready to overlook it and carry or like nothing had happened, but she never would; there was a whole new situation now.

Then I was surprised at myself, I suddenly caught myself thinking, well, maybe it wouldn't be so bail, at that, having her available and run- ming round me, because I must admit it, I felt a little flattered, too. But I rejected that right away, I knew it was ridiculous. Sooner or later her hus- band was sure to find out, and he was a very impetuous man and a pretty strong man, he could easily do something violent. But then if I did leave, how would she take it? She'd feel in- sulted, and then what'd she do? She might do anything. Maybe she'd even tell him I assaulted her, then who would he believe, her or me?

I smoked a whole pack of Nazionali cigarettes, one after another, though normally I wouldn't smoke more than four or five in a day. Then I went along to the English club, hoping there'd be someone there I could talk to, but there wasn't, and I was too upset to concentrate on the maga- zines; Catholic magazines, most of them, and I'm afraid I'm a lapsed Catholic, I lapsed a long time ago.

After that I walked down to Vittorio's and Murray was there. Murray is a poet, he's a little, stocky dark guy, built a bit like me, and I value his opinion. He's around my age, but he's had a lot more experience. The first thing he said was, 'You look really unhappy, Don, what's the matter?' and I said, 'Murray, I am unhappy, I have a very serious problem.' Then I explained it to him.

This wasn't easy, because for some reason he kept on laughing, till in the end I said, 'Maybe it does seem funny from the outside, but to me • it's pretty worrying,' and he said, 'Sure, I under- stand that, but that's life, Don, a thing can be tragic and comic at the same time; I'm not laugh- ing at you, I'm only laughing at the situation. It reminds me of Rabelais.'

I said, 'I haven't read any Rabelais, Murray, but l'd be very grateful for your advice.'

He said, 'Get the hell out,' and I said, 'It isn't that easy,' and I explained it to him. He said, 'Then sneak out overnight, go somewhere where she won't find you, even leave Rome for a while, if you have to, lie low for a few weeks. You know Italians; after a week, they've forgotten what it's all about, they can't sustain emotion that long.' He said, 'I haven't seen her, doesn't she attract you?' and I said, 'I never even thought about her that way.' Then I said, 'Murray, do you have women very often?' and he said, 'Now and again, Don,' and I said, `Do you find it easy?' and he said, Not too difficult,' and I said, 'I can't re- member the last time I had sex with a woman.'

The next thing was I had to find another place, and find it quick. I called up my old pensione in Cola di Rienzo, but they didn't have a room, then Murray said he knew a hotel behind the Pantheon, I could stay there a few days while I was looking for somewhere else. I called the hotel, and they had got a room, so 1 got back to my place very late, purposely, and I started to pack my cases. • I must have been packing about an hour, it's surprising what you accumulate, when there was a shuffling noise outside my door and the signora came in, I'd never thought about locking it. She said, 'What are you doing? Where are you going?' She was wearing her dressing-gown and she'd obviously just woken up, her eyes were all swollen.

I didn't know how to answer her, I said, 'I was thinking of going away to the sea for a few days, it's so hot in Rome,' it was all I could think of. She looked at me like she didn't believe me and she said, 'But why are you packing at this time of night?' and I said, 'I wanted to make an early start.' I was real scared her husband would hear us.

She stood there looking at me, just saying noth-

ing. I felt very uncomfortable, then' she said, 'Tell me the truth. You want to get away from me, don't you? You want to leave me!'

Her voice was getting higher and higher, she was very excited, and I said, 'Signora, I don't want to leave you,' and she said, 'Anna, Anna, not signora!' and I said : "Anna, I mean it, I am not leaving you, 1 promise.'

She said, 'Leave it to the morning, then, I'll help you,' and I hadn't any alternative, I just wanted to stop her waking her husband. I said, 'Okay, signora, in the morning,' then she smiled and pinched my cheek and said, 'Sei motto cat- tivo, you're very naughty,' and went back to her own room. That night I didn't get any sleep at all.

When I saw Murray he said, 'Have you moved yet?' and I said, `No, I haven't, Murray, it's very difficult, she's watching me the whole time. May- be I'll have to give it a few days till she isn't sus- picious any more. All I can do right now is just keep away from the apartment.'

So that's what 1 did. It was very inconvenient, because I had all my books and papers there. I got to working quite a lot up in the Village Bor- ghese, it's very beautiful there, but of course there are a lot of distractions.

The signora always used to bring me breakfast in my room, just coffee and rolls, but now I'd get up early in the morning so I could have it with her and her husband; that saved a lot of embarrassment. I told them I had to get along to a library that was only open in the mornings.

But last night, she got into my room. I didn't bather to lock my door, I figured with her husband there, there wasn't any need to, but I woke up and there she was in bed with me, she'd taken all her clothes off.

I said, 'For God's sake, signora, you'rb hus- band's only across the way,' and she said, 'No, he's working nights now, he'll be away the next three nights,' then she seduced me again; she stayed the whOle of that night. She said to me, 'Is that what's been the matter, you're frightened of my husband? Is that why you wanted to go? Don't worry, I'll see that he never finds out, I swear to you.' She said, 'You're so timid, I like that about you. I used to say to myself, I know he likes me, but he's an American, and he's so timid.'

Today when her husband got home she kept smiling at me, giving me looks from over his shoulder; he's not a stupid man, he's sure to notice, sooner or later.

And tonight, he's away again. I can't quit the apartment, not without her knowing about it, and if I stay, she's going to come in to me again; she'll only be offended if I lock the door. It's .a very complicated situation and I just can't figure my way out of it. I sit there in the Villa Borghese and I keep on asking myself, what am I going to do about it? What'll I do?