The Invitation(37)

‘That was something I noticed about Elegy,’ he says now. ‘There was no female lead.’

Gaspari nods.

‘What was it really about? You promised to tell me at the party.’

It is a while before Gaspari speaks. And then, with a little nod of his head as though urging himself on, he says, ‘Once upon a time I was in love.’ He smiles. ‘Hard to imagine, I suppose, of one so old and ugly as I.’

‘Not at all.’ But in a way it is, Hal thinks. He is such a solitary, self-contained man.

‘You are kind.’ Gaspari inclines his head. ‘Well, the film was about that love. An impossible love.’

‘Impossible how?’

There is a long silence, before Gaspari says, ‘I will tell you a story, my friend. Imagine a man who believes that his chance for love has left him, along with his youth. And then imagine that this love comes, unexpectedly, in later age. His lover is young and beautiful in a way that he has never been himself.’

He takes a sip of his wine.

‘When they met he had not been looking for anything. He had been almost content in his loneliness, had assumed that life had offered up to him all that it would in the way of romantic attachments. And then this astonishing thing happens, coming like a summer storm out of a clear sky. It sweeps him away from everything he thought he knew.

‘He has always taken Rome for granted, this man, has never truly loved the city before. But now it has been transformed for him. Before he only had time to see the bad, the dirt and decay. People talked to him about the wonder of the city and he thought they must be seeing something that had become invisible to him in all his years of living in it. But now that it is the place that has brought them together, that has formed the backdrop for their entire affair, he sees beauty in everything. In the ruins erupting through the concrete, in the cloud pines in the small park near his apartment – even in the prostitutes who appear at night to line the Appian Way.’

Hal knows this version of the city.

‘He knows that life cannot be easy for them, because, as I told you, theirs is an impossible love. And yet, in those green surrounds of the Borghese gardens, where they go to walk together, it is easy to forget all troubles for a while.

‘Only for a while though. It is not easy to ignore the new presence of the men at the gates who wait and watch. At one time he liked to laugh at them, with their sombre expressions, their clownish trousers, their tight boots. They were ridiculous to him, hardly more threatening than boys playing at war games. And yet, somehow, they have got a hold and have multiplied like lice … no, like bright black fleas.’

This is the city Hal has never known – the one that people do not talk of. But here Gaspari is, speaking of it.

Gaspari suddenly looks very tired, and old – the deep hollows beneath his eyes and cheekbones appear all the more dramatic in the rudimentary light. He takes a sip of his cognac, and sighs. ‘We have known each other such a short time, you and I. And you a journalist. And yet you seem, somehow, a man with integrity. I think I can trust you.’ He looks at Hal. ‘Can I?’

‘Yes,’ Hal says, ‘of course.’

Gaspari nods. ‘Well you see, Hal, the person I was in love with was a young man.’

‘Oh.’ Hal is, in spite of himself, surprised. That Gaspari has felt able to make this confidence to him, a relative stranger, is something extraordinary. The bravery of it, sharing something that in the wrong hands could be so dangerous.

As though understanding this, Gaspari says, ‘I suppose you are wondering why I am telling you. It is because, in this way, I can continue to defy them. They tried to pretend that we did not exist, those like myself. They tried to hide us from view, to claim that we were not proper men.’

Hal suddenly understands. ‘That was why you made the film.’

‘Yes. Of course, there could be nothing explicit in it. But I would know what it would mean. It would be my biggest defiance. And it was made at Cinecittà, which was created by them.’

He smiles, but there is nothing of real mirth in it. And Hal thinks now that he has guessed the reason for Gaspari’s permanent state of melancholy.

‘The person you were in love with,’ he says, immediately feeling a prude for not saying ‘man’. ‘Is he …?’

Gaspari nods. ‘It wasn’t them. Or at least, not directly. It was worse than that. It was my fault, too.’

‘How?’

‘I got carried away. I wanted to cast him in a film. I had been struck by his beauty and his talent at the very beginning, but I did not have enough of a name for myself then to risk an unknown. Now I wanted him as the star. I knew he would do it brilliantly. I should have seen that there would be jealousy. I should have realized that people knew – or guessed – about us. It is too small an industry to keep such things hidden. Besides, I am sure that I must have given myself away every time I looked at him.’

It is hard to imagine this solemn, reserved man, giving much away with a look.

‘Someone informed on us. I have my ideas about who it might have been, but it is poisonous to look too closely into that sort of thing. It does no good, in the end. And so – I’m sure you can imagine how it goes …’

Hal shakes his head.

‘They come to your house, they take you to their car. They aren’t exactly – how to put it – gentle, either with their actions or their words.’ Gaspari pauses. ‘It would have been better, I think, if he had been with me at the time, if they had found us together. Then I could have protected him.’