'He was disrespectful to you? What d'you mean?'
There must have been in my expression and the tone of my voice still something of the thoughtless indifference that possessed me every morning at that time, for she added scornfully: 'But what does it matter to you if Antonio is disrespectful to me? Of course, it means nothing to you.'
I was afraid I had offended her; going up to her, I said, seriously: 'Forgive me. . perhaps I hadn't quite understood. But do please tell me in what way he was lacking in respect.'
'I tell you, he was disrespectful,' she cried with sudden rage, turning towards me a second time, with nostrils quivering and an expression of hardness in her eyes; 'that's quite enough. .. He's a horrible man… send him away, get someone else… I don't want him about the place any more.'
'I don't understand,' I said; 'he's a man who's usually most respectful — serious, in fact… A family man. . '
'Yes,' she repeated, with a sarcastic shrug of the shoulders, 'a family man.'
'But now will you please tell me what he did to you?'
We went on disputing like this for a while, I insisting on knowing in what way Antonio had shown lack of respect, and she refusing to provide any explanation but merely repeating her accusation. In the end, after a great deal of furious wrangling, I thought I understood what had happened. In order to dress her hair, it had been necessary for Antonio to stand very close to the armchair in which she was sitting. It had appeared to her that more than once he had tried to brush against her shoulder and her arm with his body. I say it appeared to her; for she herself admitted that the barber had continued his work imperturbably, remaining all the time silent and respectful. But these contacts, she swore, were not fortuitous; she had observed that they had an intention, a purpose behind them. She was sure that-Antonio had intended, by means of these contacts, to establish a relationship with her, to make her an improper proposal.
'But are you quite sure?' I asked at last, astonished.
'How could I not be sure? Oh, Silvio, how can you doubt what I say?'
'But it might have been just an impression.'
'Impression? — nonsense. . Besides, it's enough just to look at him. He's sinister, that man. . completely bald, and with that neck and those eyes that always look up at you from under his eyelids and never straight in the face. . That man's baldness is outrageous. . Don't you see what I mean? Are you blind?'
'It might have been an accident…. A barber's work forces him to come very close to his client.'
'No, it wasn't an accident. . Once might perhaps have been an accident, but several times, all the time — no, it wasn't an accident.'
'Let's see,' I said; and I cannot deny that I felt some amusement in carrying out this species of inquest: 'you sit down on this chair… I'll be Antonio. Now, let's see.'
She was boiling over with impatience and anger; but she obeyed, though with a bad grace, and sat down on the chair. I took up a pencil, pretending it was the curling-iron, and leant over as though to curl her hair. And in fact, in that position, just as I had imagined, the lower part of my stomach was exactly at the level of her arm and shoulder and I could not help brushing against her.
'Look,' I said, 'it's just as I thought… He couldn't help touching you. If anything, then, it was you who ought to have drawn away a little to the other side.'
'That's just what I did; but then he went round to the other side.'
'Perhaps he had to do that in order to do your hair on that side.'
'But, Silvio — is it possible you can be so blind, so stupid? One would say you were doing it on purpose… I tell you, there was a deliberate intention in those contacts.'
A question was on my lips, but I hesitated to ask it. Finally I said: 'There's contact and contact. . Did it seem to you that while he was touching you he was — how shall I say? — excited?'
She was sitting huddled in the armchair, a finger between her teeth, with an expression of strange perplexity on her still angry face. 'Certainly,' she answered, shrugging her shoulders.
I was afraid I had not understood properly, or had not made myself clear. 'In fact,' I insisted, 'it was obvious that he was excited?'
'Well, yes.'
I now realized that I was perhaps even more astonished by my wife's behaviour than by Antonio's. She was no longer a girl, but a woman of considerable experience; besides, I was not ignorant that, with regard to things of this kind, she had always had a sort of gay cynicism. All that I knew of her led me to think that she would not have made any fuss over this incident; or, at most, that she would have told me about it in a detached, ironical way. Instead of which, all this rage and hatred! I said, perplexed: 'But look, all this still doesn't mean anything… It might happen to anybody to get excited by certain contacts without wanting to, in fact not wanting to at all.. . It's happened to me sometimes in a crowd or in a tram, that I found myself wedged against some woman and got excited without meaning to.. . The spirit is willing,' I added jokingly, intending to calm her down, 'but the flesh is weak.. . Why, good heavens. .'
She said nothing. She appeared to be thinking deeply, biting the tip of her finger and looking towards the window. I thought she had calmed down and I went on, still in a joking manner: 'Even saints have their temptations, so what about barbers!. . Poor Antonio, when he least expected it, made the unwilling discovery that you're a very beautiful and very desirable woman. Being close to you, he wasn't able to control himself. . probably it was just as disagreeable for him as for you — and that's all there is to it.'
She was still silent. I concluded, cheerfully: 'When all's said and done, I think you ought to make light of this incident. It wasn't so much lack of respect as a kind of homage — a bit coarse and countrified, I agree, but — well, fashions vary, you know.'
Carried away by the usual bold gaiety that came over me after my work, I was becoming, as can be seen, deplorably facetious. I realized this just in time and, forcing myself to be serious again, I added hastily: 'Forgive me, I know I'm being vulgar — but to tell you the truth I cannot manage to take this whole business seriously… all the more so because I'm sure Antonio is innocent.'
She spoke at last. 'None of this interests me,' she said; 'what I want to know is whether you're prepared to send him away — that's all.'
I have already observed that happiness makes us selfish. At that moment, probably, my selfishness reached its highest point. For I knew that there was no other barber in the village. I knew, besides, that it would be impossible to find one in the town who would be ready to travel several miles every day in order to come and shave me. It would mean giving up the idea of a barber altogether and shaving myself. But, since I don't really know how to shave myself, it would have led to skin inflammations, scratches, cuts and, in fact, all sorts of unpleasantnesses. Instead of that, I wanted everything to go on undisturbed and unchanged as long as I was working. I wanted nothing to come and upset the state of profound quietness which, rightly or wrongly, I considered to be absolutely indispensable if my work were to go well. I forced myself, all at once, to be very serious and said: 'But, my dear, you haven't succeeded in convincing me that Antonio was really lacking in respect towards you — I mean intentionally. . Why should I sack him? For what reason? What excuse could I make?'
'Any excuse. . Tell him we're leaving.'
'It isn't true. . and he would find out at once.'
'What does that matter to me? — provided I don't see him again.'
'But it's not possible. . '
'You won't even do this to oblige me,' she cried, exasperated.
'But, my dear, think for a moment. . Why should I give gratuitous offence to a poor man who. .?'