Alberto Moravia has been here with Gore before, back in the sixties, but it’s been a long time. “This is the only island in Rome,” Gore says as we cross a bridge, the Ponte Fabricio. He explains that it was constructed “half a century before Christ.” For whatever reason, he can’t stop playing tour guide. George Armstrong, walking beside him, says, “You don’t get a big serving for the price at this place, so order carefully.”
Moravia waits for us in the tiny restaurant. He is tall, stooped-shouldered, very old and pasty. He speaks in a whisper like some Mafia don. His English isn’t terribly good, but Gore’s Italian is no better. I have to listen close.
George whispers in my ear, “They speak something between English and Italian. Gore just adds a vowel to English words and thinks it’s Italian. Alberto grunts, as if he’s speaking German.”
At Gore’s insistence, everybody orders the pasta with sausage, eggs, walnuts, and cream, and I soon see why. “In the sixties” he says, “I would come with Fred.”
Fred is Federico Fellini, and Gore adores this joke. Moravia asks Gore what he’s writing. “It’s a novel about Hollywood,” says Gore.
“Like Myra Breckinridge?” asks Moravia.
“No, it’s one of my historical novels. It’s a novel about our rulers.”
“They’re your rulers, not mine,” says Moravia.
“I’m going to show that Washington—the people who rule our country—suddenly realized that they could manipulate the masses. If only they could get their hands on the film industry, they could do anything they wanted. They succeeded.”
The waiter brings another bottle of wine, which Gore grabs eagerly, pouring himself a large glass.
“I don’t like your conspiracy theories,” says Moravia. “You always assume there is a plan, Gore. There is no plan.”
“In Italy, if there were a plan, it would never work,” Gore responds. “That’s why nobody makes plans here. Whatever happens, well, happens. That’s why I live here. But in my country—”
“Your country!” Moravia interrupts.
“In my country, yes, the people can say anything they want, as long as nobody is listening. They do as they are told. On the other hand, Hollywood makes them happy.”
“The movies only make me sad,” says Moravia. “That’s why I go so often.”