he found luciana sitting alone at a table in the allied officers’ night club, where the drunken anzac major whohad brought her there had been stupid enough to desert her for the ribald company of some singing comrades atthe bar.
“all right, i’ll dance with you,” she said, before yossarian could even speak. “but i won’t let you sleep withme.”
“who asked you?” yossarian asked her.
“you don’t want to sleep with me?” she exclaimed with surprise.
“i don’t want to dance with you.”
she seized yossarian’s hand and pulled him out on the dance floor. she was a worse dancer than even he was,but she threw herself about to the synthetic jitterbug music with more uninhibited pleasure than he had everobserved until he felt his legs falling asleep with boredom and yanked her off the dance floor toward the table atwhich the girl he should have been screwing was still sitting tipsily with one hand around aarfy’s neck, herorange satin blouse still hanging open slovenly below her full white lacy brassière as she made dirty sex talkostentatiously with huple, orr, kid sampson and hungry joe. just as he reached them, luciana gave him aforceful, unexpected shove that carried them both well beyond the table, so that they were still alone. she was atall, earthy, exuberant girl with long hair and a pretty face, a buxom, delightful, flirtatious girl.
“all right,” she said, “i will let you buy me dinner. but i won’t let you sleep with me.”
“who asked you?” yossarian asked with surprise.
“you don’t want to sleep with me?”
“i don’t want to buy you dinner.”
she pulled him out of the night club into the street and down a flight of steps into a black-market restaurant filledwith lively, chirping, attractive girls who all seemed to know each other and with the self-conscious militaryofficers from different countries who had come there with them. the food was elegant and expensive, and theaisles were overflowing with great streams of flushed and merry proprietors, all stout and balding. the bustlinginterior radiated with enormous, engulfing waves of fun and warmth.
yossarian got a tremendous kick out of the rude gusto with which luciana ignored him completely while she shoveled away her whole meal with both hands. she ate like a horse until the last plate was clean, and then sheplaced her silverware down with an air of conclusion and settled back lazily in her chair with a dreamy andcongested look of sated gluttony. she drew a deep, smiling, contented breath and regarded him amorously with amelting gaze.
“okay, joe,” she purred, her glowing dark eyes drowsy and grateful. “now i will let you sleep with me.”
“my name is yossarian.”
“okay, yossarian,” she answered with a soft repentant laugh. “now i will let you sleep with me.”
“who asked you?” said yossarian.
luciana was stunned. “you don’t want to sleep with me?”
yossarian nodded emphatically, laughing, and shot his hand up under her dress. the girl came to life with ahorrified start. she jerked her legs away from him instantly, whipping her bottom around. blushing with alarmand embarrassment, she pushed her skirt back down with a number of prim, sidelong glances about therestaurant.
“now i will let you sleep with me,” she explained cautiously in a manner of apprehensive indulgence. “but notnow.”
“i know. when we get back to my room.”
the girl shook her head, eyeing him mistrustfully and keeping her knees pressed together. “no, now i must gohome to my mamma, because my mamma does not like me to dance with soldiers or let them take me to dinner,and she will be very angry with me if i do not come home now. but i will let you write down for me where youlive. and tomorrow morning i will come to your room for ficky-fick before i go to my work at the french office.
capisci?”
“bullshit!” yossarian exclaimed with angry disappointment.
“cosa vuol dire bullshit?” luciana inquired with a blank look.
yossarian broke into loud laughter. he answered her finally in a tone of sympathetic good humor. “it means thati want to escort you now to wherever the hell i have to take you next so that i can rush back to that night clubbefore aarfy leaves with that wonderful tomato he’s got without giving me a chance to ask about an aunt orfriend she must have who’s just like her.”
“come?”
“subito, subito,” he taunted her tenderly. “mamma is waiting. remember?”
“si, si. mamma.”
yossarian let the girl drag him through the lovely roman spring night for almost a mile until they reached achaotic bus depot honking with horns, blazing with red and yellow lights and echoing with the snarlingvituperations of unshaven bus drivers pouring loathsome, hair-raising curses out at each other, at their passengersand at the strolling, unconcerned knots of pedestrians clogging their paths, who ignored them until they werebumped by the buses and began shouting curses back. luciana vanished aboard one of the diminutive greenvehicles, and yossarian hurried as fast as he could all the way back to the cabaret and the bleary-eyed bleachedblonde in the open orange satin blouse. she seemed infatuated with aarfy, but he prayed intensely for herluscious aunt as he ran, or for a luscious girl friend, sister, cousin, or mother who was just as libidinous anddepraved. she would have been perfect for yossarian, a debauched, coarse, vulgar, amoral, appetizing slatternwhom he had longed for and idolized for months. she was a real find. she paid for her own drinks, and she hadan automobile, an apartment and a salmon-colored cameo ring that drove hungry joe clean out of his senses withits exquisitely carved figures of a naked boy and girl on a rock. hungry joe snorted and pranced and pawed atthe floor in salivating lust and groveling need, but the girl would not sell him the ring, even though he offered herall the money in all their pockets and his complicated black camera thrown in. she was not interested in moneyor cameras. she was interested in fornication.
she was gone when yossarian got there. they were all gone, and he walked right out and moved in wistfuldejection through the dark, emptying streets. yossarian was not often lonely when he was by himself, but he waslonely now in his keen envy of aarfy, who he knew was in bed that very moment with the girl who was just rightfor yossarian, and who could also make out any time he wanted to, if he ever wanted to, with either or both ofthe two slender, stunning, aristocratic women who lived in the apartment upstairs and fructified yossarian’s sexfantasies whenever he had sex fantasies, the beautiful rich black-haired countess with the red, wet, nervous lipsand her beautiful rich black-haired daughter-in-law. yossarian was madly in love with all of them as he made hisway back to the officers’ apartment, in love with luciana, with the prurient intoxicated girl in the unbuttonedsatin blouse, and with the beautiful rich countess and her beautiful rich daughter-in-law, both of whom wouldnever let him touch them or even flirt with them. they doted kittenishly on nately and deferred passively toaarfy, but they thought yossarian was crazy and recoiled from him with distasteful contempt each time he madean indecent proposal or tried to fondle them when they passed on the stairs. they were both superb creatureswith pulpy, bright, pointed tongues and mouths like round warm plums, a little sweet and sticky, a little rotten.
they had class; yossarian was not sure what class was, but he knew that they had it and he did not, and that theyknew it, too. he could picture, as he walked, the kind of underclothing they wore against their svelte feminineparts, filmy, smooth, clinging garments of deepest black or of opalescent pastel radiance with flowering laceborders fragrant with the tantalizing fumes of pampered flesh and scented bath salts rising in a germinating cloudfrom their blue-white breasts. he wished again that he was where aarfy was, making obscene, brutal, cheerfullove with a juicy drunken tart who didn’t give a tinker’s dam about him and would never think of him again.
but aarfy was already back in the apartment when yossarian arrived, and yossarian gaped at him with that samesense of persecuted astonishment he had suffered that same morning over bologna at his malign and cabalisticand irremovable presence in the nose of the plane.
“what are you doing here?” he asked.
“that’s right, ask him!” hungry joe exclaimed in a rage. “make him tell you what he’s doing here!”
with a long, theatrical moan, kid sampson made a pistol of his thumb and forefinger and blew his own brainsout. huple, chewing away on a bulging wad of bubble gum, drank everything in with a callow, vacant expressionon his fifteen-year old face. aarfy was tapping the bowl of his pipe against his palm leisurely as he paced backand forth in corpulent self-approval, obviously delighted by the stir he was causing.
“didn’t you go home with that girl?” yossarian demanded.
“oh, sure, i went home with her,” aarfy replied. “you didn’t think i was going to let her try to find her wayhome alone, did you?”
“wouldn’t she let you stay with her?”
“oh, she wanted me to stay with her, all right.” aarfy chuckled. “don’t you worry about good old aarfy. but iwasn’t going to take advantage of a sweet kid like that just because she’d had a little too much to drink. whatkind of a guy do you think i am?”
“who said anything about taking advantage of her?” yossarian railed at him in amazement. “all she wanted todo was get into bed with someone. that’s the only thing she kept talking about all night long.”
“that’s because she was a little mixed up,” aarfy explained. “but i gave her a little talking to and really putsome sense into her.”
“you bastard!” yossarian exclaimed, and sank down tiredly on the divan beside kid sampson. “why the helldidn’t you give her to one of us if you didn’t want her?”
“you see?” hungry joe asked. “there’s something wrong with him.”
yossarian nodded and looked at aarfy curiously. “aarfy, tell me something. don’t you ever screw any of them?”
aarfy chuckled again with conceited amusement. “oh sure, i prod them. don’t you worry about me. but neverany nice girls. i know what kind of girls to prod and what kind of girls not to prod, and i never prod any nicegirls. this one was a sweet kid. you could see her family had money. why, i even got her to throw that ring ofhers away right out the car window.”
hungry joe flew into the air with a screech of intolerable pain. “you did what?” he screamed. “you did what?”
he began whaling away at aarfy’s shoulders and arms with both fists, almost in tears. “i ought to kill you forwhat you did, you lousy bastard. he’s sinful, that’s what he is. he’s got a dirty mind, ain’t he? ain’t he got adirty mind?”
“the dirtiest,” yossarian agreed.
“what are you fellows talking about?” aarfy asked with genuine puzzlement, tucking his face away protectivelyinside the cushioning insulation of his oval shoulders. “aw, come on, joe,” he pleaded with a smile of milddiscomfort. “quit punching me, will you?”
but hungry joe would not quit punching until yossarian picked him up and pushed him away toward hisbedroom. yossarian moved listlessly into his own room, undressed and went to sleep. a second later it wasmorning, and someone was shaking him.
“what are you waking me up for?” he whimpered.
it was michaela, the skinny maid with the merry disposition and homely sallow face, and she was waking him upbecause he had a visitor waiting just outside the door. luciana! he could hardly believe it. and she was alone inthe room with him after michaela had departed, lovely, hale and statuesque, steaming and rippling with anirrepressible affectionate vitality even as she remained in one place and frowned at him irately. she stood like ayouthful female colossus with her magnificent columnar legs apart on high white shoes with wedged heels,wearing a pretty green dress and swinging a large, flat white leather pocketbook, with which she cracked himhard across the face when he leaped out of bed to grab her. yossarian staggered backward out of range in a daze,clutching his stinging cheek with bewilderment.
“pig!” she spat out at him viciously, her nostrils flaring in a look of savage disdain. “vive com’ un animale!”
with a fierce, guttural, scornful, disgusted oath, she strode across the room and threw open the three tallcasement windows, letting inside an effulgent flood of sunlight and crisp fresh air that washed through the stuffyroom like an invigorating tonic. she placed her pocketbook on a chair and began tidying the room, picking histhings up from the floor and off the tops of the furniture, throwing his socks, handkerchief and underwear into anempty drawer of the dresser and hanging his shirt and trousers up in the closet.
yossarian ran out of the bedroom into the bathroom and brushed his teeth. he washed his hands and face andcombed his hair. when he ran back, the room was in order and luciana was almost undressed. her expressionwas relaxed. she left her earrings on the dresser and padded barefoot to the bed wearing just a pink rayonchemise that came down to her hips. she glanced about the room prudently to make certain there was nothing shehad overlooked in the way of neatness and then drew back the coverlet and stretched herself out luxuriously withan expression of feline expectation. she beckoned to him longingly, with a husky laugh.
“now,” she announced in a whisper, holding both arms out to him eagerly. “now i will let you sleep with me.”
she told him some lies about a single weekend in bed with a slaughtered fiancé in the italian army, and they allturned out to be true, for she cried, “finito!” almost as soon as he started and wondered why he didn’t stop, untilhe had finitoed too and explained to her.
he lit cigarettes for both of them. she was enchanted by the deep suntan covering his whole body. he wonderedabout the pink chemise that she would not remove. it was cut like a man’s undershirt, with narrow shoulderstraps, and concealed the invisible scar on her back that she refused to let him see after he had made her tell himit was there. she grew tense as fine steel when he traced the mutilated contours with his fingertip from a pit inher shoulder blade almost to the base of her spine. he winced at the many tortured nights she had spent in thehospital, drugged or in pain, with the ubiquitous, ineradicable odors of ether, fecal matter and disinfectant, ofhuman flesh mortified and decaying amid the white uniforms, the rubbersoled shoes, and the eerie night lightsglowing dimly until dawn in the corridors. she had been wounded in an air raid.
“dove?” he asked, and he held his breath in suspense.
“napoli.”
“germans?”
“americani.”
his heart cracked, and he fell in love. he wondered if she would marry him.
“tu sei pazzo,” she told him with a pleasant laugh.
“why am i crazy?” he asked.
“perchè non posso sposare.”
“why can’t you get married?”
“because i am not a virgin,” she answered.
“what has that got to do with it?”
“who will marry me? no one wants a girl who is not a virgin.”
“i will. i’ll marry you.”
“ma non posso sposarti.”
“why can’t you marry me?”
“perchè sei pazzo.”
“why am i crazy?”
“perchè vuoi sposarmi.”
yossarian wrinkled his forehead with quizzical amusement. “you won’t marry me because i’m crazy, and yousay i’m crazy because i want to marry you? is that right?”
“si.”
“tu sei pazz’!” he told her loudly.
“perchè?” she shouted back at him indignantly, her unavoidable round breasts rising and falling in a saucy huffbeneath the pink chemise as she sat up in bed indignantly. “why am i crazy?”
“because you won’t marry me.”
“stupido!” she shouted back at him, and smacked him loudly and flamboyantly on the chest with the back of herhand. “non posso sposarti! non capisci? non posso sposarti.”
“oh, sure, i understand. and why can’t you marry me?”
“perchè sei pazzo!”
“and why am i crazy?”
“perchè vuoi sposarmi.”
“because i want to marry you. carina, ti amo,” he explained, and he drew her gently back down to the pillow.
“ti amo molto.”
“tu sei pazzo,” she murmured in reply, flattered.
“perchè?”
“because you say you love me. how can you love a girl who is not a virgin?”
“because i can’t marry you.”
she bolted right up again in a threatening rage. “why can’t you marry me?” she demanded, ready to clout himagain if he gave an uncomplimentary reply. “just because i am not a virgin?”
“no, no, darling. because you’re crazy.”
she stared at him in blank resentment for a moment and then tossed her head back and roared appreciatively withhearty laughter. she gazed at him with new approval when she stopped, the lush, responsive tissues of her dark face turning darker still and blooming somnolently with a swelling and beautifying infusion of blood. her eyesgrew dim. he crushed out both their cigarettes, and they turned into each other wordlessly in an engrossing kissjust as hungry joe came meandering into the room without knocking to ask if yossarian wanted to go out withhim to look for girls. hungry joe stopped on a dime when he saw them and shot out of the room. yossarian shotout of bed even faster and began shouting at luciana to get dressed. the girl was dumbfounded. he pulled herroughly out of bed by her arm and flung her away toward her clothing, then raced for the door in time to slam itshut as hungry joe was running back in with his camera. hungry joe had his leg wedged in the door and wouldnot pull it out.
“let me in!” he begged urgently, wriggling and squirming maniacally. “let me in!” he stopped struggling for amoment to gaze up into yossarian’s face through the crack in the door with what he must have supposed was abeguiling smile. “me no hungry joe,” he explained earnestly. “me heap big photographer from life magazine.
heap big picture on heap big cover. i make you big hollywood star, yossarian. multi dinero. multi divorces.
multi ficky-fic all day long. si, si, si!”
yossarian slammed the door shut when hungry joe stepped back a bit to try to shoot a picture of lucianadressing. hungry joe attacked the stout wooden barrier fanatically, fell back to reorganize his energies andhurled himself forward fanatically again. yossarian slithered into his own clothes between assaults. luciana hadher green-and-white summer dress on and was holding the skirt bunched up above her waist. a wave of miserybroke over him as he saw her about to vanish inside her panties forever. he reached out to grasp her and drewher to him by the raised calf of her leg. she hopped forward and molded herself against him. yossarian kissedher ears and her closed eyes romantically and rubbed the backs of her thighs. she began to hum sensually amoment before hungry joe hurled his frail body against the door in still one more desperate attack and almostknocked them both down. yossarian pushed her away.
“vite! vite!” he scolded her. “get your things on!”
“what the hell are you talking about?” she wanted to know.
“fast! fast! can’t you understand english? get your clothes on fast!”
“stupido!” she snarled back at him. “vite is french, not italian. subito, subito! that’s what you mean. subito!”
“si, si. that’s what i mean. subito, subito!”
“si, si,” she responded co-operatively, and ran for her shoes and earrings.
hungry joe had paused in his attack to shoot pictures through the closed door. yossarian could hear the camerashutter clicking. when both he and luciana were ready, yossarian waited for hungry joe’s next charge andyanked the door open on him unexpectedly. hungry joe spilled forward into the room like a floundering frog.
yossarian skipped nimbly around him, guiding luciana along behind him through the apartment and out into thehallway. they bounced down the stairs with a great roistering clatter, laughing out loud breathlessly andknocking their hilarious heads together each time they paused to rest. near the bottom they met nately coming up and stopped laughing. nately was drawn, dirty and unhappy. his tie was twisted and his shirt was rumpled,and he walked with his hands in his pockets. he wore a hangdog, hopeless look.
“what’s the matter, kid?” yossarian inquired compassionately.
“i’m flat broke again,” nately replied with a lame and distracted smile. “what am i going to do?”
yossarian didn’t know. nately had spent the last thirty-two hours at twenty dollars an hour with the apatheticwhore he adored, and he had nothing left of his pay or of the lucrative allowance he received every month fromhis wealthy and generous father. that meant he could not spend time with her any more. she would not allowhim to walk beside her as she strolled the pavements soliciting other servicemen, and she was infuriated whenshe spied him trailing her from a distance. he was free to hang around her apartment if he cared to, but there wasno certainty that she would be there. and she would give him nothing unless he could pay. she found sexuninteresting. nately wanted the assurance that she was not going to bed with anyone unsavory or with someonehe knew. captain black always made it a point to buy her each time he came to rome, just so he could tormentnately with the news that he had thrown his sweetheart another hump and watch nately eat his liver as he relatedthe atrocious indignities to which he had forced her to submit.
luciana was touched by nately’s forlorn air, but broke loudly into robust laughter again the moment she steppedoutside into the sunny street with yossarian and heard hungry joe beseeching them from the window to comeback and take their clothes off, because he really was a photographer from life magazine. luciana fledmirthfully along the sidewalk in her high white wedgies, pulling yossarian along in tow with the same lusty andingenuous zeal she had displayed in the dance hall the night before and at every moment since. yossarian caughtup and walked with his arm around her waist until they came to the corner and she stepped away from him. shestraightened her hair in a mirror from her pocketbook and put lipstick on.
“why don’t you ask me to let you write my name and address on a piece of paper so that you will be able to findme again when you come to rome?” she suggested.
“why don’t you let me write your name and address down on a piece of paper?” he agreed.
“why?” she demanded belligerently, her mouth curling suddenly into a vehement sneer and her eyes flashingwith anger. “so you can tear it up into little pieces as soon as i leave?”
“who’s going to tear it up?” yossarian protested in confusion. “what the hell are you talking about?”
“you will,” she insisted. “you’ll tear it up into little pieces the minute i’m gone and go walking away like a bigshot because a tall, young, beautiful girl like me, luciana, let you sleep with her and did not ask you for money.”
“how much money are you asking me for?” he asked her.
“stupido!” she shouted with emotion. “i am not asking you for any money!” she stamped her foot and raised herarm in a turbulent gesture that made yossarian fear she was going to crack him in the face again with her great pocketbook. instead, she scribbled her name and address on a slip of paper and thrust it at him. “here,” shetaunted him sardonically, biting on her lip to still a delicate tremor. “don’t forget. don’t forget to tear it into tinypieces as soon as i am gone.”
then she smiled at him serenely, squeezed his hand and, with a whispered regretful “addio,” pressed herselfagainst him for a moment and then straightened and walked away with unconscious dignity and grace.
the minute she was gone, yossarian tore the slip of paper up and walked away in the other direction, feelingvery much like a big shot because a beautiful young girl like luciana had slept with him and did not ask formoney. he was pretty pleased with himself until he looked up in the dining room of the red cross building andfound himself eating breakfast with dozens and dozens of other servicemen in all kinds of fantastic uniforms, andthen all at once he was surrounded by images of luciana getting out of her clothes and into her clothes andcaressing and haranguing him tempestuously in the pink rayon chemise she wore in bed with him and would nottake off. yossarian choked on his toast and eggs at the enormity of his error in tearing her long, lithe, nude,young vibrant limbs into any pieces of paper so impudently and dumping her down so smugly into the gutterfrom the curb. he missed her terribly already. there were so many strident faceless people in uniform in thedining room with him. he felt an urgent desire to be alone with her again soon and sprang up impetuously fromhis table and went running outside and back down the street toward the apartment in search of the tiny bits ofpaper in the gutter, but they had all been flushed away by a street cleaner’s hose.
he couldn’t find her again in the allied officers’ night club that evening or in the sweltering, burnished,hedonistic bedlam of the black-market restaurant with its vast bobbing wooden trays of elegant food and itschirping flock of bright and lovely girls. he couldn’t even find the restaurant. when he went to bed alone, hedodged flak over bologna again in a dream, with aarfy hanging over his shoulder abominably in the plane with abloated sordid leer. in the morning he ran looking for luciana in all the french offices he could find, but nobodyknew what he was talking about, and then he ran in terror, so jumpy, distraught and disorganized that he just hadto keep running in terror somewhere, to the enlisted men’s apartment for the squat maid in the lime-coloredpanties, whom he found dusting in snowden’s room on the fifth floor in her drab brown sweater and heavy darkskirt. snowden was still alive then, and yossarian could tell it was snowden’s room from the name stenciled inwhite on the blue duffel bag he tripped over as he plunged through the doorway at her in a frenzy of creativedesperation. the woman caught him by the wrists before he could fall as he came stumbling toward her in needand pulled him along down on top of her as she flopped over backward onto the bed and enveloped himhospitably in her flaccid and consoling embrace, her dust mop aloft in her hand like a banner as her broad,brutish congenial face gazed up at him fondly with a smile of unperjured friendship. there was a sharp elasticsnap as she rolled the lime-colored panties off beneath them both without disturbing him.
he stuffed money into her hand when they were finished. she hugged him in gratitude. he hugged her. shehugged him back and then pulled him down on top of her on the bed again. he stuffed more money into her handwhen they were finished this time and ran out of the room before she could begin hugging him in gratitude again.
back at his own apartment, he threw his things together as fast as he could, left for nately what money he had,and ran back to pianosa on a supply plane to apologize to hungry joe for shutting him out of the bedroom. theapology was unnecessary, for hungry joe was in high spirits when yossarian found him. hungry joe wasgrinning from ear to ear, and yossarian turned sick at the sight of him, for he understood instantly what the high spirits meant.
“forty missions,” hungry joe announced readily in a voice lyrical with relief and elation. “the colonel raisedthem again.”
yossarian was stunned. “but i’ve got thirty-two, goddammit! three more and i would have been through.”
hungry joe shrugged indifferently. “the colonel wants forty missions,” he repeated.
yossarian shoved him out of the way and ran right into the hospital.
16、露西安娜
他发现露西安娜独自坐在盟军军官夜总会里的一张桌子旁。
那个喝得醉醺醺的澳大利亚少校把她带到了这里，可是却愚蠢地把她一人撇在这里，自己跑到酒吧里去找那些正在唱歌的下流伙伴了。
“好吧，我来和你跳舞，”还没等约塞连开口她就这么说道，“不过，我可不会让你同我睡觉。”
“谁说过要和你睡觉？”约塞连反问。
“你不想同我睡觉？”她惊异地喊了起来。
“我不想跟你跳舞。”
她一把抓住约塞连的手，把他拖到了舞池里。她的舞跳得比约塞连还要糟糕，不过她随着合成的吉特巴舞曲的音乐跳得那么欢，那种无拘无束的快乐劲倒是约塞连头一次见到。他们就这么跳着，直到约塞连跳腻了、两条腿不听使唤了为止。他猛地一下把她拉出舞池，朝着一张桌子走去。那个他原本应同她睡觉的姑娘仍旧坐在那里，已经有点醉意了。只见她一只手搂着阿费的脖子，身上穿的那件橘黄色的缎子衬衫依旧很不像样地半敞着，露出一个高耸着的镶有花边的白胸罩，一个劲地在同赫普尔、奥尔、基德·桑普森和亨格利·乔调情，说着不堪入耳的下流话。就在约塞连快要走到他们跟前时，露西安娜冷不防用劲推了他一下，使他们两人一下子远离了那张桌子，这样他俩依旧单独在一起。她是一个高个子姑娘，人挺朴实的，浑身洋溢着活力，并且还有着一头长发和一张漂亮的脸蛋。总之，她是一个结实丰满、讨人喜欢并且善于卖弄风情的姑娘。
“好吧，”她说，“我就让你为我买晚饭吧。不过我不会让你和我睡觉的。”
“谁说过要和你睡觉？”
“你不想和我睡觉？”
“我不想为你买晚饭。”
她拖着他离开了夜总会来到大街上，走下一段台阶，进了一家黑市餐馆。餐馆里坐满了活泼好动、叽叽喳喳说个不停的迷人姑娘，她们好像彼此都认识。除了她们，餐馆里还有许多表情不太自然的不同国籍的军官，他们都是同这些姑娘一起来的。饭菜一流，可价格也贵。餐馆的走廊里到处是人，似溪水一样川流不息，全都是些身材矮胖、脑门秃亮的产业老板，个个都喜气洋洋，兴高采烈。
餐厅里面更是一片喧闹景象，不时地掀起一阵阵足以吞没一切的欢快而又热烈的巨浪。
露西安娜用餐时双手并用，整整一份饭三扒二扒就下了肚。吃饭时她看都不看约塞连一眼，那种粗鲁的好吃劲倒使约塞连感到十分有趣。她像一匹马似的吃个不歇，直到把最后一只盘子里的食物吃得一点不剩，才带着一副完事大吉的样子放下手中的银餐具，然后带着酒足饭饱之后那种蒙蒙胧胧的、餍足了的神态懒洋洋地靠到了椅子里。她心满意足，面带着微笑深深地吸了一口气，一面多情地用能让人发酥的眼神盯着约塞连。
“好吧，乔，”她快活地说，闪亮的黑眼睛里闪现着娇媚和感激之情。“现在我就让你和我睡觉吧。”
“我叫约塞连。”
“好吧，约塞连，”她有点抱歉地柔声笑着答道，“现在我就让你和我睡觉吧。”
“谁说过要和你睡觉啦？”
露西安娜愣住了。“你不想和我睡觉？”
约塞连用力点了点头，大笑着，一只手突然从她的衣裙下插进去。姑娘大吃一惊，随即明白过来了。她赶忙将两条腿从约塞连的身边移开，屁股也转了过去。她又惊又窘，脸羞得通红，连忙将裙子拉下，一本正经了起来，还不住地侧目看看餐馆的四处。
“我会让你和我睡觉的，”她审慎地解释道，语气里带着一点小心翼翼的任性。“但不是现在。”
“我知道。等我俩回到我的房间才行。”
那姑娘摇了摇头，不信任地看着他，两个膝盖依旧并得紧紧的。“不行，我现在必须回家了，回到我妈身边去，因为我妈不喜欢我跟当兵的一起跳舞，也不喜欢我让他们带我去吃饭。要是我现在还不回家她会生气的。不过你可以把你住的地方写下来给我。明天一早在我去法军办事处上班之前，我先到你的房间来同你聚聚。
知道吗？”
“废活！”约塞连愤怒而又失望地叫了起来。
“废话是什么意思？”露西安娜带着一副茫然的神情问。
约塞连突然放声大笑起来。最后，他用一种心平气和的语调温和地答道：“这话的意思是说，下面不管你想要我带你去什么鬼地方，我都愿意把你护送到那里，这样我就可以在阿费把他找到的那个漂亮妞带走之前赶回那家夜总会，免得错过向她打听的机会。兴许她有个像她那样的姨妈或朋友呢。”
“走吧？”
“快，快。”他温和地嘲弄她说，“妈妈在等着呢，还记得吗？”
“对，对，妈妈。”
于是约塞连就让这姑娘拽着他，在罗马这迷人的春夜中走了大约有一英里，来到了一个混乱不堪的公共汽车站。那里到处充斥着汽车喇叭声，红黄色的交通灯闪个不停，汽车司机们骂人的咆哮声不绝于耳。这些胡子拉碴的司机将那些不堪入耳、令人汗毛直竖的脏话像泼水似地朝彼此的身上泼去，朝他们的乘客和一小群与他们毫不相干的行人身上泼去。这些行人在街上随意溜达，因而挡住了他们的去路。起先这些行人并不理会司机们的咒骂，直到汽车撞到了他们的身上，这才朝司机破口大骂起来。露西安娜上了一辆绿色的小型汽车后不见了。约塞连这才以最快的速度一路赶回那家“卡巴莱”，赶回到那个两眼模糊、满头金发褪了色、穿着敞怀的桔红色绸衬衣的女郎身边。这位女郎似乎迷恋上了阿费，但约塞连一边跑，一边在拼命祈祷，但愿她有一个性感十足的姨妈，或者有一个同样性感的女友、姐妹、表姐妹，不然她妈也行，只要她们同她一样淫荡，一样堕落就行。这个女人是个放荡、粗鲁、俗气、不知廉耻并且很会刺激男人欲望的妓女：要不是刚才的事，她是绝对合约塞连的胃口的，因为几个月以来他一直渴望着能有这么一个女人，一直在心里崇拜着这样的女人。今天他还真找到了这样的女人。这个女人喝酒自己付帐，有一辆自己的汽车和一套公寓，另外她还有一只橙红色的浮雕宝石戒指，上面用十分精细的工艺刻着两个人形——一对裸体躺在一块岩石上的少男少女。看了这幅雕像，亨格利·乔马上就昏了头。只见他先是惊讶地哼了一声，然后一下子跳了起来，接着又用一只脚使劲地扒着地板，一副垂涎欲滴的样子。他想要得不得了，几乎都要跪下了。尽管他提出把他们口袋里的所有钱，外加上他的那架精密的黑色照像机都付给她，可那姑娘就是不肯将那枚戒指卖给他。她对钱和照像机都不感兴趣。她感兴趣的事就是私通。
等约塞连赶到那里的时候，那个女人已经走了。他们所有的人也都走了，他只好从那儿走出来，满怀渴望、无精打采地挪着步子，穿过一条又一条黑乎乎、空荡荡的大街。平时，约塞连独自一人时并不常感到孤独，可此时他出于对阿费的强烈的嫉妒，感到很孤独。他明白，此时此刻阿费正同那个很合他约塞连胃口的姑娘一起躺在床上呢。他同时也清楚，只要阿费愿意，他随时都可以同那两个身材苗条的迷人的贵族女人干那种事。那两个女人，即那位美丽而富有，长着一头黑发和两片湿润、性感的红唇的伯爵夫人和她那个同样美丽、富有，也长着一头乌发的儿媳，就住在他们楼上的那套公寓里。每当约塞连有了性交的欲念，一想到了她俩，这种欲望顿时就增强了若干倍。就在回军官公寓的这一路上，约塞连疯狂地爱上所有这些女人。他爱露西安娜，爱那个穿绸衬衫、敞着怀、淫荡而又迷人的姑娘，爱那位美丽、富有的伯爵夫人和她那个同样美丽、富有的儿媳，这两个女人平时连碰都不让他碰一下，甚至都不让他同她们调情。她俩特别喜欢内特利，在内特利面前就像两只温顺的小猫；对阿费，尽管是被动的，倒也很听他的话。然而她们却认为约塞连是个疯子，因此每当他向她们提出下流的要求，或当她们从楼梯上经过，他试图抚摸她们时，她俩总是带着厌恶和蔑视的神情从他的身旁躲开。她俩的舌头和嘴巴是那么柔软，那么伶俐，吐出来的话却是那么尖刻，就像是两个圆溜溜、热乎乎的李子，甜兮兮，粘乎乎、还有一点臭味。总之，她俩是两个超级尤物。她们都有风度，约塞连并不很清楚何为风度，但他知道她们有风度而他却没有，并且明白她们也知道这一点。约塞连一边走一边在头脑中想象着那两个女人身上穿的内衣的样子：她们的内衣可能是墨黑色或者是发乳光的柔和的深粉红色，紧紧地贴在她们那显示出女性特征的柔软部位上，轻如薄纱，柔软滑亮，边缘处缀满了花边，上面散发着娇嫩的肌肤透溢出的撩拨人的香气；香味扑鼻的洗浴盐化成了一个越变越大的云团，从她们那蓝白色的乳房上升腾而起。想到这些，他不禁又一次强烈地希望自己能处在阿费的位置上，这样的话，他这会儿正在同那个浑身充满了活力、喝得醉醺醺的妓女做爱呢。同这个女人他可以怎么下流就怎么干，只要能发泄兽欲，得到快活就行，尽管这个妓女对他毫无兴趣，以后根本不会再想起他了。
哪知待约塞连回到公寓的时候，阿费早就回来了。约塞连呆呆地盯着阿费，既困惑，又惊讶。这种感觉同当天上午在博洛尼亚上空阿费不怀好意、令人费解地硬赖在机头里不肯离去时给约塞连的感觉一模一样。
“你在这儿做什么？”他问。
“对，是该问问他！”亨格利·乔气忿忿地喊道，“让他告诉你他都干了些什么。”
基德·桑普森夸张地长叹了一声，用大拇指和食指做成一把手枪的样子，将自己的脑袋打开了花。赫普尔嘴里在使劲地嚼着一大团泡泡糖，饶有兴致地欣赏着眼前的一切，他那张乳臭未干的十五岁娃娃的脸上挂着一副茫然的表情。阿费悠然自得地对着自己的手心磕打着他的那只烟斗，一边晃着肥胖的身体自我欣赏地来回踱着方步。显然，他为自己造成的这场骚动而感到洋洋自得。
“你没有同那位姑娘一起回家？”约塞连问他。
“噢，当然罗，我跟她一起回去了，”阿费答道，“你总不至于认为我会让她独自一人摸回家去吧？”
“她没让你陪她？”
“哦，她要我陪她了，没错。”阿费抿嘴一笑。“你用不着为好人老阿费操心。不过我可不想因为她多喝了几杯，就乘机去占这么一个可爱的女孩子的便宜。你把我看成什么人了？”
“谁说你想占她的便宜了？”约塞连诧异地斥责阿费道，“她一心想干的事就是找个人跟她上床睡觉。她整个晚上说个不停的就是这件事。”
“那是因为她的头脑有点不做主了，”阿费解释说，“但是我稍稍说了她几句，使她清醒了一些。”
“你这个杂种！”约塞连喊了一声，随后便疲惫地瘫坐在基德·桑普森身旁的一张长沙发上。“既然你不想要她，干吗不把她让给我们当中随便哪一个呢？”
“你看出来没有？”亨格利·乔问，“他有点不正常。”
约塞连点了点头，好奇地望着阿费。“阿费，跟我说说。你是不是从不搞这些女人？”
阿费带着自负的逗乐神情再次抿着嘴笑了起来。“噢，我当然搞她们。别为**心。但我从不搞正经的姑娘。我知道哪些姑娘可以搞，哪些姑娘不可以搞，所以我从不搞正经的姑娘。这个姑娘是个很可爱的孩子。你能看出来，她家挺有钱的。嗨，我甚至让她把她的那枚戒指扔到车窗外面去了。”
听到这话，亨格利·乔的心里痛苦难当，只见他尖叫一声，跳了起来。“你干的什么事？”他尖叫着说，“你干的什么事？”他举起两只拳头开始对着阿费的双肩和双臂没命地乱捶，气得几乎要哭出来。
“你干出这种事来，我真该把你宰了，你这个卑鄙的杂种。他是个邪恶的人，他就是这种人，他一肚子的坏心眼，不是吗？他是不是一肚于的坏心眼？”
“坏得不能再坏了，”约塞连表示同意。
“你们这些家伙在说些什么呀？”阿费问，真的有些困惑不解。
为了保护头，他的臂膀呈椭圆形构成一个缓冲隔离垫，将脸塞在里面。“哎，行了，乔，”他央求道，一边有点不自在地笑了一下。“别再打我了，行吗？”
可是亨格利·乔就是不肯住手，最后还是约塞连抓住了他，连推带搡地将他弄到他的房间里。然后，约塞连无精打采地回到他自己的房间里，脱了衣服，上床睡觉了。一会儿工夫，天就亮了，有人正在推他。
“你干吗要弄醒我？”他抱怨他说。
原来是米恰拉，就是那个生性愉快、相貌丑陋、脸色灰黄、长得皮包骨头的女佣人。她来叫醒他，是因为他有客人来访，来人这会儿就等在门外。露西安娜！他简直不敢相信。米恰拉离去以后，房间里就只有露西安娜一人同他在一起了。她显得可爱、健康、体态优美。尽管她站在那里一动不动，怒气冲冲地皱着眉看着他，然而她周身却散发和流动着一种压抑不住的、令人感到亲切的活力。她站在那里，就像一尊青春女神巨像，两条硕大的圆柱形的双腿叉开着，脚上穿着一双有着楔形后跟的白色高帮鞋，上身穿着一件漂亮的绿色上衣，手里不住地晃动着一个又大又扁的白色皮革手袋。约塞连从床上一跃而起，伸出双手想抓住她，可就在这时，她使劲抡起手袋朝着他劈脸就是一下。约塞连头晕眼花，踉踉跄跄地向后退着，直退到手袋打不到的地方，大惑不解地用手捂着火辣辣的面颊。
“蠢猪！”她恶狠狠地咒骂着约塞连，两只鼻孔一翕一张的，脸上挂着极端厌恶的神情。
她用轻蔑、厌恶的语气恶狠狠地从喉咙间挤出一句脏话，然后大步走到房间的另一头，使劲拉开了三扇高大的竖窗，顿时，灿烂的阳光和清新的空气就像提神壮体的滋补剂一样洪水般地涌进房间，驱尽房间里令人窒息的空气。她将手袋搁在一张椅子上，开始清理房间，从地板上和橱顶上拾起他的东西，将他的袜子、手帕和内衣一古脑地扔进梳妆台的一只空抽屉里，把他的衬衫和长裤挂进壁橱。
约塞连从卧室跑进盥洗室去刷牙。他洗手洗脸，梳头打扮。等他回屋时，房间里已是整整齐齐，露西安娜也快脱好衣服了。她表情轻松。她取下耳坠放在梳妆台上，然后光着脚轻轻地走到床边，身上只穿了一件刚刚盖住臀部的粉红色人造丝无袖女衫。她细心地将整个房间环视了一遍，看看在整洁方面还有什么疏漏的地方，然后才掀起床罩，伸展开四肢，舒舒服服地在床上躺下，脸上露出一种狡黠的期待神情。她沙哑地笑了一声，满怀渴望地朝他点头示意。
“现在，”她耳语般地宣布，同时急切地向他伸出双臂，“现在我可以让你和我睡觉了。”
她胡编乱造地告诉他说，她只在一次周末同她在意大利军队中服役的未婚夫上过床，后来他就被打死了。结果下面发生的事证实了她说的都是真话，因为几乎约塞连刚一开始干那事的时候，她便大喊一声“完事了吗？”约塞连也感到纳闷为什么自己没停下来，直到他“完事了”，才向她解释其中的原委。
他为他们两人各点了一支烟。她对他浑身上下晒成的那种黑黝黝的肤色很是着迷。而他则为她不肯脱下那件粉红色的无袖女衫而感到不解。这件衣服裁剪得就跟男式汗衫背心差不多，上面带有窄窄的背带。穿着它正好可以遮住她背上的那条看不见的疤痕，尽管约塞连设法让露西安娜告诉了他，她身上有这么一个疤，但她却不肯让他看。这条残破的疤痕从她肩呷骨中间的小窝开始一直通到她脊椎骨的末端，当约塞连用指尖顺着疤痕抚摸时，她整个身体都绷紧了、像一块优质钢那样硬邦邦的。想到她在医院里度过了许多个备受折磨的夜晚，约塞连的心痛得都缩了起来。她每天得服药，否则就疼痛难忍；空气里弥漫着各种诸如乙醚、人体排泄物、消毒剂等无法消除的气味、以及人的皮肉坏死腐烂时发出的臭味。到处都有穿白大褂、胶底鞋的人在走来走去，走廊里整夜闪烁着幽暗可怖的灯光。她是在一次空袭中受的伤。
“在哪儿？”他问。他带着疑虑，屏住呼吸。
“在那不勒斯。”
“是德国人干的？”
“是美国人。”
他的心都要碎了，一下子坠入了情网。他想知道她肯不肯嫁给他。
“你疯了。”她高兴地笑了笑，对约塞连说。
“为什么说我疯了？”他问。
“因为我不能结婚。”
“你为什么不能结婚？”
“因为我已经不是个处女了，”她回答说。
“那和结婚有什么关系？”
“谁会娶我呢？没人肯要一个已不是处女的姑娘。”
“我要，我要娶你。”
“但我不能嫁给你。”
“你为什么不能嫁给我呢？”
“因为你疯了。”
“为什么说我疯了？”
“因为你想娶我。”
约塞连感到既不解又好笑，不禁皱眉问道：“你不肯嫁给我是因为我疯了，但又说，我疯了是因为我想娶你，你是这么说的吗？”
“是的。”
“你才疯了！”他大声对她说。
“为什么？”她气愤地大叫着反问他，随即又气冲冲地从床上坐了起来，两只甩不掉的、圆溜溜的乳房在粉红色的女衫下一起一伏，煞是好看。“我怎么疯了？”
“因为你不肯嫁给我。”
“笨蛋！”她又一次大声地回了他一句，同时夸张地用手背在他的胸脯上响亮地打了一下。“我能嫁给你！你不明白吗？我不能嫁给你！”
“噢，当然啦，我明白。可是你为什么不能嫁给我呢？”
“因为你疯了。”
“我怎么疯了？”
“因为你想娶我。”
“那是因为我要娶你。亲爱的，我爱你。”他解释说，然后轻轻地将她拉下来重新躺在枕头上。“我非常爱你。”
“你疯了，”她喃喃地答道，心中感到很高兴。
“为什么？”
“因为你说你爱我。你怎么可以爱一个已不是处女的姑娘呢？”
“因为我不能娶你。”
她猛地一下弹坐起来，勃然大怒，样子怪怕人的。“你为什么不能娶我？”她质问道，如果他的回答中有什么侮辱她的地方，就准备再给他狠狠的一击。“就因为我不是处女了吗？”
“不，不是的，亲爱的。是因为你疯了。”
有好一阵子，她茫然而又忿恨地瞪着他，然后猛然将头向后一仰，带着一种欣赏的神情由衷地大笑起来。等她止住笑后，她用一种新的赞许的眼光盯着他。由于血都涌到了脸上，她那张黝黑的脸蛋丰满芬芳，敏感的肌肤变得更黑了，变得容光焕发，娇艳可爱。她的双眼变得迷离起来。约塞连掐灭了他们两人的香烟，随后他们就一言不发地扑进对方的怀抱，纵情接吻。就在这时，亨格利·乔没敲门就信步走了进来，想问问约塞连是否愿意同他一起出去找小妞。
亨格利·乔一瞧见他们俩，立即停下了脚步，像颗出膛的子弹似地奔出了屋子。约塞连的动作更快，他从床上一跃而起，一边开始朝着露西安娜大声嚷嚷，要她赶快穿上衣服。这姑娘给惊得目瞪口呆。他粗鲁地抓住她的一只胳臂，一把将她拽下床，使劲一推，将她推到她的那堆衣服跟前，紧接着又冲到门边，想赶在亨格利·乔带着照像机赶回来之前将门砰地一声关上。亨格利·乔将他的一条腿从门外硬塞了进来，怎么也不肯缩回去。
“让我进来！”他在门外急切地恳求着，一边发疯似地拼命地扭动着身体。“让我进来！”有那么一会，他停止了挣扎，脸上挂着自以为能逗人开心的微笑透过门缝朝约塞连的脸上看。“我这会儿不是亨格利·乔，”他热切地解释说，“我这会儿是《生活》杂志的大名鼎鼎的摄影师。我拍的大照片都上大封面。约塞连，我会让你成为好莱坞的大明星。那时你就会大把大把地来钱，一次又一次地离婚，一天到晚有一个又一个的约会。”
当亨格利·乔往后退了一点，试图抢拍一张露西安娜穿衣的照片时，约塞连使劲将门关上了。亨格利·乔发疯似地朝着这道牢固的木头障碍发起了攻击，只见他先是向后退去，以重新集聚力量，然后再疯狂地朝前撞去。趁着这一次次攻击的间隙，约塞连分几次将衣服套上了身。露西安娜已经将那件绿白相间的夏装穿上了身，这会儿两手正抓着那条在腰间揉成了一团的短裙。约塞连看到露西安娜的身体马上就将永远地消失在她的那条紧身短衬裤里，一股痛苦的感觉像波浪一样立即波及他的全身。他伸出手一把抓住她那隆起的小腿肚，将她往自己身边拽。她单腿朝前跳着，接着就紧紧地贴在了他的身上，像是被浇铸在了一起。约塞连一边热烈地吻着她的耳朵和她那紧闭的双眼，一边用手使劲地搓揉着她大腿的背部。露西安娜快活地发出淫荡的哼哼声，可就在这时，亨格利·乔用他那已虚弱不堪的身体再次朝房门发起了孤注一掷的攻击，差点没把他们两人撞倒在地。约塞连一把推开了露西安娜。
“赶快！赶快！”他大声地叱责她，“快把你那些东西穿上！”
“你究竟在说些什么呀？”她大惑不解。
“快点！‘快点！难道你不懂英语，快把你的衣服穿上！”
“笨蛋！”她气冲冲地对他回叫道，“那是法语，而不是意大利语。”
亨格利·乔暂时中断了攻击，为的是透过关着的门的缝隙拍照片。约塞连听见了照像机快门的咔嚓声。当他和露西安娜都收拾停当后，约塞连便等着亨格利·乔的下一次冲击，然后出其不意地将门猛地一下拉开。亨格利·乔朝前摔了个大跟头，像一只四肢乱晃的大青蛙一样一头栽进了房间。约塞连灵活地从亨格利·乔身边跳了过去，领着露西安娜出了公寓房间，来到了过道里。他们一路冲下了楼梯，脚步踏得震天响，一边放声大笑，直笑得连气都喘不过来。每次当他们停下来喘口气的时候，他们那两颗乐不可支的脑袋都要互相碰撞一下。快走到楼底时，他们看见内特利正往楼上去，于是他俩停止了大笑。内特利脸色阴沉，浑身脏兮兮的，很是闷闷不乐。他脖子上的领带歪歪扭扭，衬衫也皱巴巴的，走路时两手一直插在裤兜里。他脸上挂着一副愧疚而又绝望的表情。
“小伙子，怎么了？”约塞连满怀同情地问他。
“我又身无分文了，”内特利挂着一脸勉强而又心烦意乱的苦笑答道，“我该怎么办？”
约塞连也不知道他该怎么办。在过去的三十二小时里，内特利一直以每小时二十美元的价格同他所崇拜的那个冷冰冰的妓女呆在一起，将自己的薪水，以及他每月从他那又有钱又慷慨的父亲那儿得到的数目可观的津贴花得精光。这意味着他不能再同她在一起消磨时光了。当那个姑娘在人行道上四处溜达，从其他当兵的人中间拉客的时候，她不许内特利在她的身旁走动。后来她察觉到他远远地一直在跟踪自己，不禁勃然大怒。如果他愿意，他可以不受限制地在她的公寓四周转悠，可就是没有把握她是否一定在那里。
再说，除非他付钱，否则她什么也不会让他得到，因为她对性交之类的事不感兴趣。内特利是想让自己确信，她不会同任何令人讨厌的家伙或同他认识的什么人上床。布莱克上尉总是坚持说，他每次来罗马都能将这妓女买到手，以此来折磨内特利。他总是将自己同内特利的心上人在一起的新闻告诉他，详细地向他述说他是如何又一次将她收拾得服服帖帖的，为的是亲眼看到内特利那痛苦难过的样子，因为听了他的述说，内特利总是联想到布莱克强迫她忍受了极其粗暴无礼的侮辱。
内特利脸上那种伤心绝望的样子使露西安娜的内心有所触动，但她刚同约塞连踏出屋子，来到外面阳光灿烂的大街上，就立即粗野地开怀大笑起来，因为她听见亨格利·乔在窗口苦苦哀求他们回去重新脱光衣服，说他的的确确是《生活》杂志社的摄影师。露西安娜穿着她那双白色楔形高跟鞋，拉着约塞连踮着脚嘻嘻哈哈地沿着人行道逃走了。她这会儿表现出的天真活泼、生气勃勃的劲头同她那天在舞厅里以及后来每时每刻所表现出来的完全一个样。约塞连快步赶上，用手搂着她的腰同她一起走着，一直来到街角，这时她才从他的身旁走开。她从手袋里掏出一面镜子，对着镜子理了理头发，又涂了些口红。
“你干吗不求我让你把我的名字和地址写在一张纸上，这样你下次来罗马就可以再来找我了？”她向他建议。
“你干吗不让我把你的名字和地址写在一张纸上呢？”他赞同地说。
“干吗？”她好斗地质问，嘴巴猛地一撇，现出一个极为不屑的冷笑，眼睛里闪耀着怒火。“这样你就好等我一离开，就把它撕得粉碎，对不对？”
“谁要把它撕个粉碎？”约塞连困惑地抗议说，“你到底在说什么呀？”
“你会的，”她坚持道，“我一走你就会把它撕个粉碎，然后会像个什么了不起的人物似的神气活现地走开，因为一个像我露西安娜这样年轻、漂亮的高个子姑娘让你同她睡了觉，却没向你要一分钱。”
“你准备向我要多少钱？”约塞连问她。
“笨蛋！”她激动地喊道，“我并不是向你要钱。”她使劲跺了下脚，怒气冲冲地扬起一只胳臂，使得约塞连很害怕，担心她又会用那只大手袋照着他的脸上来一下。可她并没有那么做，而是在一张纸上草草地写上自己的姓名和地址，然后把它塞给约塞连。“拿去，”她带着挖苦的语气嘲弄他说，同时还咬了一下嘴唇，以抑制自己说话时声音中的微微颤抖。“别忘了，别忘了等我一走就把它撕成碎片。”
随后她平静地对他笑了笑，用劲握了握他的手，然后，一边有点遗憾地轻轻说了一声“再见”，一边将身体紧紧靠在他的身上依偎了片刻，然后直起身来，带着她自己都未曾意识到的端庄、优雅的神态走开了。
露西安娜刚离开，约塞连就把那张纸条撕掉了，然后朝着相反的方向走去，心里感到自己的确像一个了不起的人物，因为一个像露西安娜这般年轻、漂亮的姑娘跟他睡了觉，却没向他要一文钱。
一路上他为自己的所作所为感到十分开心，不知不觉地进了红十字会大楼的餐厅，直到这时他才抬眼看了一下四周，发现自己正同许许多多穿着各色各样奇形怪状军服的军人一起吃着早饭。突然间，他的周围都是露西安娜的影子：她一会儿脱掉衣服，一会儿又穿起衣服，狂热地抚爱着他，唠唠叨叨地同他说个不停，身上依旧穿着那件同他睡觉时穿的并且不肯脱下来的粉红色人造丝无袖衫。一想到自己刚刚犯下的大错，约塞连差点没被吃在嘴里的吐司和鸡蛋噎死。他竟然如此轻率地将露西安娜那细长、柔软、全部裸露在外、显示着青春活力的四肢撕成了小纸片，并且还沾沾自喜地把她扔进了人行道边的下水道里去了。他这会儿就已经非常思念露西安娜了。餐厅里有那么多穿军装的人同他在一起，可除了他们发出的刺耳声音之外，他对他们全都视而不见。他感到自己体内升起一股迫不及待的欲望，想尽快再次同她单独在一起，于是他从桌边一跃而起，跑出了屋子，顺着那条通向公寓的大街往回奔，想从下水道里找回那些纸片，然而它们早已被一个清洁工用水龙头冲走了。
那天晚上，无论是在盟军军官夜总会，还是在那个黑市餐馆里，约塞连都没能再找到露西安娜。他记得那家黑市餐馆里闷热难当，所有的家什都擦拭得晶光闪亮，空气里充斥着寻欢作乐者的喧嚣，那些盛着精美菜肴的巨大木盘不时地互相磕碰着，还有一大群聪明伶俐、讨人喜欢的姑娘像小鸟似的嘁嘁喳喳个不停。可是那晚他甚至连那家餐馆都没能找到。当他独自上床睡觉后，他在梦里又一次忙着躲避博洛尼亚上空的高射炮火。在飞机里，阿费又一次讨人嫌地赖在他的身后不肯离去，斜着一双肿胀、龌龊的眼睛望着他。第二天一早，他就跑到他能找到的所有法军办事处去找露西安娜，可谁也弄不清他在说些什么，后来，他失魂落魄地跑起来。他提心吊胆，脑子里一片混乱，整个失去了条理，就这么失魂落魄地朝着某个地方不停地跑着。最后，他跑进了士兵公寓，去找那个穿着灰白色紧身内裤的矮胖女佣。他找到她的时候，那女佣穿着一件颜色单调的棕色线衫和一条深色厚裙，正在五楼打扫斯诺登住的房间。那时斯诺登还活着，约塞连从那只蓝色行李袋上用模板印上去的白色的姓名得知那是斯诺登的房间。约塞连表现出了一种不同寻常的不顾死活的疯狂，只见他一跃，跳过了这只行李袋，一头扎进了房间。他欲火中烧，踉踉跄跄地向那个女佣扑了过去，还没等他倒下来，那女人一把抓住了他的两只手腕，拖着他压到自己的身上，她自己也顺势后退，仰面躺倒在床上。她殷勤地将他拥抱在她那松软的、能给人以无限慰藉的怀中，她那张宽大的、充满野性的、令人愉快的
