A train with dirty windows, with thousands of drops of water trickling down the side. Then there would be the sound of wheels and the shrill whistle. The End.
A new life would begin. She would have to attack it without regret, with great willpower, saying: “Today life begins, behind me there is nothing.” How would her sister receive her? And her brother-in-law?
She would find Gogol: fat, ungainly, dirty, his hair white, his lifeless eyes marked with red spots. Her brother-in-law had christened him at the time of his passion for Russian literature, a passion that had moved on to crossword puzzles. He had found the dog crouching on the side of the road like a pile of rubbish. Feeling sorry for him, he put him in his Ford and didn’t realize he was blind until after he’d had him at home for a while. Marta had complained. A blind dog: what good was that? But it would have been too sad to throw him out . . . He walked slowly, head down, bumping into furniture. He would lie in the corner or the middle of the room, and if someone approached he would raise his head as if looking at the sky. They kept him, but it was depressing.
“Bon dia, Teresa,” her sister would say when she saw her, “always the same, never letting us know you’re coming. Pere, it’s Teresa, put down your crossword puzzle and come here.” Then the rejoicing would begin. She would feel a terrible loneliness. The house on the outskirts of town would seem sordid to her: the covered entrance had no glass—not that the glass had broken, but rather it had never been put in. The walls were full of drawings Pere had made during his leisure time, abominable, surrealistic drawings that made her dizzy.
“What a surprise, sister-in-law!” Twenty years of bureaucracy hadn’t taken the liveliness from his voice, or the freshness of his laughter, but his eyes were sad and greedy. It was the look of someone suffocating, with no voice left to cry for help.
•
Her eyes welled up. She could no longer see the tender colors on the map.
Not a sound came from the bathroom. He must be putting on his tie; he must be combing his hair. Soon he would be coming out. Quick, quick, she thought. If only the clock could be turned back, back to a previous moment. Back to the little house last year by the sea. The sky, water, palm trees, the fiery red of the sun reflected at sunset on the glass of the balcony. Blooming jasmine gripping the balcony. And the clouds, the waves, the wind that furiously blew the windows closed . . . It was all in her heart.
A burst of tears and sighs shook the bed. She cried in despair, as if a river of tears were forcing itself out through her eyes. The more she tried to restrain herself, the sharper the pain. “What’s the matter, Teresa?” He was by her side, surprised and hesitant. Oh, if the crying could only be stopped, controlled. But his voice brought on another flood of tears. He sat on the bed, very close to her, put his arm around her and kissed her hair. He didn’t know what to say, nor did he understand. She had him once more. She had him by her side, even with all there was on the map, and more. Much more than could possibly be conveyed: the smell of water was the rain on the umbrella, on the still, frightened river; it was the iridescent drops on the tips of leaves, hidden drops on rose leaves. The roses didn’t drink them, those iridescent, secret drops. They guarded them jealously, as she did the kisses.
Could she tell him the truth? Now that she had him beside her, his face full of anguish as he leaned toward her, giving himself fully to her, the drama that had arisen in half an hour melted like snow in fire. “Can’t you tell me what’s wrong?” He gently brushed the hair away from her wrists and kissed her. She couldn’t say a word but felt at peace. He threw the map on the floor and hugged her like a child. He truly loved her, she thought, and would never have been able to think the absurd things she sometimes did. They had come so far together. They were one in the midst of so many people.
And the girl full of anger who wanted to catch the train, who wanted to flee, to slip down the stairs unexpectedly without being seen, began to dissolve. She was carried away like witches by the smoke. She went up an imaginary chimney and was swept away by the wind, was slowly picked apart until nothing was left. What remained, all curled up, was a girl without troubles, without agitation, a girl unaware that she was tyrannically imprisoned within four walls and a ceiling of tenderness.
Afternoon
at the Cinema
Sunday, 2 June
Ramon and I went to the Rialto this afternoon. We had quarreled earlier, and I was almost in tears when he was buying the tickets. It was over something stupid, I know. It started like this. I went to bed last night at one o’clock. I stayed up past twelve because of the electric blue thread I misplaced, and without the thread I couldn’t finish the smocking. And Mamà was in a bad mood. “You never pay attention to where you put things, just like your father.” Which only made me more nervous. Papà gave her an irritated look from the table, and then he went back to staring into a hand mirror he had propped up against a wine bottle and picking the blackheads from his nose. I finally found the thread and could finish the smocking. But I still had to iron the skirt and blouse. I was exhausted when I got in bed, and I thought about Ramon for a while till I fell asleep. When he rang today after lunch I was already dressed; I even had three roses in my hair. He stormed in like he was crazy and didn’t even glance at my skirt and blouse—and all that work to iron them. He went straight to Papà, who was sitting in the rocking chair half asleep, and said, “Figueres says it’s better for us not to give our names. Just as I thought: They tricked you.” Papà opened one eye, immediately closed it again, and started rocking. But Ramon kept on talking, as if he didn’t see he was annoying Papà, saying the refugees should do this or that, and all that time he never even looked at me. Finally he said, “Let’s go, Caterina,” and he took me by the arm and we left. I said to him, “You always say things to upset him. You’re so annoying.” But that’s nothing. We were half way there and weren’t talking and suddenly he let go of my arm. Oh, but I immediately saw what was happening: Roser was coming toward us on our side of the street. He always says he and Roser just fooled around a little. Sure, just fooled around. But he let go of my arm. She walked by all tense, not even looking at us. I said to him, “It looks like she’s your fiancée instead of me.” (I just noticed I wrote this part without any breaks and the mestressa always used to tell me to stop every now and then and start a new paragraph. But since I’m only writing this for me, it doesn’t matter.)
Well, I felt like crying while he was buying the tickets, and the bell to start the movie made me even sadder. I felt like crying because I love Ramon and I like it when he has that smell of aftershave the days he goes to the barber to get his hair cut, but I like it even more when his hair is long and he looks like Tarzan from the side. I know I’ll get married, because I’m pretty, but I want to marry him. Mamà always says he’ll end up in Guyana with all that black market stuff. But he won’t be doing it forever and he says this way we can get married sooner. Maybe he’s right.
We sat down without saying anything; the room smelled like disinfectant. First they showed a news reel: a girl skated, then there were lots of bicycles and then four or five men seated around a table. At that point he started to whistle and stomp his feet like he was crazy. The man in front of us turned around and they argued till it was over. After that there was a movie with puppets I didn’t like at all: there were all these talking cows. At intermission we went to the bar and drank a Pampre d’Or and he ran into a friend who asked him if he had any Nylons and packs of Camels and he answered he’d have some next week because he was going to Le Havre. I worry a lot when he’s away because even if I don’t say it I’m always afraid they’ll catch him and handcuff him.
On account of the black market we missed the first part and when we were about to sit down everyone complained because the wooden soles on my shoes make a lot of noise even if I walk slowly. The couple in the movie was really in love. I can see we’re not in love like that. There was a woman spy and a soldier and at the end they were both shot. Movies are lovely because if the ones in love are miserable then you suffer a bit but you think everything will turn out for the best, but when I’m miserable I never know if things will end well. And if sometimes things end badly, like today, everybody’s sad, thinking what a pity. The days I’m really desperate it’s worse, because no one knows. And if they knew, they’d