“Take me.”
The mulatto man’s eyes opened. And before long silhouetted against the pure air and the wind, against the light and dark green of the grass and the trees, before long he was laughing, understanding. He lifted her mute, laughing, his hair graying, laughing, and beyond the prairie was stretching beneath the wind. He lifted her mute laughing, a smell of kept meat was coming from his mouth, from his stomach through his mouth, a breath of blood; from his open shirt long and dirty hairs were emerging and around the air was lively, he lifted her by the arms and the sensation of ridiculousness was hardening her with ferocity — he was dangling her in the air proving to her that she was light. She pushed him with violence and he mute laughing mute walked and dragged her and invincible kissed her. Yet he was still laughing when she stood and serenely, like the end of going beyond the limits of her life, stepped with calm power on his wrinkled face and spit on him while he mute, looking wasn’t understanding and the sky was lengthening in a single blue air. She awoke immediately and when she opened her eyes she was almost standing, her face clear and anxious. Motionless she was feeling her own body all the way to the end, large, her muscles meek and happy. She wasn’t feeling numbness but a possibility of moving herself with balance. What had happened? quickly she understood, for a second she was confused, she thought she’d really left the house, hesitated, returned to a vague good sense. It had been a short dream, enough to let her leave the limits of her life. Swollen and slow sensations were broadening her body. Surprised as after an act of sleepwalking, she headed toward the mirror: what was happening to her? there was a strange ambiguity in her face where her weakened eye was always dreaming, a determination in her lips as if she were obeying the fatefulness of a hallucination. She was feeling that some countless time had passed and she was remembering the house in whose center she found herself as something far away. A sweet power was weighing upon her hips, lengthening the smooth neck to which the big and irregular cleavage was giving birth. In some way she was no longer a virgin. She had lived more than she had dreamed, lived, she would swear to it sincerely though she also knew the truth and scorned it.
“Virgínia.”
Father was calling her from the parlor with his voice that was never raised but could be heard throughout the house. In a difficult reminiscence she noticed that he had already called her while she was dreaming. She went down a few steps, stopped in the middle of the staircase:
“Daddy, you called me?”
Esmeralda with her face wet with tears was hesitating by his side, on her cheek the red outline of the palm of a hand — Mother was hovering on the threshold without support staring her old rat’s dusky, slow gaze. Virgínia sought Daniel uselessly.
“Repeat what you . . . what we heard from that person,” Father said to her.
“Daddy, Daddy.”
“Repeat it.”
“Daddy.”
“Repeat it!”
“I can’t.”
Father looked at everyone, victorious, old, sullen. In those moments of rage he’d seem fatter and shorter.
“Then listen and confirm it: this slut here meets a male in the garden.”
Esmeralda sobbed:
“But nothing happened this time, nor ever . . . I already swore!”
“God!” screamed Father with sudden eloquence, “what’s a poor man done in order to receive evil spirits in his house for the second time! What’s a poor man done to see his life and that of the house he made brought low by his own daughter!! Punish me, Lord, but bring down thy punishment upon my own head!”
Virgínia was watching him lucidly, her eyes mobile and cunning. Her whole body was aching in anticipation. Her father abruptly calmed down, turned toward her:
“Confirm what you said.”
“She’s the one who told?!” Mother screamed.
“No . . . no!” groaned Virgínia, white, looking at Father.
He hesitated for an instant with clouded and hot eyes:
“It doesn’t matter who it was, what matters is that this . . .”
Quick thoughts were blending inside her and before anyone could expect it she let out a piercing scream and fell. Her father kept her from rolling down the stairs. Eyes closed, ears tensely on the lookout for whatever was happening, she felt carried upwards in a slow flight. She was smiling inwardly without knowing why amidst the alert terror. The effort she was making not to open her eyes and to stay lifeless was absorbing her so strongly that for several instants she stopped hearing and being aware. When she cracked open her eyes she found herself on the bed in the empty bedroom. A great silence was enveloping the house, whispering through every corner as on a Sunday. She stayed for a few moments almost distracted pulsating sweetly. In her body the blood was renewing itself. Standing in a light thrust she was at the door, searching through the air in order to find out where the people were. Nothing could be felt, the mansion vast and naked. She felt herself smiling, brought her fingers to her lips but these were still closed and narrow and the smile had only been a thought. A thought without joy but that was making her smile: her goodness wasn’t preventing her badness, her goodness wasn’t preventing her badness. She had committed a corrupt and vile act. Never though had she seemed to have acted so freely and with such freshness of desire. She needed to study herself in the mirror, yes, yes, she thought with urgency and hope. She was sensing that the guest room could be reached without anyone’s seeing her. She crossed the hallway rapidly, the steps of her bare feet muffled by the
