“What is it?”
A few girls put their hands on their mouths hiding little laughs.
“What, so we’re not allowed to look!” said the most daring one, with a cunning and cynical face, launching the attack. They all laughed aroused, ready for some new thing. Terror overtook Virgínia, she pursed her lips, felt lost. She looked at them helpless and cautious while her empty head was throbbing like a heart. With swift, feverish thinking that was almost painfully intense, she was needing to please them — she spoke with a humble demeanor, afflicted and hard, observing them:
“You know, I’m not feeling well. Can you believe I haven’t eaten for two days, I only drink tea!” — she stared at them dismayed, they were backing off surprised by the change, seeming to doubt her sincerity and scrutinizing her as if it might be some story invented for children.
“You’re lying” — said one girl with watchful, black eyes, short braids, a dark-skinned and decided face.
“No, I’m not, that’s how it is, I swear!” — her hot breath was spreading close to her face — in a sudden inspiration she said to the one who must be the most important: “touch here” — and extended her hand placing it on the girl’s arm, waiting for some sign in her face that she felt the heat of her fever. Soon she saw with enormous pleasure several little hurried hands reaching toward her, touching with curiosity and caution her arm, her fingers, her hand. A boy who was running by halted, came over, and without understanding what he was doing, advanced, touched with care and astonishment Virgínia’s arm, hesitated, lifted his hand to her shoulder.
“She really is hot!” the children were saying looking at one another stunned, moving busy and excited.
“You don’t have a father or a mother?” asked one blonde wearing white linen chambray, her face delicate, exact, and fine. Virgínia seemed profoundly surprised.
“I do, I do,” she said to the young creature, assenting feverish, running her tongue across her dry lips.
“And why aren’t they taking care of you?” inquired the strong little dark-skinned girl in surprise.
“You know, they live far away, that’s because . . .”
“Oh I know,” said the boy with a sudden intelligent look, “I know, you don’t have money to go back!”
“Why to go back? how do you know about these things?” asked Virgínia.
“Just yesterday the maid at home didn’t have money to go back,” said the boy with a certain pride.
“Ah yes, ah yes,” — Virgínia was seeming to meditate.
“So? did you figure it out?” asked the oldest girl, the skinny one.
“Yes, I figured it out, I’ll go back . . .” said Virgínia looking them with fury, disguising it. “I’ll go back, I’ll go back. And now can I go?” she inquired with an indecisive, almost timid air. They looked surprised, glanced at one another quickly without answering. The dark one shook her braids:
“Who was keeping you?”
The others said — “yeah, right!” They laughed a bit wrinkling their noses at the sudden sun that had appeared. Virgínia got up, the children now with their heads raised, hands on their foreheads protecting themselves against the glare, they were retreating watching. She said:
“Fine, goodbye,” she was hesitating as if it were dangerous to withdraw. A few answered goodbye, the little blonde pressed her hand one last time with force on Virgínia’s arm. Virgínia had taken a few steps when the boy ran up shouting:
“Miss! miss! the maid said that when she’d go back she’d buy a ticket in that yellow station, you know, that big one . . .”
Virgínia was stopping listening to him in silence. The boy had nothing else to say, he was waiting. He seemed annoyed:
“So, that’s what I wanted to say . . .”
“Yes, yes, thanks a lot really, really . . .”
When she passed a nearby bench a lady dressed in blue, without a hat, with a big purse, was seeming to say something to her. She stopped, bent her head: ah, yes, the woman had watched the scene, hadn’t heard anything and was asking her out of pure curiosity, with a certain overfamiliar and malicious eagerness, what had happened.
“The world is full of naughty children,” she said showing that she’d be understanding about any fact that Virgínia might tell.
“Yes,” said Virgínia and moved away. The garden was spread in long horizontal lines, the grass was swaying in the fluctuating shadows of the branches, the air was stretching out bright, softly electric. And suddenly warm drops of water started to fall. She took shelter in the gazebo along with a fat old man, with a heart condition, who was slowly gasping with fright and pity, his eyes staring at the rain as at hopeless disaster. A sluggish, thick, and noiseless rain was falling, filling the space with long shining streaks.
The next day, yes it had been at that time, she’d visited the young doctor. He was laughing imitating her. With a falsely paternal demeanor he would brush his body against hers, brush against her cheek that face with two days of beard growth while on the other cheek he was giving her little slaps . . . while she surprised and confused was feeling almost good, very good — he was tall and pale and women were worthless to him. He had a wedding ring; how could you ever guess his relations with his wife? He was getting closer in that calm, white office and she was still sitting on the table where he’d examined her quickly. He’d had two nights of childbirth in a row, he’d said at the beginning with tact and ceremony, hadn’t even been able to shave, he was saying as she was taking off her hat while carefully storing the hairpins. And after he examined her they sat talking, he was losing his coldness, joking so intimately, so distantly . . . in the
