“Want me to buy you another one?”
“No.”
Rose, rose. . please, don’t let him notice. Why are you eating the roses? And now we’ll get married, and I’ll have to burn the letters. All of them, even the one from February 15th. If I could only keep it, together with the dried roses. Are you eating the roses? I was holding a bouquet, and he was kissing me as we laughed and walked along. He held me by the waist. His hat was tilted to the side and his eyes shone. I was eating a rose leaf. If you keep eating rose leaves, you’ll turn into a rose. That night I dreamed I was born from an old vine that hugged the wall, and little by little I opened out into petals of blood. He grabbed my arm furiously: Throw the roses away, throw them away. I looked at him with half-closed eyes and kept on chewing the rose leaf. My love. When I climbed the stairs I knew where I was, where I was going, and why. An old man opened the door and stepped back to let us inside. No, that dark room with the faded screen and frayed rug gave off no particular smell. It was sordid and sad. Don’t be afraid. When I opened my eyes I saw his jacket on the back of the chair and his tie on top, green with red stripes. You don’t seem to recall that we have to deliver the violets. The workshop manager scolded me the following day when I was late. I used a wire to string the purple leaves together. How tight he held me! I got a bruise on my arm and had to wear a blouse with long sleeves. When I come back we’ll get married, the first letter said. Do you still eat rose petals? I’ll have to burn them all, as well as the cretonne-lined box. And this ring that hurts my finger. He hasn’t written me in two years, two years with no news. Married? Maybe dead. And if he came back, I’d do the same. . The morning I cried so, the concierge brought the milk up to me: That’s life, and you can thank your lucky stars he didn’t leave you a souvenir. Seventeen letters, seventeen letters I waited for deliriously, sick with so much waiting. Why are you eating the roses?
“What are you thinking?”
“Me? Nothing.”
CARNIVAL
“Taxi! Taxi!”
A car drove by the girl without stopping. It was one o’clock in the morning, and she was standing on the deserted garden-lined Avinguda del Tibidabo. The only lights still lit shone from the house she had just left. Through the curtains you could see the shadows of people dancing.
“The taxi stand’s further down,” a young fellow told her as he walked past.
“Where?”
“Right by the tram stop.”
The fellow gave the girl a puzzled glance. She was wearing a long, silken cape down to her feet, quite wide but lightweight. She had a shiny star on her forehead. And a mask. The March wind sent ripples through the folds in the cape. Her hair blew to one side.
“And where exactly is the tram stop?” she asked, wondering what his disguise was. The white wig was curious, with its tail curling upward at the neck. The socks were white too, the tight trousers red satin. The frock coat was a shade of beige. Some large cardboard scissors hung from his waist.
“Would you like for me to accompany you? I’m heading that way.”
“We’ll pretend like we’re water flowing down the hill,” the girl said as she burst out laughing. A fresh, contagious laugh.
They started walking. The boy strolling timidly, not too close to the girl, from time to time glancing at the shadow on the ground caused by the star on the girl’s forehead.
“The day after tomorrow I’m leaving for Paris,” she suddenly announced. “I’ll be there a couple of weeks, then on to Nice.”
“Ah.”
Not knowing what to say, he gazed straight at her, determined to give his look a surprised, intelligent air, one of admiration.
The girl must have been thinking about something else, because for several minutes she made no attempt to continue the conversation. Her head was slightly canted as she hummed a monotonous little tune of just three notes, always the same. She kept running her hand through her hair. Just when it seemed that she’d forgotten about the boy next to her, she stopped humming and pointed to a little package he was holding carefully in his hand.
“What’s that?”
“This? Nothing. Just some pastries for my little brother,” he said with a forced smile, a bit embarrassed.
“And that?” In his other hand he held an indistinguishable object.
“It’s a mask.”
“Why aren’t you wearing it?”
The boy hesitated, not knowing what to say, but she insisted; so with a serious air, he put it on.
“I must look silly, no? I wouldn’t have chosen a clown’s face, but some friends gave it to me and they—”
“Like comical things?”
“Sometimes I think they go too far, but, you see, they—”
“Well, if a mask doesn’t make people laugh, maybe it’s best to go with your own face.”
“You’re right. Want a pastry?”
The girl stopped suddenly and with a mischievous twinkle said, “I’m going to get something. Will you wait for me?”
He nodded and the girl took off running, up the avenue. Her cape fell to the ground, but she didn’t stop. He picked it up and closed his eyes, fingering the delicate material. Standing there all alone, the girl’s cape over his arm, he felt out of place, removed from this world. He looked up at the sky for a long time. The trees were just beginning to bud, the tram tracks gleamed in the moonlight. The rough tips of his fingers against the silk sent a shiver up his spine. He hung the cape over his arm, not daring to touch it. He glanced up, glanced down, then started all over. The sky, the trees. . Finally he sat down on a stone bench, but the cold immediately shot through his thin sateen trousers, sending another shiver up his spine.
•
After a long while the girl reappeared, tiny and pale, weightless, her sheer dress fluttering in the wind, like a bird with its wings extended downward.
“They let me have a bottle of champagne, and now the two of us are going to empty it. Do you like champagne?”
He was about to say, “Si, Senyora,” but caught himself in time and exclaimed with a blush, “Immensely. Would you like your cape?”
“Not now. Later.”
They had reached a tiny triangle of a plaza. A rickety evergreen stood in the center. She turned, facing west, and cried out “Titania!” A feeble echo from the houses on the other side repeated, “Titania!”
“The echo’s not too bad here, but further up, by the house where the party is, you can hear the words repeated three times, loudly.”
Feeling moved, he dared to exclaim, “So, it is my pleasure to accompany the queen of the fairies?”
“Purely by chance. With the same dress and a string of pearls, I could have been Juliet. Or with a garland of flowers and leaves in my hair, Ophelia,” she added flirtatiously. “But with my temperament, I prefer to be, even if for just one night, a powerful character. So, why did you take me for Titania?”
“Because that’s what you cried out, and my uncle used to tell me those stories.”
“He died?”
“Many years ago.”
“Well, now that you know who I am, introduce yourself.”
The boy hesitated, but she insisted.
“Say your name, loud.”
He swallowed and said in a low voice,
“My name’s Pere.”
Cheerfully, the girl shouted his name very loudly, and the echo replied, “Pere, Pere!”
“Twice? This echo’s a bit crazy. Now that we’ve introduced ourselves, open the champagne. I might spill it on myself and a fairy’s dress has to be immaculate.” She handed him the bottle and added, “It seems like we’ve been friends for a long time.”