The concierge had gone out for a moment, so I waited. She arrived, weighted down by packages and a basket full of vegetables. “How can I help you?” she asked as she placed the packages on a table, without even a glance at me. When she had finished, she looked me straight in the face. “What is it?” “By any chance would you have Senyoreta Eliana’s address?” “Ah, Eliana. Yet again! I thought the fuss was finally over.” “If I’m inconveniencing you. .” “No, not you. Since she moved, not a month goes by without someone asking for her or bringing her letters.” “Letters?” I asked, my heart pounding. “Ah yes, the letters, the mystery surrounding them. .” “So you have her address?” “Hers? I can give you her friend’s address if you wish. She used to stop by here quite often. Always in a hurry, never even a ‘Bon dia.’ Who do these ladies think they are? I too can go around with my head high.” Still grumbling, she went inside and came back out with a slip of paper in her hand. “Here, you see? Elisa R., Carrer Tenerife 26.” My head began to spin, and I had to lean against the wall. Realizing I felt ill, the concierge had me sit down and brought me a cordial. I remember a bouquet of artificial roses in the center of the table, the sideboard lined with blue glasses. Through an open door at the end of the hall I could see a patio and hear pigeons cooing.
From my diary:
A garden. A cool, shady garden. A garden with no flowers. Wisteria climbing the trellis by the front door, the occasional rustling of leaves. A Japanese room. A screen showing pink ibis, their wings extended, surrounded by yellow chrysanthemums. A small black lacquered table with mother of pearl inlay. Almond branches. A magnificent tiger skin lying on the champagne-colored rug. Rare luxury, a bit overpowering. A woman much older than me. White skin. Very white. Black, rather small eyes and smooth, arched eyebrows. Tall and thin. A voice. . Yes, above all the voice. Just hearing it would make you fall in love with her. As I faced her, I was forced to view myself: a disorderly, brusque, temperamental girl. A failure. How can one possibly acquire her degree of poise and elegance? Somehow I managed to stammer, “I hope you will forgive me. I announced that Mârius Roig had sent me; that’s not the case, nor is he ill. I have come because I wanted to. I am his wife.” At the very least I expected a word, a change of expression, a bit of curiosity. She gazed at me, unperturbed. Had I said nothing more, I am sure the visit would have ended here. “I’ve come because I wanted to meet you. It was such an overwhelming desire that I couldn’t control it.” “What is it that you wish to know?” “Nothing.” “What do you want?” “Nothing.” “Only to meet me?” “Only that.” “Has he spoken to you of me?” I didn’t reply. “Is it because you feel that I stand between you and him?” “No.” The question had been so humiliating that I’d been forced to lie. “So?” “If I ask you something directly, will you respond?” “What is it?” “Do you love him?” It was as if the ibis on the screen had moved. It took her a while to reply. I could see her searching for something that would sound good, diplomatic. “Some things never die.” I wanted to applaud. Even though I saw that she had chosen her reply as one might choose the smallest needle amongst many, still, she had hurt me. She had said it to hurt me and had succeeded. She spoke the words so calmly, with such control, such a penetrating voice. She hurt me, but I knew it was true. I felt as if suddenly I had been pinned to the wall and left there.
•
I was consumed by the desire to die. Not to kill myself, simply to die. To kill yourself you must have the will, the energy. To die, you need nothing. Suddenly I found support in Elvira, and here I had always believed her an enemy.
“I remember the day this Senyora Elisa first visited the house, enveloped in fur and perfume. I think she came about an inheritance. She completely transformed Senyor, like turning a sock inside out. How he changed! He was so cheerful, always in a good mood, but after that hardly a ‘Bon dia’ to me. Everything went smoothly while her husband was in the sanatorium. Visits, phone calls, urgent letters. Oh yes, she came to the house. She’d march right in as if she owned it, giving orders like she was the mestressa. She showed up and wrecked Mârius’s life, poor Senyor. Her goal was to make him fall in love with her. She needed a man, forgive me for being so frank, but lots of women are like that. Did they take a trip together? Many. You have to remember that the affair lasted five years. Straight away I saw how selfish she was. And all during this time, she’d visit her husband. She’d go to the sanatorium, sometimes stay a week. I could tell just by looking at Senyor’s face. When she was away, he wouldn’t set foot out of the house, all sad and dull, looking like a sick animal. But the husband regained his health, and she began to withdraw. With plenty of fancy excuses, she abandoned Senyor like an old shoe. But you shouldn’t be thinking about these things. Can’t you see how much he loves you? As soon as I laid eyes on you, I thought to myself ‘He’ll be happy with this girl.’ You can tell right away you’re a fine person. But it’s not good to be sad, believe me, it’s not good.”
That is how I learned what it is to have “seny,” good sense.
•
I went out this afternoon with Elvira. We visited her niece Maria, who is married and has an eleven-month-old baby. The sun was scorching, not a bit of air. We crossed a patio at the back of which was a printing press. Through the open window you could see an office and hear the sound of a linotype. To the right of the patio was a glass door, a window with red geraniums on either side of it. We went straight into the dining room. The table was covered with a blue-and-white checkered oilcloth. Maria was sewing. A cradle covered by a bride’s veil stood in the corner, and a sewing machine beneath the window. We had a bite to eat. Maria had fixed sandwiches and prepared fresh peaches and pears doused in sweet wine and sugar. The baby woke up. His skin was like milk, his eyes like stars. He was whimpering. He must have been hot and in a bad mood. Maria breastfed him. Her husband came in at six. He works at the printing office. He went off to wash and change. When he returned to the dining room, he was naked from the waist up, wearing blue trousers. Maria handed the boy to Elvira and served her husband some fruit salad. As she did so, he put his arm around her and pulled her forcefully toward him. “Keep still,” she exclaimed, but she didn’t move away. He ran his hand through her hair, tangling it. Then she sat down. But her eyes were fixed on her husband’s chest, staring at his dark, glossy skin, fascinated.