It wasn’t a bad plan.
But now the Mother was like an apparition, and to the young Bride it seemed that there was something much more urgent to resolve in that room.
So she sat down. She placed Don Quixote on the floor and sat down.
The Mother turned her chair to get a better look at her, and Dolores moved with her, finding a position in which she could continue her patient activity. Not only was she a deaf-mute; she was also nearly invisible. The Mother seemed to have with her the same relationship she might have maintained with a shawl she had thrown over her shoulders.
No, she said, you’re not ugly. Something happened. Years ago you were, frankly, too ugly to look at — surely you’ll explain to me what went through your head or what you expected to gain by ruining yourself like that, in what is undoubtedly a form of unjustified discourtesy toward the world, a discourtesy to avoid, believe me, so useless, the waste… but there is no wealth without waste, it seems, so it’s not worth the trouble to… In any case what I mean to say is that you’re not ugly, not at all, now I imagine it would be a matter of becoming beautiful, in some way, you must have thought about it, I imagine, you won’t spend your life in this state, a weak broth, good heavens, you’re eighteen years old… you’re eighteen, right? yes, you’re eighteen, well, frankly, at that age one can’t be truly beautiful, but it’s at least obligatory to be outrageously desirable, there should be no doubt about that, and now if I ask myself if you’re outrageously adorable, or maybe I said desirable, yes, probably I said desirable, it’s more precise, if I ask myself, then… get up a moment, sweetheart, do me a favor, there, thank you, sit down again, it’s clear, the answer is no, you’re not outrageously desirable, sad to say, but so many things are sad, you certainly must have noticed how many things are saddening if you only… but the earth looks different seen from the moon, don’t you think? I think so, I’ve been led to believe it, and so for that reason I don’t think it’s necessary to… despair may be a little strong… become melancholy, there, certainly there’s no reason to become melancholy, I wouldn’t want to see you melancholy, it’s not important, in the end it’s just a decision, you see, you should give in to the idea, and stop putting up resistance, I think you should decide to be beautiful, that’s it, maybe without expecting too much, the Son is arriving, if I were you I’d hurry, he could arrive at any moment, he can’t continue to send rams and toothed wheels forever… although now it occurs to me that perhaps you came to ask me something, or am I mixing you up with someone else, there are so many people who want things, the number of people who want something from you is oddly… you came to ask me something, sweetheart?
Yes.
What?
How to do it.
How to do what?
To be beautiful.
Ah.
She handed Dolores a comb, the way she might have readjusted the shawl that had slid off one shoulder. The child took it and continued her work with that. Probably it had a particular millimetric alignment of teeth that in that specific phase of the operation had proved to be necessary. Maybe even the material it was made of had its importance. Bone.
In general it’s a business that takes years, said the Mother.
It seems that I am in some hurry, said the young Bride.
Indisputably.
I can learn quickly.
I don’t know. Maybe. Do you not like to put up your hair? said the Mother. Gathered in a bun, at the nape.
The young Bride did it.
What’s that? asked the Mother.
I put up my hair.
Exactly.
That’s what I was supposed to do.
You don’t gather your hair at the nape to gather stupid hair at a stupid nape.
No?
Try again.
The young Bride tried again.
Sweetheart, will you look at me? Look at me. So, the sole purpose of putting up your hair, gathering it at the nape, is to take men’s breath away, to remind whoever is around at that moment, with the simple force of that gesture, that whatever they are doing at that moment is tremendously inadequate because, as they remembered the exact instant they saw you twist your hair at the nape of your neck, there is only one thing they truly desire in life: to fuck.
Really?
Of course, they want nothing else.
No, I mean, you really put your hair up to…
Oh Lord, you can also do it as if you were tying your shoes, many women do, but we’re talking about something else, I think, no? About being beautiful.
Yes.
There.
So the young Bride loosened her hair, was silent for a moment, then gathered it in her hand again and slowly lifted it, twisting it at her nape and pinning it in a soft knot, ending the action by arranging behind her ears the two locks that, on either side of her face, had escaped the operation. Then she rested her hands in her lap.
Well…
Did I forget something?
You have a back. Use it.
When?
Always. Start again from the beginning.
The young Bride bent her head forward slightly and brought her hands to her neck to undo the hair that she had just arranged.
Stop. Does your neck itch, by chance?
No.
Strange, one lowers the head to scratch.
And so?
Head tilted back slightly, thank you. Like that, very good. Now toss your head gently two or three times while your hands undo the knot, and that will inevitably lead you to arch your back in what for any male present will signify a kind of announcement, or promise. Stop there. You feel your back?
Yes.
Now bring your hands to your forehead and gather up all the hair, carefully, more carefully than necessary, then throw your head straight back and, running your hands over your head, clasp the hair tight at the nape so that it falls gracefully. The lower down you hold on to it the more your back will arch, and you’ll assume the correct position.
Like that?
More.
It hurts.
Nonsense. The farther back the arms go, the farther forward the bosom is thrust and the more the back arches. There, like that, eyes up, stop. Can you see yourself?
With my eyes up…
Feel, I mean, can you feel what position you’re in?
Yes. I think so.
It’s not an ordinary position.
It’s uncomfortable.
It’s a position in which a woman takes pleasure, according to the rather limited imagination of men.
Ah.
From here on, it’s all simpler. Don’t be stingy with the rotation of the neck, and draw this hair up, knotting it as you like. It’s as if you had opened your robe and now you’re closing it, simple. A robe with nothing under it, I mean.
The young Bride closed her robe with a certain elegance.
Don’t forget to always let some hair escape: adjusting it at the last minute with some vaguely imprecise gesture gives a childish touch that’s reassuring. To men, not to hair. There, like that, you’re coming along well, I have to admit.
Thank you.
Now from the beginning.
From the beginning?
The idea is to do it not as if you had to lift up a kneading trough in the kitchen, but as if it were the thing you wanted to do most in the world. It can’t really function if you’re not the first to get excited.