Why all that sex?
In what sense?
In the book, all that sex.
There’s almost always sex in my books.
Yes, but here it’s an obsession.
You think?
You know.
Obsession seems to me a little much.
Maybe. But evidently there is something that attracts you, in writing the sex.
Yes.
What?
That it’s difficult.
L. began to laugh.
You never change, eh?
It’s the last thing she said. She left without even turning or saying goodbye, it was a thing she used to do then, too. I liked it.
She left beautifully, without even turning or saying goodbye, thought the young Bride as she watched the elegant Woman cross the room. I like it. Who knows how many nights it takes to become like that. And wasted days, she thought. Years. She poured herself some more wine. Might as well. The strange solitude of one who is alone in the middle of a party like that one. My solitude, she said to herself in a low voice. She straightened her spine, pulled her shoulders back. Now I’ll put my thoughts in place and my fears in alphabetical order, she thought. But then her mind was immobile, incapable of setting off on the narrow pathway of thoughts: empty. She would have liked to ask what still belonged to her after that day of stories. She tried. The first thing is that I no longer have anyone. I’ve never had anyone, so it changes nothing. But then her mind became empty again, immobile. A lazy animal. Better for everyone to know, I can finally be myself, better also for me to know, he would have remained a father stuck in my throat all my life, better that he’s dead, better now. One day I’ll understand if I killed him, now I’m too young, I have to be careful not to kill myself. Farewell, father, brothers farewell. But then the emptiness again, not even painful, only uncorrectable. She looked up at the party that was crackling around her, and felt she was a shadow, in her unsuitable dress, an indecipherable move on the sidelines of the game. Nothing mattered to her. She lowered her eyes and stared at the long, red silk gloves she was holding in her lap. Hard to say if they had meaning. She took off her jacket, so she was just in her plain dress, which left her arms bare. She took the gloves and put them on, with care but without purpose, or just glimpsing consequences that were unknown to her. She liked finding a soft seat for each finger, and then pulling the red silk up over her skin, up to the elbow. It did her good to apply herself to a pointless gesture. I could learn a lot of things here, she said to herself. I’d like to return, I have to dress differently, maybe the Father will let me return. Who knows if the Daughter has ever been here. And the Mother, here, as a girl, what a sight it must have been. Glorious. She looked at her hands, they seemed like hands she had lost and that someone had now given back to her. They must be grotesque, with this dress, she thought. It didn’t matter to her. She asked herself what mattered to her, at that moment. Nothing. Then she realized that a man had stopped, and was standing in front of her. She looked up: he was young, he seemed polite, and he was saying something to her, probably something brilliant — he was smiling. I’m not listening to you, thought the young Bride. But the man didn’t go away. I’m not listening to you but it’s true, you’re young, you’re not drunk, you have a nice jacket. He continued to smile at her. Then he bowed gracefully and asked, nicely, if he could sit down next to her. The young Bride looked at him for a long time, as if she had to summarize a whole story without which she would be unable to give an answer. Finally she let him sit down, without a smile. The man began to speak again, and the young Bride remained staring at him without listening to a single word: but when he offered her the glass of champagne he was holding she brought it to her lips, without hesitation. He stared at her, with the air of studying a puzzle.
You can ask, if you don’t understand, the young Bride said to him.
I’ve never seen you here, said the man.
No, I’ve never seen myself here, either, she said. Nor am I seeing myself now, she thought.
The man registered the good fortune of having found an inexperienced, pure girl, a circumstance that in that sort of game was rare and presented a very special attraction. Since he knew that it was often a case of a skillful performance he leaned forward to place his lips on the young Bride’s neck and when she instinctively drew back he began to think that luck was really granting him a pleasure that, provided he had some patience, would make his evening memorable.
I’m sorry, he said.
The young Bride looked at him.
No, she said, don’t pay attention to me, do it again, it’s that I wasn’t expecting it.
The man leaned over again, and the young Bride let him kiss her neck, closing her eyes. She thought that the man knew how to kiss graciously. He raised one hand to touch her face, with a pure caress. When he pulled away, he didn’t take his hand from her face and instead lingered until his fingertips touched her lips, which he didn’t notice he was staring at, in surprise: then her dress stopped seeming to him so inexplicably unsuitable, and for a moment he doubted his own certainty. She knew why, and, surprising herself, took the man’s fingers between her lips, held them a moment, getting hot, and then, turning her head, pushed the man away politely and said to him that she didn’t even know who he was. Who I am? he asked, continuing to stare at her lips.
You can make up something, said the young Bride.
Then he smiled, and stared at her for a moment in silence, because he was no longer very sure of what was happening.
I don’t live here, he said.
Where, then?
Nothing, elsewhere, he said. Then he added that he was a scholar.
Of what?
He explained it to her, without understanding clearly why, chose his words carefully, and with the wish that she would really understand.
Are you making it up? she asked.
No.
Really?
I swear.
He made as if to kiss her on the mouth but she drew back and instead of yielding to a kiss took his hand and placed it on her knees, pushing it toward the hem of her dress, but in an indecipherable way, which might seem insignificant, minuscule, a brief flight from a real intention. Nor did she know, at that moment, what she was seeking. But she realized that somewhere, in her body, was the absurd desire to be touched by that man’s hand. Not because she liked the man, he didn’t matter to her: she felt rather the urgency to throw away something of herself, and opening her legs to the man’s caress seemed to her at the moment the shortest or simplest way. She stared at him with a look that meant nothing. The man was silent. Then he pushed his hand under her dress, cautiously. He asked her where she came from, and who she was. And the young Bride answered. While she was trying to remember how far up her stockings went and where the man’s fingers would find skin, she began to speak. Unexpectedly, she heard her own voice, calm, almost cold, uttering the truth. She said she had grown up in Argentina and, surprising herself as well, described her father’s dream, the pampas, the herds of animals, the big house in the middle of nowhere. She told him about her family. It didn’t make sense but I told him everything. He, slowly, with a particular gracefulness, caressed my knee, sometimes holding his palm still and moving only the fingers. I told him that what had seemed easy in Italy had turned out to be much more complicated there, and almost without realizing it I surprised myself by confiding my secret to someone else for the first time, saying that at a certain point my father had had to sell everything he had in Italy to continue with his dream. He was stubborn in his illusions, and courageous in his errors, I said. So he sold everything we had to pay his debts and start again a little farther east, where the color of the grass seemed to him right and the prophecies of a sorceress promised him unlimited and belated luck. The man listened. He looked me in the eyes, then descended to stare at my lips — I knew why. He began to move his hand up under my dress, and I let him do it, because it was, mysteriously, what I wanted. I said there were rules, there, that we didn’t understand, or maybe we didn’t understand the earth, the water, the wind, the animals. There were old wars that we were the last to come to, and a mysterious idea of property, and a fleeting concept of justice. Also an invisible violence, which it was easy to perceive but impossible to decipher. I don’t remember exactly when, said the young Bride, but at a certain point we were all sure that everything was going to ruin and that if we remained another day there would be no turning back. The man leaned over to kiss her on the mouth, but she drew back, because she had to finish uttering the name of a particular truth, and that was the first time she had done so aloud. The men of the family looked each other in the eyes, she said, and the only one who didn’t lower his gaze was my father. So I understood that we wouldn’t be saved.