“Look, my friend. My dear little friend, why don’t you go to bed and get some sleep? Tomorrow you can think about getting it cleaned.”
“How can we stand it? Oh, how can we stand it?” Señora Ramirez asked imploringly, her beautiful eyes filled with sorrow. “Sometimes,” she said in a trembling voice, “I have no more strength than a sparrow. I would like to send my children to the four winds and sleep and sleep and sleep.”
Consuelo, hearing this, said in a gentle tone: “Why don’t you do so, mamá?”
“They are like two daggers in my heart, you see?” continued her mother.
“No, they are not,” said Señora Espinoza. “They are flowers that brighten your life.” She removed her glasses and polished them on her blouse.
“Daggers in my heart,” repeated Señora Ramirez.
“Have some hot soup,” urged Señora Espinoza. “Maria will make you some — a gift from me — and then you can go to bed and forget all about this.”
“No, I think I will just sit here, thank you.”
“Mamá is going to have one of her fits,” said Consuelo to the servant. “She does sometimes. She gets just like a child instead of getting angry, and she doesn’t worry about what she is eating or when she goes to sleep, but she just sits in a chair or goes walking and her face looks very different from the way it looks at other times.” The servant nodded, and Consuelo went in to bed.
“I have French blood,” Señora Ramirez was saying to Señora Espinoza. “I am very delicate for that reason — too delicate for my husband.”
Señora Espinoza seemed worried by the confession of her friend. She had no interest in gossip or in what people had to say about their lives. To Señora Ramirez she was like a man, and she often had dreams about her in which she became a man.
The traveler was highly amused.
“I’ll be damned!” he said. “All this because of an old corset. Some people have nothing to think about in this world. It’s funny, though, funny as a barrel of monkeys.”
To Señorita Córdoba it was not funny. “It’s too bad,” she said. “Very much too bad that the corset was spoiled. What are you doing here in this country?”
“I’m buying textiles. At least, I was, and now I’m just taking a little vacation here until the next boat leaves for the United States. I kind of miss my family and I’m anxious to get back. I don’t see what you’re supposed to get out of traveling.”
“Oh, yes, yes. Surely you do,” said Señorita Córdoba politely. “Now if you will excuse me I am going inside to do a little drawing. I must not forget how in this peasant land.”
“What are you, an artist?” he asked.
“I draw dresses.” She disappeared.
“Oh, God!” thought the traveler after she had left. “Here I am, left alone, and I’m not sleepy yet. This empty patio is so barren and so uninteresting, and as far as Señorita Córdoba is concerned, she’s an iceberg. I like her neck though. She has a neck like a swan, so long and white and slender, the kind of neck you dream about girls having. But she’s more like a virgin than a swan.” He turned around and noticed that Señora Ramirez was still sitting in her chair. He picked up his own chair and carried it over next to hers.
“Do you mind?” he asked. “I see that you’ve decided to take a little night air. It isn’t a bad idea. I don’t feel like going to bed much either.”
“No,” she said. “I don’t want to go to bed. I will sit here. I like to sit out at night, if I am warmly enough dressed, and look up at the stars.”
“Yes, it’s a great source of peace,” the traveler said. “People don’t do enough of it these days.”
“Would you not like very much to go to Italy?” Señora Ramirez asked him. “The fruit trees and the flowers will be wonderful there at night.”
“Well, you’ve got enough fruit and flowers here, I should say. What do you want to go to Italy for? I’ll bet there isn’t as much variety in the fruit there as here.”
“No? Do you have many flowers in your country?”
The traveler was not able to decide.
“I would like really,” continued Señora Ramirez, “to be somewhere else — in your country or in Italy. I would like to be somewhere where the life is beautiful. I care very much whether life is beautiful or ugly. People who live here don’t care very much. Because they do not think.” She touched her finger to her forehead. “I love beautiful things: beautiful houses, beautiful gardens, beautiful songs. When I was a young girl I was truly wild with happiness — doing and thinking and running in and out. I was so happy that my mother was afraid I would fall and break my leg or have some kind of accident. She was a very religious woman, but when I was a young girl I could not remember to think about such a thing. I was up always every morning before anybody except the Indians, and every morning I would go to market with them to buy food for all the houses. For many years I was doing this. Even when I was very little. It was very easy for me to do anything. I loved to learn English. I had a professor and I used to get on my knees in front of my father that the professor would stay longer with me every day. I was walking in the parks when my sisters were sleeping. My eyes were so big.” She made a circle with two fingers. “And shiny like two diamonds, I was so excited all the time.” She churned the air with her clenched fist. “Like this,” she said. “Like a storm. My sisters called me wild Sofía. At the same time they were calling me wild Sofia, I was in love with my uncle, Aldo Torres. He never came much to the house before, but I heard my mother say that he had no more money and we would feed him. We were very rich and getting richer every year. I felt very sorry for him and was thinking about him all the time. We fell in love with each other and were kissing and hugging each other when nobody was there who could see us. I would have lived with him in a grass hut. He married a woman who had a little money, who also loved him very much. When he was married he got fat and started joking a lot with my father. I was glad for him that he was richer but pretty sad for myself. Then my sister Juanita, the oldest, married a very rich man. We were all very happy about her and there was a very big wedding.”
“You must have been brokenhearted, though, about your uncle Aldo Torres going off with someone else, when you had befriended him so much when he was poor.”
“Oh, I liked him very much,” she said. Her memory seemed suddenly to have failed her and she did not appear to be interested in speaking any longer of the past. The traveler felt disturbed.
“I would love to travel,” she continued, “very, very much, and I think it would be very nice to have the life of an actress, without children. You know it is my nature to love men and kissing.”
“Well,” said the traveler, “nobody gets as much kissing as they would like to get. Most people are frustrated. You’d be surprised at the number of people in my country who are frustrated and good-looking at the same time.”
She turned her face toward his. The one little light bulb shed just enough light to enable him to see into her beautiful eyes. The tears were still wet on her lashes and they magnified her eyes to such an extent that they appeared to be almost twice their normal size. While she was looking at him she caught her breath.
“Oh, my darling man,” she said to him suddenly. “I don’t want to be separated from you. Let’s go where I can hold you in my arms.” The traveler was feeling excited. She had taken hold of his hand and was crushing it very hard.
“Where do you want to go?” he asked stupidly.
“Into your bed.” She closed her eyes and waited for him to answer.
“All right. Are you sure?”
She nodded her head vigorously.