lovely colored handkerchiefs, Inés is going to like them. Mama, it’s nice here and I’m enjoying myself with Nino and don Roberto, he’s the foreman and tells us when we can go out and where, one afternoon he was almost wrong and sent us to the edge of the brook, when a farmhand came to tell us no, you should have seen how awful don Roberto felt and then Rema, she picked Nino up and was kissing him, and she squeezed me so hard. Luis was going about saying that the house was not for children, and Nino asked him who the children were, and everybody laughed, even the Kid laughed. Don Roberto is the foreman
.
If you come to get me you could stay a few days and be with Rema and cheer her up. I think that she …
But to tell her mother that Rema cried at night, that she’d heard her crying going down the hall, staggering a little, stop at Nino’s door, continue, go downstairs (she must have been drying her eyes) and Luis’ voice in the distance: “What’s the matter, Rema? Aren’t you well?”, a silence, the whole house like an enormous ear, then a murmur and Luis’ voice again: “He’s a bastard, a miserablebastard …” almost as though he were coldly confirming a fact, making a connection, a fate.
… is a little ill, it would do her good if you came and kept her company. I have to show you the herbarium and some stones from the brook the farmhands brought me. Tell Inés …
It was the kind of night she liked, insects, damp, reheated bread, and custard with Greek raisins. The dogs barked constantly from the edge of the brook, and an enormous praying mantis flew in and landed on the mantelpiece and Nino went to fetch the magnifying glass; they trapped it with a wide–mouthed glass and poked at it to make it show the color of its wings.
“Throw that bug away,” Rema pleaded. “They make me so squeamish.”
“It’s a good specimen,” Luis admitted. “Look how he follows my hand with his eyes. The only insect that can turn its head.”
“What a goddamned night,” the Kid said from behind his newspaper.
Isabel would have liked to cut the mantis’ head off, a good snip with the scissors, and see what would happen.
“Leave it in the glass,” she asked Nino. “Tomorrow we can put it in the ant-farm and study it.”
It got hotter, by ten-thirty you couldn’t breathe. The children stayed with Rema in the inside dining room, the men were in their studies. Nino was the first to say that he was getting sleepy.
“Go on up by yourself, I’ll come see you later. Everything is all right upstairs.” And Rema took him about the waist with that expression he liked so well.
“Tell us a story, Aunt Rema?”
“Another night.”
They were down there alone, with the mantis which looked at them. Luis came to say his goodnights to them, muttering something about the hour that children ought to go to bed, Rema smiled at him when she kissed him.
“Growly bear,” she said, and Isabel, bent over the mantis’ glass, thought that she’d never seen Rema kissing the Kid or a praying mantis that was so so green. She moved the glass a little and the mantis grew frantic. Rema came over to tell her to go to bed.
“Throw that bug away, it’s horrible.”
“Rema, tomorrow.”
She asked her to come up and say goodnight to her. The Kid had the door of his study left partly open and was pacing up and down in his shirtsleeves, the collar open. He whistled to her as she passed.
“I’m going to bed, Kid.”
“Listen to me: tell Rema to make me a nice cold lemonade and bring it to me here. Then you go right up to your room.”
Of course she was going to go up to her room, she didn’t see why he had to tell her to. She went back to the dining room to tell Rema, she saw her hesitate.
“Don’t go upstairs yet. I’m going to make the lemonade and you take it down yourself.”
“He said for you …”
“Please.”
Isabel sat down at the side of the table. Please. There were clouds of insects whirling
.
If you come to get me you could stay a few days and be with Rema and cheer her up. I think that she …
But to tell her mother that Rema cried at night, that she’d heard her crying going down the hall, staggering a little, stop at Nino’s door, continue, go downstairs (she must have been drying her eyes) and Luis’ voice in the distance: “What’s the matter, Rema? Aren’t you well?”, a silence, the whole house like an enormous ear, then a murmur and Luis’ voice again: “He’s a bastard, a miserablebastard …” almost as though he were coldly confirming a fact, making a connection, a fate.
… is a little ill, it would do her good if you came and kept her company. I have to show you the herbarium and some stones from the brook the farmhands brought me. Tell Inés …
It was the kind of night she liked, insects, damp, reheated bread, and custard with Greek raisins. The dogs barked constantly from the edge of the brook, and an enormous praying mantis flew in and landed on the mantelpiece and Nino went to fetch the magnifying glass; they trapped it with a wide–mouthed glass and poked at it to make it show the color of its wings.
“Throw that bug away,” Rema pleaded. “They make me so squeamish.”
“It’s a good specimen,” Luis admitted. “Look how he follows my hand with his eyes. The only insect that can turn its head.”
“What a goddamned night,” the Kid said from behind his newspaper.
Isabel would have liked to cut the mantis’ head off, a good snip with the scissors, and see what would happen.
“Leave it in the glass,” she asked Nino. “Tomorrow we can put it in the ant-farm and study it.”
It got hotter, by ten-thirty you couldn’t breathe. The children stayed with Rema in the inside dining room, the men were in their studies. Nino was the first to say that he was getting sleepy.
“Go on up by yourself, I’ll come see you later. Everything is all right upstairs.” And Rema took him about the waist with that expression he liked so well.
“Tell us a story, Aunt Rema?”
“Another night.”
They were down there alone, with the mantis which looked at them. Luis came to say his goodnights to them, muttering something about the hour that children ought to go to bed, Rema smiled at him when she kissed him.
“Growly bear,” she said, and Isabel, bent over the mantis’ glass, thought that she’d never seen Rema kissing the Kid or a praying mantis that was so so green. She moved the glass a little and the mantis grew frantic. Rema came over to tell her to go to bed.
“Throw that bug away, it’s horrible.”
“Rema, tomorrow.”
She asked her to come up and say goodnight to her. The Kid had the door of his study left partly open and was pacing up and down in his shirtsleeves, the collar open. He whistled to her as she passed.
“I’m going to bed, Kid.”
“Listen to me: tell Rema to make me a nice cold lemonade and bring it to me here. Then you go right up to your room.”
Of course she was going to go up to her room, she didn’t see why he had to tell her to. She went back to the dining room to tell Rema, she saw her hesitate.
“Don’t go upstairs yet. I’m going to make the lemonade and you take it down yourself.”
“He said for you …”
“Please.”
Isabel sat down at the side of the table. Please. There were clouds of insects whirling
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