the final one of the third letter, merited five or six readings, and, like the grain of mustard seed in the parable, it put down roots in the schoolmistress’s heart ready to grow into a great, leafy tree. But, in fact, every line written by Her Best Friend was important, not just that one paragraph; every line comforted her, contributed something to the joy which from then on would constitute her strength. After reading those three letters, the notes and thoughts she’d written down in her diary seemed mediocre and insubstantial.
“They’re not going to beat me,” she thought, remembering the events of recent days. “I won’t allow their calumnies to continue. I’ll make them respect me.”
The people of Albania didn’t frighten her anymore.
Before going back to school, she selected a postcard with a
Nymphalis antiopa
on the front and scribbled a few lines in reply to Her Best Friend:
Your invitation is accepted. Supper at the new restaurant it is. On one condition: It will be my treat. I haven’t even touched my first wage packet yet. I was so pleased to get your letters, so pleased. You know why. See you soon. PS: I only got your letters yesterday. I’ll explain why later.
“I hope this letter doesn’t get lost as well! Try and make sure it arrives before I do!” she said to the postman when she went to deliver it.
She spent the afternoon teaching the children Christmas carols and singing along with them. Afterward, while she was putting away the school things, she considered her new situation, promising herself that she wouldn’t let this opportunity pass her by, that she would hang on with all her might to this happiness that had appeared in her life just when she’d least expected it. In other words, the tree that had put down roots in her heart was not going to let any weeds or bushes grow up around it.
The next day, the Tuesday before Christmas, dawned clear and cold in Albania, with a blue sky and a brilliant sun, and the schoolmistress waited at her window for the arrival of the servant boy. Immediately opposite her, in the distance, rose seven white mountains—two plus three plus two.
The boy arrived a little before half past eight.
“You stay right there,” the schoolmistress ordered when he made to come into the house. “I presume you want the key,” she said. And without giving him time to reply went on: “Well, I’ll give it to you today, but this is the last time.”
The boy looked down and had to swallow hard before he could say anything.
“But why?” he managed to stammer out in a dull voice.
“Do I really need to tell you why?” answered the schoolmistress, pushing the door to.
“You could leave the key outside and then I wouldn’t have to bother you.”
“No, Manuel. You’ve lost the job.”
The door of the gray and white house closed.
The boy took the two hundred and fifty steps required to reach the school and once there, he started slowly up the stairs as if he were very tired, stopping first on the sixth stair, then on the tenth, then on the seventeenth, and so on until he reached the last of the twenty-three steps. But, once inside the school, he seemed suddenly to recover all his energy and in a matter of seconds, almost without realizing what he was doing, he had trampled into nothingness a large part of the lands of Africa and Asia.
“Why take it out on Egypt, Hannibal?” Moro asked accusingly, for that was the country that had suffered the fiercest attack, adding: “Now what are they going to do, with the Nile in ruins?”
He had to admit his adjutant was right and he was doing his best to repair that longest of rivers when he heard the hermitage clock strike nine and he fled to his house, to the mountains, abandoning the Egyptians to their fate.
If I could, I’d go out for a stroll every night
I.
Katharina’s statement
IF I COULD , I’d go out for a stroll every night, except that I don’t dare, I’m too frightened. Sometimes, when I’m
“They’re not going to beat me,” she thought, remembering the events of recent days. “I won’t allow their calumnies to continue. I’ll make them respect me.”
The people of Albania didn’t frighten her anymore.
Before going back to school, she selected a postcard with a
Nymphalis antiopa
on the front and scribbled a few lines in reply to Her Best Friend:
Your invitation is accepted. Supper at the new restaurant it is. On one condition: It will be my treat. I haven’t even touched my first wage packet yet. I was so pleased to get your letters, so pleased. You know why. See you soon. PS: I only got your letters yesterday. I’ll explain why later.
“I hope this letter doesn’t get lost as well! Try and make sure it arrives before I do!” she said to the postman when she went to deliver it.
She spent the afternoon teaching the children Christmas carols and singing along with them. Afterward, while she was putting away the school things, she considered her new situation, promising herself that she wouldn’t let this opportunity pass her by, that she would hang on with all her might to this happiness that had appeared in her life just when she’d least expected it. In other words, the tree that had put down roots in her heart was not going to let any weeds or bushes grow up around it.
The next day, the Tuesday before Christmas, dawned clear and cold in Albania, with a blue sky and a brilliant sun, and the schoolmistress waited at her window for the arrival of the servant boy. Immediately opposite her, in the distance, rose seven white mountains—two plus three plus two.
The boy arrived a little before half past eight.
“You stay right there,” the schoolmistress ordered when he made to come into the house. “I presume you want the key,” she said. And without giving him time to reply went on: “Well, I’ll give it to you today, but this is the last time.”
The boy looked down and had to swallow hard before he could say anything.
“But why?” he managed to stammer out in a dull voice.
“Do I really need to tell you why?” answered the schoolmistress, pushing the door to.
“You could leave the key outside and then I wouldn’t have to bother you.”
“No, Manuel. You’ve lost the job.”
The door of the gray and white house closed.
The boy took the two hundred and fifty steps required to reach the school and once there, he started slowly up the stairs as if he were very tired, stopping first on the sixth stair, then on the tenth, then on the seventeenth, and so on until he reached the last of the twenty-three steps. But, once inside the school, he seemed suddenly to recover all his energy and in a matter of seconds, almost without realizing what he was doing, he had trampled into nothingness a large part of the lands of Africa and Asia.
“Why take it out on Egypt, Hannibal?” Moro asked accusingly, for that was the country that had suffered the fiercest attack, adding: “Now what are they going to do, with the Nile in ruins?”
He had to admit his adjutant was right and he was doing his best to repair that longest of rivers when he heard the hermitage clock strike nine and he fled to his house, to the mountains, abandoning the Egyptians to their fate.
If I could, I’d go out for a stroll every night
I.
Katharina’s statement
IF I COULD , I’d go out for a stroll every night, except that I don’t dare, I’m too frightened. Sometimes, when I’m
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