ridiculous) everything that torments me until Cristiano gets here. I’m going to think about something. About what? “Dear sirs, dear sirs! Here I am ready for life! Dear sirs, no one’s looking at me, no one realizes I exist! Yet, dear sirs, I exist, I swear that I exist! Very much, even. Look, all of you, with that triumphant attitude, look: I can vibrate, vibrate like the taut string of a harp. I can suffer with more intensity than any of you gentlemen. I am superior. And do you know why? Because I know I exist.” And what if she drank the soda? At least that woman looking at her as if she weren’t there, as if she were an empty table, would see that she’s doing something.
She carefully picks out a straw, unwraps it with casual movements and takes the first sip. It was better that Nenê hadn’t come. The soda is very cold and Nenê wants to try everything she sees. When Cristiano comes, will he ask first about her or Nenê? Cristiano said the two of them were children, that in their group he was the only adult. But this doesn’t sadden Flora much. Once, in the beginning, he’d left her sitting in a corner of the bedroom and started pacing back and forth, rubbing his chin. Then he stopped in front of her, looked at her awhile and said: “But you’re a little girl!” Nevertheless, he eventually got used to it and Flora always pleased him. Also because ever since she was little she’d known how to play every role. With the Redhead boy she’d played the soldier who kills, with the downstairs neighbor girl she was a wagon driver, in high school she played the part of the Indian woman who has a flock of children, as well as a teacher, housewife, evil neighbor, beggar, cripple and greengrocer. With the Redhead she’d played soldier, forced by the circumstances, because she needed to win his admiration.
So it wasn’t hard to play Cristiano’s lover. And she did it so well that he, before leaving, said to her:
“You know, little girl, there’s more to you than I thought. No, you’re not just a little girl. You’re a woman full of good sense and independence.”
She enjoyed Cristiano’s praise like when he’d complimented her new dress. Or when the French teacher told her: “You weel yet be
un bon po
ète
!” Or when her mother used to say: “When this one grows up she’s going to catch them all!” Well now, of course she knew how to do lots of things and even very well. But she was in no way one of those people who became someone else just for fun or because she needed to. Flora was something else that no one had discovered yet! That was the mystery.
The soda is doing something awful to her. Her stomach is clenching in pangs of nausea. She closes her eyes a moment and sees the dark liquid churning round and round in waves, growling. And Cristiano isn’t coming. She’s been there an hour. If Cristiano got there right then he’d send for something bitter and the pangs of nausea would disappear. Then he’d say proudly: “I don’t know what you’d do on your own. You come up with things at just the wrong moment.” And why was there suddenly that taste of coffee in her mouth? She flags down the waiter. “Ice water,” she orders. After the first sip, she perks up:
“What was in that soda?”
“Coffee, miss.”
Ah, coffee. Ugh, it’s gotten worse. The waiter peers at her with curiosity and irony:
“Are you feeling better,
mademoiselle
?”
“Certainly, I wasn’t feeling anything at all.”
“Drink a cup of hot coffee and that’ll make it all go away,” he went on resolutely.
“Bring me one, please.”
“Cristiano, where are you? I am small, dear sirs, deep down I am the size of Nenê. Don’t you know who Nenê is? Well she’s blonde, with black eyes and Cristiano says he’s never surprised to see her little face all dirty. He says that in our messy bedroom, the fresh flowers, Nenê’s little face and my ‘poor dear’ look are inseparable. But there’s something wrong
She carefully picks out a straw, unwraps it with casual movements and takes the first sip. It was better that Nenê hadn’t come. The soda is very cold and Nenê wants to try everything she sees. When Cristiano comes, will he ask first about her or Nenê? Cristiano said the two of them were children, that in their group he was the only adult. But this doesn’t sadden Flora much. Once, in the beginning, he’d left her sitting in a corner of the bedroom and started pacing back and forth, rubbing his chin. Then he stopped in front of her, looked at her awhile and said: “But you’re a little girl!” Nevertheless, he eventually got used to it and Flora always pleased him. Also because ever since she was little she’d known how to play every role. With the Redhead boy she’d played the soldier who kills, with the downstairs neighbor girl she was a wagon driver, in high school she played the part of the Indian woman who has a flock of children, as well as a teacher, housewife, evil neighbor, beggar, cripple and greengrocer. With the Redhead she’d played soldier, forced by the circumstances, because she needed to win his admiration.
So it wasn’t hard to play Cristiano’s lover. And she did it so well that he, before leaving, said to her:
“You know, little girl, there’s more to you than I thought. No, you’re not just a little girl. You’re a woman full of good sense and independence.”
She enjoyed Cristiano’s praise like when he’d complimented her new dress. Or when the French teacher told her: “You weel yet be
un bon po
ète
!” Or when her mother used to say: “When this one grows up she’s going to catch them all!” Well now, of course she knew how to do lots of things and even very well. But she was in no way one of those people who became someone else just for fun or because she needed to. Flora was something else that no one had discovered yet! That was the mystery.
The soda is doing something awful to her. Her stomach is clenching in pangs of nausea. She closes her eyes a moment and sees the dark liquid churning round and round in waves, growling. And Cristiano isn’t coming. She’s been there an hour. If Cristiano got there right then he’d send for something bitter and the pangs of nausea would disappear. Then he’d say proudly: “I don’t know what you’d do on your own. You come up with things at just the wrong moment.” And why was there suddenly that taste of coffee in her mouth? She flags down the waiter. “Ice water,” she orders. After the first sip, she perks up:
“What was in that soda?”
“Coffee, miss.”
Ah, coffee. Ugh, it’s gotten worse. The waiter peers at her with curiosity and irony:
“Are you feeling better,
mademoiselle
?”
“Certainly, I wasn’t feeling anything at all.”
“Drink a cup of hot coffee and that’ll make it all go away,” he went on resolutely.
“Bring me one, please.”
“Cristiano, where are you? I am small, dear sirs, deep down I am the size of Nenê. Don’t you know who Nenê is? Well she’s blonde, with black eyes and Cristiano says he’s never surprised to see her little face all dirty. He says that in our messy bedroom, the fresh flowers, Nenê’s little face and my ‘poor dear’ look are inseparable. But there’s something wrong
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