opposite direction. It set its bit of leaf aside, put its hands on its head, gesticulated
elaborately, looked for the leaf in panic, couldn’t find it again, gave up and went
back rather dizzily along the same route it had come. To what animal would Ana Clara
correspond? A fox? She calculated things, lied, always wanted to be the smartest but in reality she was as unconscious as a grasshopper. Why did she have to go and get pregnant
right before her famous marriage, why? If it were at least the fiancé’s. And I’m the
one who has to arrange the yenom. And go along to hold her hand when the time comes.I’ve said more than once that intimacy is the enemy of friendship, this intimacy which
exaggerates the banalities of the everyday. She heard me, agreed, and immediately
afterward asked to borrow my bathing suit. To love my neighbor as I love myself, in
this case, Crazy Ana. “I’m not just crazy, I’m insane,” she said in one of her rare
moments of good humor. “I’m going from gray moods to black.” “The black sheep are
the most beloved ones,” I replied. “Mother Alix has a real passion for you.” Then
she looked at me in silence. And her eyes, which are usually shifty, met mine straight.
Without a trace of irony (quite the contrary, she was very serious) she squeezed her
Agnus Dei through her clothes. It should have been pinned to her bra, but as she doesn’t
wear a bra she pinned it to one of the bikini straps. “Mother Alix gave it to me,”
she said. “It’s a fragment of the vestments of a nun who became a saint.” I asked
her what nun that was. “I don’t know,” she muttered as she put on her false eyelashes,
an operation which demands total attention because her hands tremble awfully. She
was going to a nightclub and came to borrow some perfume from me. She poured it over
herself with such abandon that I had to open the window in spite of the cold night.
“Cat got into my room and swept her tail over my dresser, she broke my perfume, my
mirror and my bottle of eyedrops, can I take yours?” All a lie. The next day I went
to see if she wanted to go to the movies. She wasn’t in, but there was the bottle
of perfume, the mirror and the empty eyedrop bottle. A mountain of dirty clothes rolled
up under the bed. Her jewelry, real and fake, scattered everywhere. A long green satin
dress hanging on the wardrobe door. The chaos of shoes escaping through the opening
of the large bottom drawer. A black wig and a leather jacket on top of the chair.
The makeup box dumped out onto the bed, she must have been looking for something she
didn’t find. On the walls, pictures of herself with a very important person . I was moved to see she had tacked up over the head of the bed the Chagall print
that I had given her the night before, a green angel blessing a purple sinner who
knelt in a patch of blue. Mother Alix’s rosary was also displayed but the presence
of the Seducer Angel hovered in the room. Vulgarity and beauty were mixed together
in the poster shot she had had taken of herself in a skin-tight bikini and black stockings,
a pose more aggressive than sensual. I called Sebastiana and gave her the bundle of
clothes to wash. While you’re hereyou could give this floor a sweeping, I said, but the woman couldn’t take her eyes
off the poster. Ana’s beauty illuminated her face; her faded countenance was renewed
by the impact. “Is she an actress?” she wanted to know. “More or less,” I answered
and thought, If I were only half that pretty, M.N. would already have come up these
stairs a hundred times. Into my shell, like the pearl in the oyster, isn’t that poetic?
“We need to think of another plan,” he answered when I invited him to have some tea
with me. Why another plan? Don’t my friends always come up, both boys and girls? We
study, listen to music, discuss things, what’s the problem? He smiled his M.N.
elaborately, looked for the leaf in panic, couldn’t find it again, gave up and went
back rather dizzily along the same route it had come. To what animal would Ana Clara
correspond? A fox? She calculated things, lied, always wanted to be the smartest but in reality she was as unconscious as a grasshopper. Why did she have to go and get pregnant
right before her famous marriage, why? If it were at least the fiancé’s. And I’m the
one who has to arrange the yenom. And go along to hold her hand when the time comes.I’ve said more than once that intimacy is the enemy of friendship, this intimacy which
exaggerates the banalities of the everyday. She heard me, agreed, and immediately
afterward asked to borrow my bathing suit. To love my neighbor as I love myself, in
this case, Crazy Ana. “I’m not just crazy, I’m insane,” she said in one of her rare
moments of good humor. “I’m going from gray moods to black.” “The black sheep are
the most beloved ones,” I replied. “Mother Alix has a real passion for you.” Then
she looked at me in silence. And her eyes, which are usually shifty, met mine straight.
Without a trace of irony (quite the contrary, she was very serious) she squeezed her
Agnus Dei through her clothes. It should have been pinned to her bra, but as she doesn’t
wear a bra she pinned it to one of the bikini straps. “Mother Alix gave it to me,”
she said. “It’s a fragment of the vestments of a nun who became a saint.” I asked
her what nun that was. “I don’t know,” she muttered as she put on her false eyelashes,
an operation which demands total attention because her hands tremble awfully. She
was going to a nightclub and came to borrow some perfume from me. She poured it over
herself with such abandon that I had to open the window in spite of the cold night.
“Cat got into my room and swept her tail over my dresser, she broke my perfume, my
mirror and my bottle of eyedrops, can I take yours?” All a lie. The next day I went
to see if she wanted to go to the movies. She wasn’t in, but there was the bottle
of perfume, the mirror and the empty eyedrop bottle. A mountain of dirty clothes rolled
up under the bed. Her jewelry, real and fake, scattered everywhere. A long green satin
dress hanging on the wardrobe door. The chaos of shoes escaping through the opening
of the large bottom drawer. A black wig and a leather jacket on top of the chair.
The makeup box dumped out onto the bed, she must have been looking for something she
didn’t find. On the walls, pictures of herself with a very important person . I was moved to see she had tacked up over the head of the bed the Chagall print
that I had given her the night before, a green angel blessing a purple sinner who
knelt in a patch of blue. Mother Alix’s rosary was also displayed but the presence
of the Seducer Angel hovered in the room. Vulgarity and beauty were mixed together
in the poster shot she had had taken of herself in a skin-tight bikini and black stockings,
a pose more aggressive than sensual. I called Sebastiana and gave her the bundle of
clothes to wash. While you’re hereyou could give this floor a sweeping, I said, but the woman couldn’t take her eyes
off the poster. Ana’s beauty illuminated her face; her faded countenance was renewed
by the impact. “Is she an actress?” she wanted to know. “More or less,” I answered
and thought, If I were only half that pretty, M.N. would already have come up these
stairs a hundred times. Into my shell, like the pearl in the oyster, isn’t that poetic?
“We need to think of another plan,” he answered when I invited him to have some tea
with me. Why another plan? Don’t my friends always come up, both boys and girls? We
study, listen to music, discuss things, what’s the problem? He smiled his M.N.
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