ask you why it’s never been worn?”
“Oh … it’s a long story. Actually that’s not true, it’s quite a simple story. Every time I tried it on it never looked right.”
The woman smiled. She had beautiful black hair piled up highon top of her head and wore a dark red lipstick that contrasted with her very white skin.
“I can hardly believe it didn’t look right on you. You have such a nice figure.”
“Thank you.”
“And the dress is a masterpiece.”
“You think you can sell it?”
“Of course. It’ll sell like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“And how much do you think we could …”
“I can get more than a thousand for sure, but I’ll have to check online. Probably it’ll be the most expensive item in the store. If I had the money I would buy it from you for myself,” she said with a hint of regret, gazing at the gown with longing.
“I have clients who will fight to have it. Costume designers, maybe a couple of actresses …”
She caressed it again and under her delicate touch the fabric rustled as though it were coming back to life.
“Are you really sure you want to part with this?” the young woman asked. “I feel a bit bad selling it. You might regret it afterward.”
“No. Thank you. But I don’t think so. Really. I kind of want to get rid of it. Actually I’ve been wanting to for years.”
The woman was silent for a few seconds.
“Do me a favor. Just try it on one last time. Please.”
When Caterina came out of the dressing room sheathed in the alpine lake cloud, the woman just stared at her and said nothing. She then brought her thin hands to her face, like a stunned child.
“What?” said Caterina.
“I beg you. Don’t make the mistake. Keep it. You can always sell it later on.”
“When? On my deathbed?”
The woman laughed.
“No, seriously. I won’t take it unless you wear it at least once.It would be—it would really be unethical of me. It looks too good on you, trust me.”
Caterina looked at herself in the mirror. She knew what the dress looked like on her—she had lost count of how many times she had tried it on—but now she saw something different.
“Please,” whispered the woman, behind her now. “I know clothes. You keep this one.”
“I can’t believe it. This thing just won’t let go of me,” Caterina said out loud, and sank onto a chair in front of the mirror. The dress had never looked so good. As if it didn’t want to leave her.
She took it back under the livid light of the metropolitana, holding it in her arms like a child. She felt a special tenderness now, similar to the joy someone experiences having just rescued something that seemed forever lost. She had been on the verge of making a terrible mistake by disowning the dress as something she didn’t need, or worse—something she didn’t deserve and never would. How could she not have seen it? The dress was a talisman—her own talisman—the gift that she must always treasure, like the gold dust that she feared would fly out the window and follow Pascal all the way to Paris.
She resurfaced into the sunshine at the Garbatella stop and straightened her back, walking briskly toward her street. She clutched the dress bag closer to her body, feeling the glorious softness of the fabric inside, the faint crackling of feathers under her fingertips. Perhaps she just needed to remind herself more often how that gold was still floating above her head, its minuscule particles visible only when pierced by a certain light.
Big Island, Small Island
The swallows keep darting back and forth across the roof like shooting arrows. I think they must be playing a game—a kind of hide-and-seek—because they don’t seem to get tired of it. I am not used to seeing birds fly through airports. It’s quite a stretch to call this thatched roof standing on pillars an airport and I’m worried about the size of the plane we are about to board. If this is the size of the airport of the Big
“Oh … it’s a long story. Actually that’s not true, it’s quite a simple story. Every time I tried it on it never looked right.”
The woman smiled. She had beautiful black hair piled up highon top of her head and wore a dark red lipstick that contrasted with her very white skin.
“I can hardly believe it didn’t look right on you. You have such a nice figure.”
“Thank you.”
“And the dress is a masterpiece.”
“You think you can sell it?”
“Of course. It’ll sell like that.” She snapped her fingers.
“And how much do you think we could …”
“I can get more than a thousand for sure, but I’ll have to check online. Probably it’ll be the most expensive item in the store. If I had the money I would buy it from you for myself,” she said with a hint of regret, gazing at the gown with longing.
“I have clients who will fight to have it. Costume designers, maybe a couple of actresses …”
She caressed it again and under her delicate touch the fabric rustled as though it were coming back to life.
“Are you really sure you want to part with this?” the young woman asked. “I feel a bit bad selling it. You might regret it afterward.”
“No. Thank you. But I don’t think so. Really. I kind of want to get rid of it. Actually I’ve been wanting to for years.”
The woman was silent for a few seconds.
“Do me a favor. Just try it on one last time. Please.”
When Caterina came out of the dressing room sheathed in the alpine lake cloud, the woman just stared at her and said nothing. She then brought her thin hands to her face, like a stunned child.
“What?” said Caterina.
“I beg you. Don’t make the mistake. Keep it. You can always sell it later on.”
“When? On my deathbed?”
The woman laughed.
“No, seriously. I won’t take it unless you wear it at least once.It would be—it would really be unethical of me. It looks too good on you, trust me.”
Caterina looked at herself in the mirror. She knew what the dress looked like on her—she had lost count of how many times she had tried it on—but now she saw something different.
“Please,” whispered the woman, behind her now. “I know clothes. You keep this one.”
“I can’t believe it. This thing just won’t let go of me,” Caterina said out loud, and sank onto a chair in front of the mirror. The dress had never looked so good. As if it didn’t want to leave her.
She took it back under the livid light of the metropolitana, holding it in her arms like a child. She felt a special tenderness now, similar to the joy someone experiences having just rescued something that seemed forever lost. She had been on the verge of making a terrible mistake by disowning the dress as something she didn’t need, or worse—something she didn’t deserve and never would. How could she not have seen it? The dress was a talisman—her own talisman—the gift that she must always treasure, like the gold dust that she feared would fly out the window and follow Pascal all the way to Paris.
She resurfaced into the sunshine at the Garbatella stop and straightened her back, walking briskly toward her street. She clutched the dress bag closer to her body, feeling the glorious softness of the fabric inside, the faint crackling of feathers under her fingertips. Perhaps she just needed to remind herself more often how that gold was still floating above her head, its minuscule particles visible only when pierced by a certain light.
Big Island, Small Island
The swallows keep darting back and forth across the roof like shooting arrows. I think they must be playing a game—a kind of hide-and-seek—because they don’t seem to get tired of it. I am not used to seeing birds fly through airports. It’s quite a stretch to call this thatched roof standing on pillars an airport and I’m worried about the size of the plane we are about to board. If this is the size of the airport of the Big
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