The Two Deaths of Senora Puccini by Stephen Dobyns Page A

touched her foot again, very lightly with the back of my hand, then I let my hand brush against her ankle. My chair was such that I could sit in that position quite easily. And her chair was such that her foot and my hand were concealed by the folds of her skirt. In any case, I hardly made any further movement, just shifted my hand slightly so I could touch her ankle. She was wearing stockings, of course.”
    â€œDid she move?” asked Malgiolio.
    â€œNot a whisker.”
    â€œHa,” said Malgiolio with a little explosion of breath, then he lit another of his colored cigarettes.
    â€œI sat like that for some minutes, not turning or giving any sign that I knew she was there. The music played. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the young man whom I had seen with her before. He was her fiancé—dark-haired and handsome and quite athletic. As I watched him, still without shifting my head, I slowly turned my hand and grasped the girl’s calf just above her ankle. It was then that I became aware of her breathing. Absurd, don’t you think? A young surgeon taking advantage of a girl at an outdoor concert?
    â€œBut there was an intensity both within me and, or so I guessed from her breathing, within her as well. I massaged her calf, took my hand away, then massaged it again. She didn’t move, didn’t move forward, didn’t move back. From the gardens, the wind blew the smell of lilac. I slipped my hand upward to the underside of her knee and thigh. Did her breathing grow louder? Perhaps not, but I could sense her behind me, almost feel her quivering. As I describe it, I realize that it seems that just a few minutes went by, but actually it was fifteen or twenty. But it was like nothing, so intent was I on the touching of her leg in its silk stocking. I was scarcely even aware of the music, just of a swirl of notes, and the rich smell of the blossoms which the wind blew to my face. As I touched the underside of her thigh, I massaged the muscle, squeezing and releasing it, while slowly I continued to thrust my hand further along her leg. She didn’t move although I could feel the constant shiver of her muscles. The farther I reached, the more contorted became my arm behind me. I wasn’t worried about anyone seeing. There was no one on the other side, and in that darkness I doubt anything would have been visible. At last I stretched my arm as far as I could and with the tips of my fingers I touched the silk of her underwear between her legs, but just barely, just a slight flickering of my fingers.”
    He fell silent. I glanced at Dalakis, who was making deep lines on the tablecloth with his thumbnail.
    â€œAnd she didn’t move?” insisted Malgiolio.
    â€œNeither forward nor back. My arm by this time was quite uncomfortable. I tried to move it farther without actually tipping in my chair, but another inch and I would have landed in her lap. I had also begun to worry that someone might notice her breathing, which seemed to mix with the strings and clarinet as if it were part of the music itself. And I was struck that she refused to move forward to let me increase her pleasure, that I could only thrum my fingers on the silk above her vagina.”
    Dalakis sat back in his chair so hard that it creaked dangerously. “Didn’t it strike you that she was a child?”
    â€œShe had stopped being a child many years before. I could feel her, feel the heat and her wetness.”
    â€œWhat happened next?” asked Malgiolio. There was something repulsive about his eagerness. One imagined his erection.
    â€œNothing. The music came to an end. I moved my hand and more lanterns were lit. The girl, her aunt, and the young man left during the interval.”
    â€œDid she make any sign to you?” I asked.
    â€œNone. Perhaps she was a little red in the face. Clearly, she was embarrassed and never once turned in my direction. I, of course, stared at her