ability. “For goodness sake, Flora, stop it, I believe you!”
“No you don’t believe me. I know you; you don’t give me credit for a thing. You’re the kind who think women don’t know how to do anything. I can see by your face that you’re lying!”
I lost track of her momentarily and when I noticed her again I saw that she was cutting up a sheet, on which she had outlined an evening dress with a piece of charcoal. My hair stood on end. Afterwards to avoid being cross-examined by Maddalena I had to sleep many nights with one sheet (I made the bed myself every morning), and when she decided to do the wash I myself put the dirty laundry in the tub and stood there watching her from a distance as she furiously racked her brains, trying to puzzle out where one sheet could have gone. I feigned the most complete ignorance of the matter. Furthermore, I pretended, by a series of clever charades, to be pained at my inability to solve the problem or help in any way. Flora too performed very well in her role as a casual acquaintance, considering that now she came to our house at all hours.
Flora’s vocations didn’t last. They burned out quickly, reducing themselves to tiny heaps of ashes and leaving her depressed and empty.
One day she dropped in while Maddalena and I were eating. She had gathered up her magnificent hair under a black bonnet in such a way as to look as though she had cut it. She had come to say good-bye to us, since she was leaving, going away.... “Going where?” asked Maddalena.
“Oh, away, far away,” she said with mysterious sadness. Then she asked if I would come out a moment with her, she had to tell me something in confidence. But first she kissed and hugged Maddalena, whom she had seen five or six times in all, because she had imagined a friendship and affection between them that had never existed. When we were alone she asked me how she looked with her hair hidden, because before long she would have to cut it. She had in fact decided to become a nun, since she now felt no more interest in the world — it was as desiccated as a pumice stone. She was no longer attracted by the theater, by dressmaking, nor by anything else. Among people she felt like a fish out of water. “It’s not that I have a strong vocation, this is true. Still I’ve always thought God was a very serious matter and I’ve always had a great respect for Him. Every time I think of Him I feel like kneeling down or at least making the sign of the cross....” Inside the white walls of the cloister, protected from the noise of the world, in silence and in prayer, she would rediscover herself and be able to see past her confusion....
Her feelings were a chaotic succession in the midst of which she couldn’t succeed in orienting herself and she always ended up following one of them at random. I knew this and yet I was still alarmed at the prospect of the convent. “And what about me? Don’t you love me a little? You do? Well then how can you think about going into a convent?” These things apparently didn’t seem contradictory to her. It was probably an idea that just suddenly came to her, but which had already encased her from head to foot like a niche that she had been born to fit into. I took her in my arms. Flora let me, or rather, showed even more tenderness and delicacy than usual, almost as if she wanted now to give all at once that affection she would subsequently be forced to deny me.
I made no attempt at anything more, but she, with a sad face and an absent look, led me to our secret place, which could only be reached by crawling through a hole. I was going to refuse. When I accepted it was because I thought making love might induce her to abandon her ridiculous decision. But as I embraced her I had the distinct impression she was already far away, as though waving to me from a moving train, and that the fading of her presence had already lowered the level of that joy I always perceived in things around
“No you don’t believe me. I know you; you don’t give me credit for a thing. You’re the kind who think women don’t know how to do anything. I can see by your face that you’re lying!”
I lost track of her momentarily and when I noticed her again I saw that she was cutting up a sheet, on which she had outlined an evening dress with a piece of charcoal. My hair stood on end. Afterwards to avoid being cross-examined by Maddalena I had to sleep many nights with one sheet (I made the bed myself every morning), and when she decided to do the wash I myself put the dirty laundry in the tub and stood there watching her from a distance as she furiously racked her brains, trying to puzzle out where one sheet could have gone. I feigned the most complete ignorance of the matter. Furthermore, I pretended, by a series of clever charades, to be pained at my inability to solve the problem or help in any way. Flora too performed very well in her role as a casual acquaintance, considering that now she came to our house at all hours.
Flora’s vocations didn’t last. They burned out quickly, reducing themselves to tiny heaps of ashes and leaving her depressed and empty.
One day she dropped in while Maddalena and I were eating. She had gathered up her magnificent hair under a black bonnet in such a way as to look as though she had cut it. She had come to say good-bye to us, since she was leaving, going away.... “Going where?” asked Maddalena.
“Oh, away, far away,” she said with mysterious sadness. Then she asked if I would come out a moment with her, she had to tell me something in confidence. But first she kissed and hugged Maddalena, whom she had seen five or six times in all, because she had imagined a friendship and affection between them that had never existed. When we were alone she asked me how she looked with her hair hidden, because before long she would have to cut it. She had in fact decided to become a nun, since she now felt no more interest in the world — it was as desiccated as a pumice stone. She was no longer attracted by the theater, by dressmaking, nor by anything else. Among people she felt like a fish out of water. “It’s not that I have a strong vocation, this is true. Still I’ve always thought God was a very serious matter and I’ve always had a great respect for Him. Every time I think of Him I feel like kneeling down or at least making the sign of the cross....” Inside the white walls of the cloister, protected from the noise of the world, in silence and in prayer, she would rediscover herself and be able to see past her confusion....
Her feelings were a chaotic succession in the midst of which she couldn’t succeed in orienting herself and she always ended up following one of them at random. I knew this and yet I was still alarmed at the prospect of the convent. “And what about me? Don’t you love me a little? You do? Well then how can you think about going into a convent?” These things apparently didn’t seem contradictory to her. It was probably an idea that just suddenly came to her, but which had already encased her from head to foot like a niche that she had been born to fit into. I took her in my arms. Flora let me, or rather, showed even more tenderness and delicacy than usual, almost as if she wanted now to give all at once that affection she would subsequently be forced to deny me.
I made no attempt at anything more, but she, with a sad face and an absent look, led me to our secret place, which could only be reached by crawling through a hole. I was going to refuse. When I accepted it was because I thought making love might induce her to abandon her ridiculous decision. But as I embraced her I had the distinct impression she was already far away, as though waving to me from a moving train, and that the fading of her presence had already lowered the level of that joy I always perceived in things around
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