Jane Bowles - My Sister's Hand in Mine - The Collected Works of Jane Bowles

His mother again spoke up. “Do you hear Lilina talking to you?” she shouted. “Or is that bandage covering your ears as well as your head?”

She had meant this remark to be stinging and witty, but she realized herself that there had been no point to it.

“Well, go with the little girl,” she added.

Lilina and Enrique set off toward the square together. Lilina had put Victoria back into her box.

“Why are we going to the square?” Enrique asked Lilina.

“Because we are going there with Victoria.”

Six or seven buses had converged in one of the streets that skirted the square. They had come from the capital and from other smaller cities in the region. The passengers who were not going any farther had already got out and were standing in a bunch talking together and buying food from the vendors. One lady had brought with her a cardboard fan intended as an advertisement for beer. She was fanning not only herself, but anyone who happened to come near her.

The bus drivers were racing their motors, and some were trying to move into positions more advantageous for departing. Lilina was excited by the noise and the crowd. Enrique, however, had sought a quiet spot, and was now standing underneath a tree. After a while she ran over to him and told him that she was going to let Victoria out of her box.

“Then we’ll see what happens,” she said.

“No, no!” insisted Enrique. “She’ll only crawl under the buses and be squashed to death. Snakes live in the woods or in the rocks.”

Lilina paid little attention to him. Soon she was crouching on the edge of the curbstone, busily unfastening the string around Victoria’s box.

Enrique’s head had begun to pain him and he felt a little ill. He wondered if he could leave the square, but he decided he did not have the courage. Although the wind had risen, the sun was very hot, and the tree afforded him little shade. He watched Lilina for a little while, but soon he looked away from her, and began to think instead about his own death. He was certain that his head hurt more today than usual. This caused him to sink into the blackest gloom, as he did whenever he remembered the day he had fallen and pierced his skull on a rusty nail. His life had always been precious to him, as far back as he could recall, and it seemed perhaps even more so now that he realized it could be violently interrupted. He disliked Lilina; probably because he suspected intuitively that she was a person who could fall over and over again into the same pile of broken glass and scream just as loudly the last time as the first.

By now Victoria had wriggled under the buses and been crushed flat. The buses cleared away, and Enrique was able to see what had happened. Only the snake’s head, which had been severed from its body, remained intact.

Enrique came up and stood beside Lilina. “Now are you going home?” he asked her, biting his lip.

“Look how small her head is. She must have been a very small snake,” said Lilina.

“Are you going home to your house?” he asked her again.

“No. I’m going over by the cathedral and play on the swings. Do you want to come? I’m going to run there.”

“I can’t run,” said Enrique, touching his fingers to the bandages. “And I’m not sure that I want to go over to the playground.”

“Well,” said Lilina. “I’ll run ahead of you and I’ll be there if you decide to come.”

Enrique was very tired and a little dizzy, but he decided to follow her to the playground in order to ask her why she had allowed Victoria to escape under the buses.

When he arrived, Lilina was already swinging back and forth. He sat on a bench near the swings and looked up at her. Each time her feet grazed the ground, he tried to ask her about Victoria, but the question stuck in his throat. At last he stood up, thrust his hands into his pockets, and shouted at her.

“Are you going to get another snake?” he asked. It was not what he had intended to say. Lilina did not answer, but she did stare at him from the swing. It was impossible for him to tell whether or not she had heard his question.

At last she dug her heel into the ground and brought the swing to a standstill. “I must go home,” she said, “or my mother will be angry with me.”

“No,” said Enrique, catching hold of her dress. “Come with me and let me buy you an ice.”

“I will,” said Lilina. “I love them.”

They sat together in a little store, and Enrique bought two ices.

“I’d like to have a swing hanging from the roof of my house,” said Lilina. “And I’d have my dinner and my breakfast served while I was swinging.” This idea amused her and she began to laugh so hard that her ice ran out of her mouth and over her chin.

“Breakfast, lunch, and dinner and take a bath in the swing,” she continued. “And make pipi on Consuelo’s head from the swing.”

Enrique was growing more and more nervous because it was getting late, and still they were not talking about Victoria.

“Could I swing with you in your house?” he asked Lilina.

“Yes. We’ll have two swings and you can make pipi on Consuelo’s head, too.”

“I’d love to,” he said.

His question seemed more and more difficult to present. By now it seemed to him that it resembled more a declaration of love than a simple question.

Finally he tried again. “Are you going to buy another snake?” But he still could not ask her why she had been so careless.

“No,” said Lilina. “I’m going to buy a rabbit.”

“A rabbit?” he said. “But rabbits aren’t as intelligent or as beautiful as snakes. You had better buy another snake like Victoria.”

“Rabbits have lots of children,” said Lilina. “Why don’t we buy a rabbit together?”

Enrique thought about this for a while. He began to feel almost lighthearted, and even a little wicked.

“All right,” he said. “Let’s buy two rabbits, a man and a woman.” They finished their ices and talked together more and more excitedly about the rabbits.

On the way home, Lilina squeezed Enrique’s hand and kissed him all over his cheeks. He was red with pleasure.

At the square they parted, after promising to meet again that afternoon.

* * *

It was a cloudy day, rather colder than usual, and Señora Ramirez decided to dress in her mourning clothes, which she always carried with her. She hung several strands of black beads around her neck and powdered her face heavily. She and Consuelo began to walk slowly around the patio.

Consuelo blew her nose. “Ay, mamá,” she said. “Isn’t it true that there is a greater amount of sadness in the world than happiness?”

“I don’t know why you are thinking about this,” said her mother.

“Because I have been counting my happy days and my sad days. There are many more sad days, and I am living now at the best age for a girl. There is nothing but fighting, even at balls. I would not believe any man if he told me he liked dancing better than fighting.”

“This is true,” said her mother. “But not all men are really like this. There are some men who are as gentle as little lambs. But not so many.”

“I feel like an old lady. I think that maybe I will feel better when I’m married.” They walked slowly past the traveler’s door.

“I’m going inside,” said Consuelo suddenly.

“Aren’t you going to sit in the patio?” her mother asked her.

“No, with all those children screaming and the chickens and the parrot talking and the white dog. And it’s such a terrible day. Why?”

Señora Ramirez could not think of any reason why Consuelo should stay in the patio. In any case she preferred to be there alone if the stranger should decide to talk to her.