José Saramago - Skylight

“What do you think, Mama?” she asked.

Rosália was left speechless. She was hovering around her daughter like a dresser preparing the star for her big moment. Maria Cláudia sat down, took lipstick and rouge from her handbag and began to apply her makeup. Her hair could wait; it required only a quick brush. She didn’t overdo the makeup, though; it was even more discreet than her dress. She was relying on her understandably nervous state to give her a good color — a little nervousness always suited her. When she had finished, she stood before her mother and said again:

“What do you think?”

“You look lovely, sweetheart.”

Claudinha smiled at her own reflection, gave herself one last probing look and declared that she was ready. Rosália summoned her husband, and Anselmo duly appeared. He had adopted the noble expression of a father about to decide his daughter’s future, and he seemed genuinely moved.

“Do you like it, Papa?”

“You look charming, my dear.”

Anselmo had learned that, at key moments such as this, “my dear” was the best form of address to use. It conferred seriousness on the occasion, suggested fatherly affection and pride tinged with respect.

“I’m so nervous,” said Claudinha.

“You must keep calm,” said her father, smoothing his neat mustache with one firm hand. Nothing could trouble the firmness of that hand.

When Claudinha walked past him, Anselmo slightly adjusted the string of pearls she was wearing: the final touch, and made, as was only right, by the firm, loving hand of her father.

“Off you go, my dear,” he said solemnly.

Her heart fluttering inside her like a caged bird, Maria Cláudia went down the stairs to the first floor. She was far more nervous than she seemed. She had been to Lídia’s apartment on innumerable occasions, but never when her lover was there. This visit, then, had about it an air of complicity and secrecy, of something forbidden. She was being admitted into the presence of Paulino Morais, into direct knowledge of Lídia’s “irregular situation.” This excited and dizzied her.

Lídia opened the door, smiling broadly.

“We were expecting you.”

These words reinforced Maria Cláudia’s feeling of intimacy. She entered, trembling all over. Lídia was wearing her taffeta dressing gown and a pair of dance shoes that were attached to her ankles by two silvery straps. They looked more like sandals than shoes, and yet Maria Cláudia would have given anything to own such a pair.

Accustomed as she was to being shown straight into the bedroom, she took a step in that direction. Lídia smiled:

“No, not that way.”

Claudinha blushed scarlet. And so it was, blushing and confused, that she appeared before Paulino Morais, who was waiting for her in the dining room; he was wearing a jacket and smoking his usual cigarillo.

Lídia introduced them. Paulino got up. With the hand holding the cigarillo, he gestured to Maria Cláudia to take a seat, and they all sat down. Paulino was looking fixedly at Claudinha. She averted her gaze and stared down at the geometric figures in the carpet.

“Please, Paulino,” said Lídia, still smiling, “can’t you see you’re embarrassing Maria Cláudia?”

Paulino started slightly, then he smiled too and said:

“That certainly wasn’t my intention.” And turning to Maria Cláudia: “I didn’t think you were so… so young!”

“I’m nineteen, Senhor Morais,” she said, looking up.

“As you see, she’s still a child,” said Lídia.

Claudinha glanced across at her. The look they exchanged was suspicious and suddenly hostile. Maria Cláudia saw in a flash what Lídia was thinking, and what she saw sent a shiver of fear and pleasure through her. She sensed that Lídia was now her enemy, and she understood why. She saw herself and Lídia as if from another person’s perspective, from Paulino Morais’s perspective, for example, and the comparison clearly favored her.

“I’m not that much of a child, Dona Lídia, although I am, as Senhor Morais said, very young.”

Lídia bit her lip: she could see what Claudinha was hinting at. She immediately regained her composure, however, and laughed:

“Oh, I was just the same when I was your age. It used to drive me mad when anyone called me a child, but of course now I see they were right. So why can’t you see that too?”

“Perhaps because I’m not yet as old as Dona Lídia?”

Maria Cláudia was quick on the uptake when it came to these female skirmishes. This was her very first bout and, although she had already scored two hits and was herself as yet untouched, she was a little frightened: she feared she might not have breath enough or the right weapons to survive the rest of the duel. Fortunately for her, Paulino intervened. He took out a gold cigarette case and offered both women a cigarette. Lídia accepted.

“Don’t you smoke?” Paulino asked Maria Cláudia.

She blushed. She had smoked on several occasions in secret, but felt she should not accept. It might look bad and, besides, she was sure she would never be able to compete with Lídia when it came to holding the cigarette and raising it to her lips in a sufficiently elegant manner. She said:

“No, I don’t, Senhor Morais.”

“Very sensible.” He paused to inhale the smoke from his cigarillo, then went on: “Anyway, I don’t think it’s very nice of you two to talk about age when I’m old enough to be the father of you both.”

This remark had a soothing effect and established a truce. However, Claudinha immediately took the initiative, and with what Anselmo would have termed a charming smile, she remarked:

“You’re making yourself out to be much older than you really are.”

“All right, then, how old do you think I am?”

“About forty-five, perhaps…”

“Come now!” Paulino laughed out loud, and when he laughed his belly shook. “A little bit more than that.”

“Fifty?”

“No, fifty-six. So old enough to be your grandfather.”

“Well, you don’t look it!”

She said this with real sincerity and spontaneity, as Paulino was quick to notice. Lídia stood up. She went over to her lover and tried to lead the conversation back to the real reason for Maria Cláudia’s visit.

“Don’t forget that Claudinha is more interested in your decision than in your age. It’s getting late, and she probably needs to go to bed. Besides…” She paused and looked at Paulino with an expressive smile, then said in a soft voice, heavy with implied meanings: “Besides, I need to talk to you alone.”

Maria Cláudia gave in at this point. She could not do battle on that terrain. She saw that she was an intruder, that they were both — or at least Lídia was — eager to see the back of her. She felt like crying.

“Of course, yes, you’re quite right!” Paulino seemed to remember for the first time that he had a position to maintain, his respectability to safeguard, and that the frivolous nature of the conversation could compromise both. “So you want a job, do you?”

“Oh, I have a job already, Senhor Morais, but my parents don’t think I earn enough, and Dona Lídia was kind enough to take an interest and…”

“What can you do?”

“I can type.”

“Is that all? You don’t know shorthand?”

“No, Senhor Morais.”

“In the current climate, knowing how to type really isn’t enough. How much do you earn?”

“Five hundred escudos.”

“Hm, so you don’t know shorthand?”

“No, sir…”

Maria Cláudia’s voice tailed off. Lídia was beaming. Paulino looked thoughtful. An awkward silence ensued.

“But I could always learn,” said Claudinha.

“Hm.”