Mercè Rodoreda - The Selected Stories

“We’ll pretend like we’re water flowing down the hill,” the girl said as she burst out laughing. A fresh, contagious laugh.

They started walking. The boy strolling timidly, not too close to the girl, from time to time glancing at the shadow on the ground caused by the star on the girl’s forehead.

“The day after tomorrow I’m leaving for Paris,” she suddenly announced. “I’ll be there a couple of weeks, then on to Nice.”

“Ah.”

Not knowing what to say, he gazed straight at her, determined to give his look a surprised, intelligent air, one of admiration.

The girl must have been thinking about something else, because for several minutes she made no attempt to continue the conversation. Her head was slightly canted as she hummed a monotonous little tune of just three notes, always the same. She kept running her hand through her hair. Just when it seemed that she’d forgotten about the boy next to her, she stopped humming and pointed to a little package he was holding carefully in his hand.

“What’s that?”

“This? Nothing. Just some pastries for my little brother,” he said with a forced smile, a bit embarrassed.

“And that?” In his other hand he held an indistinguishable object.

“It’s a mask.”

“Why aren’t you wearing it?”

The boy hesitated, not knowing what to say, but she insisted; so with a serious air, he put it on.

“I must look silly, no? I wouldn’t have chosen a clown’s face, but some friends gave it to me and they—”

“Like comical things?”

“Sometimes I think they go too far, but, you see, they—”

“Well, if a mask doesn’t make people laugh, maybe it’s best to go with your own face.”

“You’re right. Want a pastry?”

The girl stopped suddenly and with a mischievous twinkle said, “I’m going to get something. Will you wait for me?”

He nodded and the girl took off running, up the avenue. Her cape fell to the ground, but she didn’t stop. He picked it up and closed his eyes, fingering the delicate material. Standing there all alone, the girl’s cape over his arm, he felt out of place, removed from this world. He looked up at the sky for a long time. The trees were just beginning to bud, the tram tracks gleamed in the moonlight. The rough tips of his fingers against the silk sent a shiver up his spine. He hung the cape over his arm, not daring to touch it. He glanced up, glanced down, then started all over. The sky, the trees. . Finally he sat down on a stone bench, but the cold immediately shot through his thin sateen trousers, sending another shiver up his spine.

•

After a long while the girl reappeared, tiny and pale, weightless, her sheer dress fluttering in the wind, like a bird with its wings extended downward.

“They let me have a bottle of champagne, and now the two of us are going to empty it. Do you like champagne?”

He was about to say, “Si, Senyora,” but caught himself in time and exclaimed with a blush, “Immensely. Would you like your cape?”

“Not now. Later.”

They had reached a tiny triangle of a plaza. A rickety evergreen stood in the center. She turned, facing west, and cried out “Titania!” A feeble echo from the houses on the other side repeated, “Titania!”

“The echo’s not too bad here, but further up, by the house where the party is, you can hear the words repeated three times, loudly.”

Feeling moved, he dared to exclaim, “So, it is my pleasure to accompany the queen of the fairies?”

“Purely by chance. With the same dress and a string of pearls, I could have been Juliet. Or with a garland of flowers and leaves in my hair, Ophelia,” she added flirtatiously. “But with my temperament, I prefer to be, even if for just one night, a powerful character. So, why did you take me for Titania?”

“Because that’s what you cried out, and my uncle used to tell me those stories.”

“He died?”

“Many years ago.”

“Well, now that you know who I am, introduce yourself.”

The boy hesitated, but she insisted.

“Say your name, loud.”

He swallowed and said in a low voice,

“My name’s Pere.”

Cheerfully, the girl shouted his name very loudly, and the echo replied, “Pere, Pere!”

“Twice? This echo’s a bit crazy. Now that we’ve introduced ourselves, open the champagne. I might spill it on myself and a fairy’s dress has to be immaculate.” She handed him the bottle and added, “It seems like we’ve been friends for a long time.”

“For years.” I wonder how much she’s drunk tonight? he thought. But she had walked a straight line the whole time, without any effort.

The cork came out without a pop and no foam.

“It’s flat,” she exclaimed in disappointment. “But it’ll quench our thirst,” and she took a long sip straight from the bottle.

“Would you like a pastry?”

They sat down on the edge of the sidewalk and started eating and drinking. He moved the cardboard nose with the mustache to one side, but it bothered him, so he pushed it up onto his forehead.

“The owner of the house,” the girl began explaining, “is. . I guess I should confess — after all, we’re friends. He’s my lover. He’s the one I’m going to Paris with. He has to go on business, so we have an opportunity. His wife was at the dance. She’s rarely at home, travels all the time. Since she was there, I decided to leave. The situation was really tense, especially for me of course. I left without saying good-bye to anyone, and now I’m guessing he’s searching for me all through the house and garden. But if he wanted me to stay, why didn’t he lock his wife up in the dark room. For one night. . I don’t want to give the impression she’s nasty. She’s very nice, dresses really well, knows how to be welcoming. I’d say she’s una gran senyora , a real lady. But I have the feeling that when she climbs in bed, covers her face with cream. . He doesn’t love her any more; he likes me. As we danced he told me, ‘You’re the most charming girl at the party; you’re like a flower.’ And a little while later he said, ‘I’ll love you eternally’ or something like that.”

The girl gave him a surprised, vexed look and didn’t speak for a moment. Finally she said, “Shall we go?”

“Of course.”

•

They left the empty bottle upright in the center of the street and started walking. His lids were heavy, the bones in his legs weak. Further down the street, the girl stopped in front of a gate. He paused beside her. She took his hand and whispered, very low, as if sharing a secret:

“Can you smell the gardenias?”

He couldn’t smell anything except the scent of night, of green and trees. Besides, so much familiarity made him feel uneasy. The wind hit them in the face and droned plaintively through the branches.

When the boy didn’t respond, she murmured in a gentle voice, her forehead leaning against the iron bars:

“The wind is always sad. When I was little I used to think that I’d like to live in a solitary house pounded by the wind, and every morning I’d take my two greyhounds and go to the forest to see the trees that had fallen during the night. The wind’s bringing us the scent of gardenia, isn’t it?”

“You should put on your cape,” he said, still carrying it in his hand. He shivered just glimpsing her naked arms, but all the enthusiasm over the gardenias was starting to frighten him a bit.

“Would you help me?”

He put the cape around her, thinking, If I were just a little more daring, I’d kiss her now.

“I can see them, over there, at the back. Come closer, at the foot of the tall tree. You see it? If I could have just one.”

His head was spinning, everything seemed foggy. In the end there was no other solution. The gate’s not that high , he thought.