the school bathroom and flipped them into the air and then, with loving care, almost a caress, slipped on her fishnet stockings with the seam in back.
There were two things I couldn't stand: her way of pointing her nose in the air as if communing with who-knew-what lofty realm and then deigning to let her judgment descend. And there was the fact that she always liked the same boy I liked, so that if I said, “You know, I like so-and-so,” she would invariably reply, “Actually, I like him too.”
One afternoon—by now we were in middle school—we shut ourselves in her mother's bathroom to put on makeup, enough makeup so heads would turn. Then we went to take pictures of ourselves in a photo booth. The next day we gave the photo to a classmate whom we used as a go- between.We enclosed a note that asked, “Who of the two do you like more?” and ordered the boy to give everything to Marco, whom we were both crazy about. But this go-between was such a dolt that he delivered the answer to us in the middle of Latin class. The teacher, who was an old spinster, confiscated everything including our photo, sent the two of us to the principal's office, and put a black mark in the class roll. As soon as I set foot in the office, I felt a knot in my stomach, and the whole time the principal was giving me a lecture all I could think of was that “Jezebel” rhymes with “Go to hell.” Teresa had dropped her great-lady act and was standing there with her head hanging down. The principal called our homes, but Teresa's parents were out and mine were away on a trip. That evening she and I phoned each other and, in the midst of tears, made a pact—we would both go to school the next day no matter what.
But Teresa didn't come—she left me to face the second part of the trial by myself. The principal stood up in front of the class and called me to the teacher's desk to shame me in front of all my classmates. I despised Teresa for not having come. But she did something even worse— another theft. This time she stole my best friend,Anna—Anna who lived on the fifth floor of our apartment building.
One morning at school I see the two of them huddled together. They're giggling, having great fun together. When I go to join them, they barely say hello. I can tell they got together the day before, behind my back, and that my exile has just begun. That afternoon my stomachaches begin in earnest. I hardly sleep, with dreams that only add new pain or false hopes to my forlorn waking hours. This torment lasts an eternity. Then it abruptly comes to an end. One day I get on the elevator with Anna, and I get her back on my side. Without even saying hello, I start in. “Everybody says you like Paolo.”
“Who, everybody?” she asks, alarmed.
“Oh, I don't know, Maddalena, Silvia … They told me that by now even Paolo knows.”
Anna grows pale, and that's when I tell a lie, releasing the poisoned arrow. “They heard it from Teresa.”
I know Anna very well, and I can see I've hit the target.
“It's not true that I like Paolo, it's not true at all. That's just some lie Teresa made up.” And indeed, she says this with bitter resentment.
“Could be—who knows? Maybe it justslipped out. I certainly haven't told anyone.” I say this lightly not wanting to put salt on her wound. I'm satisfied for now, but I'm savoring the revenge that's still to come. Because this is just the beginning. Teresa will pay. She'll pay for everything. She'll pay for all those things that I would like to do but don't dare.
The road is white and the fields are yellow, speckled here and there with bloodred poppies. At night there are fireflies, hundreds, maybe thousands, but now it's daytime, and what I see are Gonda's black ears, bobbing up and down across the line between Earth and sky.
Papa and I are in the buggy on our way to the Cecchinis’—the tenant farmers at Civitella, my father's best farm. But first we'll stop in the town square, where we have
There were two things I couldn't stand: her way of pointing her nose in the air as if communing with who-knew-what lofty realm and then deigning to let her judgment descend. And there was the fact that she always liked the same boy I liked, so that if I said, “You know, I like so-and-so,” she would invariably reply, “Actually, I like him too.”
One afternoon—by now we were in middle school—we shut ourselves in her mother's bathroom to put on makeup, enough makeup so heads would turn. Then we went to take pictures of ourselves in a photo booth. The next day we gave the photo to a classmate whom we used as a go- between.We enclosed a note that asked, “Who of the two do you like more?” and ordered the boy to give everything to Marco, whom we were both crazy about. But this go-between was such a dolt that he delivered the answer to us in the middle of Latin class. The teacher, who was an old spinster, confiscated everything including our photo, sent the two of us to the principal's office, and put a black mark in the class roll. As soon as I set foot in the office, I felt a knot in my stomach, and the whole time the principal was giving me a lecture all I could think of was that “Jezebel” rhymes with “Go to hell.” Teresa had dropped her great-lady act and was standing there with her head hanging down. The principal called our homes, but Teresa's parents were out and mine were away on a trip. That evening she and I phoned each other and, in the midst of tears, made a pact—we would both go to school the next day no matter what.
But Teresa didn't come—she left me to face the second part of the trial by myself. The principal stood up in front of the class and called me to the teacher's desk to shame me in front of all my classmates. I despised Teresa for not having come. But she did something even worse— another theft. This time she stole my best friend,Anna—Anna who lived on the fifth floor of our apartment building.
One morning at school I see the two of them huddled together. They're giggling, having great fun together. When I go to join them, they barely say hello. I can tell they got together the day before, behind my back, and that my exile has just begun. That afternoon my stomachaches begin in earnest. I hardly sleep, with dreams that only add new pain or false hopes to my forlorn waking hours. This torment lasts an eternity. Then it abruptly comes to an end. One day I get on the elevator with Anna, and I get her back on my side. Without even saying hello, I start in. “Everybody says you like Paolo.”
“Who, everybody?” she asks, alarmed.
“Oh, I don't know, Maddalena, Silvia … They told me that by now even Paolo knows.”
Anna grows pale, and that's when I tell a lie, releasing the poisoned arrow. “They heard it from Teresa.”
I know Anna very well, and I can see I've hit the target.
“It's not true that I like Paolo, it's not true at all. That's just some lie Teresa made up.” And indeed, she says this with bitter resentment.
“Could be—who knows? Maybe it justslipped out. I certainly haven't told anyone.” I say this lightly not wanting to put salt on her wound. I'm satisfied for now, but I'm savoring the revenge that's still to come. Because this is just the beginning. Teresa will pay. She'll pay for everything. She'll pay for all those things that I would like to do but don't dare.
The road is white and the fields are yellow, speckled here and there with bloodred poppies. At night there are fireflies, hundreds, maybe thousands, but now it's daytime, and what I see are Gonda's black ears, bobbing up and down across the line between Earth and sky.
Papa and I are in the buggy on our way to the Cecchinis’—the tenant farmers at Civitella, my father's best farm. But first we'll stop in the town square, where we have
Similar Books
