Read Online The Case of Lisandra P. by Hélène Grémillon - Free Book Online

There are many women your age who are happy. They don’t all think the way you do, and you shouldn’t go on believing they do. I’ll tell you what’s at stake here, it’s your anger, your sorrow alone. At the risk of repeating myself, there are many women your age who are happy. You’ll start making great progress if you understand this. Life doesn’t stop, Alicia, and those who want to stop theflow of life are bound to lose. I’m sorry, but this is just a bad period to get through. You may be under the impression that your ex-husband can do everything and you can do nothing, but things will get better; you must simply be a bit more patient. You seem to enjoy being bitter and despondent. But if you face reality, you will see that not all women are bored the way you are. Forgive me, Alicia, but it’s not a child you need to lose to feel less bored, it’s your money.
    ALICIA
    You’re right, it’s time to pay for my session, but you might have pointed it out more courteously.
    VITTORIO
    That was not what I wanted to point out.
    ALICIA
    Of course it was.
    VITTORIO
    You’re wrong, Alicia.
    ALICIA
    Of course I’m wrong. I should never have had this conversation with you, with a man. I should have thought of this before. One should always choose a psychoanalyst of the same sex.

Eva Maria looks at herself in the mirror. Moves closer. Runs her hands over her face. Her daughter had her nose, the shape of her eyes, but not the same color, just the shape. Stella also had a dimple in her chin. Like the bed of a cherry stone. Eva Maria didn’t like it on herself, but on Stella she always thought it was pretty—adorable when she was a child, lovely when she had grown up. The paradox of motherhood was that now that dimple was what Eva Maria liked best of all about her face. Eva Maria moves closer to the mirror. Her fingers slide across her face. Her cheeks. Her neck. Her skin is fading, it’s true. And it’s true she never looks at herself. And it’s true she no longer sees herself. Eva Maria places both hands on the edge of the sink. Does not take her eyes off herself. She opens the mirror of the small bathroom cabinet. She takes out a little white makeup bag that has yellowed slightly over time. She takes out her mascara. Tries to paint her eyelashes. She has shed so many tears that she is no longer used to putting on makeup. The mascara has dried out. Eva Maria gives up. Not altogether. She puts a little bit of lipstick on her lips. She looks in the mirror. For once she doesn’t look at her dimple. Or her nose. Or the shape of her eyes. But she doesn’t judge the result for all that; she doesn’t pout or even smile. You can’tdo everything the first time. Eva Maria closes the little white makeup bag. Yellowed with age. She listens to the sound of the zipper. Her eyes without mascara are shining. Eva Maria has an appointment with Vittorio. He is going to be pleased with what she has found.

“‘I should have thought of it sooner. One should always choose a psychoanalyst of the same sex.’”
    Eva Maria stresses the last two sentences. Emphatically. Like a bad actress laying it on thick when the text alone would be enough. Her mouth is dry from reading so much. The lipstick has faded. Eaten away by words. Eva Maria gathers up the typed pages. She looks at Vittorio sitting opposite her. She is like a child waiting to be congratulated. Vittorio smiles, in spite of himself. Surely a nervous smile.
    â€œAlicia is a desperate woman. Not a murderer.”
    â€œAnd yet killing seems to be the most extreme expression of despair.”
    Vittorio shakes his head.
    â€œNot always. And above all, not in Alicia’s case.”
    Eva Maria sits up straight.
    â€œBut she goes on and on about how much she hates young women, and about your wife. This last session clearly indicates what she was capable of.”
    â€œOn the day we had that