Read Online The Winterlings by Cristina Sánchez-Andrade - Free Book Online Page B

flattered, she kept on walking as if she hadn’t heard a thing, so that her sister, who hadn’t been asked to dance all night, wouldn’t feel offended. But as they walked past the very last of the houses, she noticed that the blood had risen to Saladina’s face, and by the time they reached the apple trees, she had crumpled into tears.
    â€˜Why are you crying, woman?’ asked Dolores. ‘If those men took no notice of you, it’s because you’re no use to them. It’s true! I should be the one crying. Listen, I’m still worried — do you think Little Ramón knows anything about our little secret?’
    â€˜It’s because of my teeth,’ spluttered Saladina, ignoring the question. The tears were running down her cheeks and pooling on her shoulders. ‘Everything that goes wrong for me is because of my teeth. People notice that they’re fake, and that’s disgusting.’
    â€˜They’re just teeth — God!’
    â€˜They’re disgusting, I’m telling you! I’m a toad!’
    â€˜You’re a thousand times better than a toad, and that’s why you have to wait for your chance. You heard Violeta da Cuqueira; you’ll fall in love soon.’
    This last comment, the only intention of which was to lift her spirits, was a true insult to her sadness; Saladina’s eyes rolled back, and she began to sway.
    With huge strides hurried by embarrassment, with sweaty palms and a stiff body, she managed to get to the house. Then she went straight to the shed. She came out with the ladder and the shears, climbed up, and, by the light of the moon, began to prune the fig tree.
    Click, click.
    She didn’t come down off the ladder until there were no more branches left to prune.
    â€˜Here we go,’ her sister consoled her, taking her arm and leading her inside like a little girl. ‘It’s bedtime now.’

14
    Saladina was so exhausted that she submitted to Dolores’ ministrations. Her sister took off her dress and put on her nightdress. She let down her hair, removed her dentures and placed them in a glass of water, then put her to bed and pulled up the covers lovingly, telling her the story of Taragoña Express, who ran all over the countryside wearing nothing but a loincloth.
    Just when it seemed that she was going to fall asleep, she poked her head with its wild hair out of the sheets. She stretched out her arm, grabbed the dentures and put them in, plop.
    â€˜Well ...? Did you like being a sheep?’ she asked through her sniffles.
    Dolores shrugged. She was used to her sister’s ironic turns, and wasn’t surprised by the question.
    Saladina jumped out of bed in a flash, and got down on all fours.
    â€˜ Baa, baa, black sheep, have you any wool? They’re nothing more than sheep!’
    â€˜You’re all worked up, Sala, calm down …’
    â€˜And did you notice, Dolores, that no one wants to talk about our grandfather?’
    Dolores didn’t answer.
    â€˜As soon as you bring it up, they go silent and start fidgeting. And then there’s this business about the old lady’s piece of paper. Do you think it’s true that our grandfather bought her brain?’
    Dolores didn’t know what to say. She opened her mouth and kept it that way, as if she’d been interrupted. Saladina got up and sat down on the bed.
    â€˜And this nickname they’ve given us, the Winterlings , how about that …’
    â€˜They give nicknames to those who keep secrets in all villages,’ reasoned her sister. ‘It makes sense.’
    â€˜Yes, it makes sense.’
    â€˜Because of our little secret … ’
    They heard a noise coming from the cowshed. Dolores opened the trapdoor and had a look. She spent a while with her head hanging down through the hole, looking and listening carefully. Then she said: ‘It’s just Greta, the horseflies are eating her alive.’
    They