57

 57

AT DUSK THE AIR WAS CLEAR AND COLD. A frosting of stars lit up the heavens and a breeze blew dry leaves into the hut along with the scent of cyclamen. Once she was alone, Silvia spoke again. Actually, there were certain things she only thought.

Her father beat her. And Anselmo, they beat him, too, when he was a child. They beat us at boarding school. So what was different about it? It was Giovanna.

She felt something wet on her face and the idea of crying in relief disgusted her. She wiped herself dry and then studied the objects Martino had brought her: canteen, blankets, an issue of The History of the West, bread she hadn’t yet eaten, chocolate. She opened the comic book and tried to read some of the stories about bison and American Indians: the Dakota, the Crow, the Nez Perce. The block letters, all at close range and squeezed together, gave her a headache and she didn’t understand the appeal of galloping or the volleys of hot lead that swept the Indians away from the fort’s ramparts. It was a different matter, though: these were Martino’s things and she pondered them carefully, as if she were choosing fish at the market, and taking care not to ruin them.

Martino risked being yelled at, grounded, and, as far as she knew, even beaten. If anyone else found her they would find all the provisions, too—she had never been concerned about that. What an idiot you are, Silvia.

Since she’d never dreamed that Giovanna might jump into the river, she had a moment’s worry that Martino might do the same if he were discovered. She didn’t believe it, because even in her isolation, the state she was in, she considered such a thing impossible, another thing like that. But she felt quite upset about it all the same, and it was the first feeling she’d had—sharp, alive, and unconnected to Giovanna—since she’d read the news in the newspaper one morning a few days earlier.

How many, she had no idea. She didn’t know how long she’d been taking advantage of the boy so she tried to calculate using food: What has he given me to eat? Bread, butter and sugar, salami, more bread, maybe some cheese at one point. We talked about dogs and what did he bring that day? Cake? No: apples. She applied herself for some time but she couldn’t work it out.