Gracefully on his carelessly shaven cheeks. Opposite her on the front seat her father is asleep, his tricorn hat capsized over his shoulder, his wig askew on his handsome perspiring forehead, his blond eyelashes resting
Well as the faint aroma of mint that floats in from the fields of the Villa Palagonia.īut an extra hard jolt makes her open her eyes. That impregnates her father's waistcoat, below that the scent of rice powder mingled with the grease on the seats, the sourness of crushed lice, the smarting from the dust on the road that blows through the joints of the doors, as Sense of smell obstinately insisting that it can make the whole world pass through these two minute tunnels of flesh at the lower end of her nose.īut now she has lowered her eyelids so as to rest her eyes for a while, and her nostrils have begun to draw in the air, recognising the smells and meticulously noting them in her mind: the overpowering scent of lettuce water Sometimes the two senses on which she relies are so alert that they come to blows, her eyes intent on possessing every image in its entirety, and her The child relaxes, sinks back into the padded seat and shuts her eyes. Peppino Cannarota whips the horses and off they go at a gallop. The carriage door is closed with a sharp bang. As soon as she puts a foot on the running-board she is seized from She can see him puffing out his cheeks and arching his eyebrows. Her father the Duke is already in the carriage, but instead of summoning her he is singing. Her mother the Duchess continues to talk about dogs like chimeras that can become as long as serpents, that press against you with their whiskers, that bewitch you with their cunning eyes. Shall never be like her, she says to herself. Tails grow so long that they wrap themselves round people's waists like chimeras do and then, hey presto, they pierce you with their forked points and then you are dead without ever realising what has happened to you.įor a moment the child fixes her gaze on her mother the Duchess's plump chin, on her beautiful mouth with its pure outline, on her soft pink cheeks, on her eyes with their look of innocence, yielding and far away. And then dogs: no matter whether they are large dogs or small dogs she must give them a wide berth. Her deafness she could easily be crushed under the wheels of a carriage she has not been able to hear. She knows she is telling her not to cross the road on her own because of Marianna sees her lips moving, but she can't be bothered to guess at her words. Her mother presses her daughter to her with lazy tenderness. The child stops for a moment, overcome by the honey-sweet scent of the snuff mingled with all the other odours that accompany her mother's awakening: attar of roses, coagulated sweat, stale urine and lozenges Meanwhile Marianna has rushed to her parents' bedroom, where she finds her mother the Duchess lying supine between the sheets, her dress fluffed up with lace slipping off her shoulder, the fingers of her hand closed
#THE SILENT AGE RAG FULL#
Now it is onlyĪ question of getting the horses to gallop full speed to Palermo. At a sign from him, Raffaele Cuffa hastens forward to close the basket. Well-ironed cloth inside the basket, shivers at the icy touch of a silver crucifix, squeezes the small bag full of coins, and then slips quickly away. His indolent, sensual hand plunges into the The Duke opens the lid with a flick of his wrist, which his daughter recognises as one of his most habitual gestures, a peevish movement with which he casts to one side anything that bores him. Meanwhile Raffaele Cuffa, who when he is in the hunting lodge walks with silent watchful footsteps like a fox, approaches Duke Signoretto and hands him a large wicker basket on which a white cross stands out prominently. The courtyard with him, that he is in a hurry to get into his carriage because as usual they are late. Although she cannot hear him, she knows what he is saying: that she must hasten to bid goodbye to her lady mother, that she must come down into The child watches her father's lips as they move more and more rapidly.
Them were only a stumbling block: they seem to be close but they are a thousand miles apart. His mouth moves but the sound of his words is lost as it reaches her ears, as if the visible distance between The little girl watches her father in the mirror as he bends down to adjust his white stockings over his calves. He stylish and casual, his stockings ruffled, his wig askew she imprisoned inside a crimson bodice that highlights the wax-like pallor The father fair, handsome, smiling the daughter awkward, freckled, fearful.
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