Skylight (30 page)

Lídia was sitting on the sofa, a book open on her lap. Having interrupted her reading to pour herself a coffee, she had not yet gone back to it. She was staring at her mother without a glimmer of affection in her eyes, as coldly as she might look at a complete stranger. Her mother did not notice or was so inured to her daughter's icy gaze that it had no effect. She was sipping her tea with the cool, composed air she always adopted when in her daughter's apartment. The only less-than-delicate gesture she allowed herself—one demanded by her sweet tooth—was using her spoon to scrape up the sugar from the bottom of the cup.

Lídia looked down again at her book as if she could no longer bear the disagreeable sight of her mother, whom she disliked intensely. She felt exploited, but that wasn't the reason for her enmity. She didn't like her because she knew she did not love her as a daughter. On several occasions she had considered sending her packing. The only reason she hadn't was because she feared some terrible scene. The price she had to pay for keeping the peace was fairly high, but hardly excessive. She had grown accustomed to those twice-monthly visits. Flies are a nuisance too, but you just have to put up with them.

Her mother stood up, placed her empty cup on the dressing table, then returned to her chair and resumed her knitting. The wool was distinctly grubby and her work advanced at a snail's pace. Indeed, so slowly did the work progress that Lídia had not as yet been able to ascertain what the finished garment would be. She suspected that her mother only brought out her knitting on those visits to her apartment.

She tried to immerse herself in her reading, having first glanced at her watch to calculate how much longer her mother would stay. She had decided not to utter a word until it was time to say goodbye. She felt irritable. Paulino had grown distracted again, however hard she tried to please him. She would kiss him ardently, something she did only when absolutely necessary. The same pair of lips can kiss in many ways, and Lídia knew them all. The passionate kiss, the kiss that involves not just lips but tongue and teeth as well, was reserved for important occasions. Lately, seeing Paulino growing ever more remote, or so it seemed, she had made liberal use of such kisses.

“What's wrong, dear?” asked her mother. “You've been staring at that page for ages now and you still haven't finished it!”

She spoke in the mellifluous, ingratiating tones of an employee thanking the boss for his Christmas bonus. Lídia shrugged and said nothing.

“You seem worried. Have you quarreled with Senhor Morais?”

Lídia looked up and asked ironically:

“What if I have?”

“That would be most unwise, dear. Men can be very odd. They get annoyed over the slightest thing. There's no talking to them sometimes . . .”

“You speak as if you'd had a lot of experience of men.”

“I lived with your late father for twenty-two years, what more experience do I need?”

“If you lived with my father for twenty-two years and never knew any other man, how can you speak of experience?”

“Men are all the same, dear. If you've known one, you've known them all.”

“Yes, but how?”

“You just have to open your eyes and look.”

“You must have very good eyesight, then.”

“Oh, I do. I don't wish to boast, but I just have to look at a man to know him!”

“Well, you know more than I do, then. And what do you make of Senhor Morais?”

Her mother put down her knitting and said warmly:

“Ah, you really landed on your feet when you met him. However nice you are to him, you could never repay him for what he's done for you. Just look at this apartment! Not to mention the jewelry and the clothes! Has anyone else ever treated you like this? When I think what I suffered . . .”

“Oh, I know all about your suffering.”

“You say that as if you didn't believe me. All mothers suffer. And what mother wouldn't be pleased to see her children doing well?”

“Yes, what mother wouldn't be pleased?” echoed Lídia mockingly.

Her mother took up her knitting again and said nothing. She completed two rows, very slowly, as if her thoughts were elsewhere. Then she resumed the conversation:

“It sounds to me like you've quarreled. Well, you be careful!”

“What's it got to do with you? If we have or haven't quarreled, that's my business.”

“Well, I think you're wrong, even if . . .”

“Go on . . . even if what?”

The woolen thread had become so coiled and tangled it appeared to be full of knots, or, rather, her mother was bending so low over her work at this point, it was as if the Gordian knot itself had been resuscitated.

“Go on, spit it out.”

“What I meant to say was . . . even if you'd found a better position!”

Lídia snapped the book shut. Startled, her mother dropped a whole row of stitches.

“The only thing that would prevent me from kicking you out right now is my respect for you as my mother. Except, of course, that I don't respect you, not one bit, and yet, for some unfathomable reason, I still can't bring myself to kick you out!”

“Goodness, whatever did I say for you to get so hot under the collar?”

“How can you ask? Put yourself in my place!”

“Oh, what a fuss about nothing! What did I say that was so wrong? I'm just concerned about you.”

“Please, just shut up, will you?”

“But—”

“Like I said, please, shut up!”

Her mother whimpered:

“How can you treat me like this? Me, your own mother, the one who brought you up and loved you? Is this all the thanks a mother gets?”

“If I was a normal daughter and you were a normal mother, you'd be justified in complaining.”

“And what about all the sacrifices I made, what about them?”

“You've been richly rewarded, if, that is, you ever made any sacrifices. You're in an apartment paid for by Senhor Morais, you're sitting on a chair bought by him, you've just drunk the same coffee he drinks, the money in your purse is money he gave to me. Isn't that enough?”

Her mother continued to whimper:

“How can you say such things? I feel positively ashamed . . .”

“Oh, yes, I can see that. You only feel ashamed when things are spelled out for you. If you just
think
them, though, then you're not ashamed.”

Her mother quickly dried her eyes and said:

“I wasn't the one who forced you into this way of life. It was your choice!”

“Thank you very much. I fear that, given the turn the conversation is taking, this will be the last time you set foot in my apartment!”

“Which isn't yours anyway!”

“Thank you again. But regardless of whether it's mine or not, I'm the one who gives the orders here. And if I say get out, you will.”

“You might need me one day.”

“Don't worry, I won't come knocking at your door! I'd rather starve to death than ask you for so much as one cêntimo back of what I've given you.”

“Which wasn't yours either!”

“But which I earned, right? I actually earned that money. I earned it with my body. There has to be some point in having a nice body, even if it's only to feed
you!
”

“I don't know why I don't just leave!”

“Shall I tell you why? It's fear, fear of losing the goose who lays the golden eggs. I'm the goose, the eggs are there in your purse, the nest is this bed and the gander, well, you know who he is, don't you?”

“Don't be so coarse!”

“I feel like being coarse today, and sometimes the truth can be very coarse indeed. Everything's all fine and dandy until we start being coarse, until we start telling the truth!”

“That's it, I'm leaving!”

“Please do. And don't come back either, because you might still find me in the mood to tell you a few home truths!”

Her mother rolled and unrolled her knitting, delaying having to get up. Still playing for time, she said:

“Look, you're not yourself today, dear. It's your nerves. I didn't mean to upset you, but you went too far. You two have probably had a bit of a tiff, which is why you're all on edge, but it'll pass, you'll see . . .”

“You know, it's like you're made of rubber. However hard you're punched, you always bounce back. Can't you see that I want you to leave?”

“Yes, yes, but I'll ring you tomorrow to find out how you are. It'll pass.”

“You'll be wasting your time.”

“Look, dear . . .”

“I've said what I have to say. Now please leave.”

Her mother gathered her things together, picked up her handbag and prepared to go. Given the way in which the conversation was ending, she had little hope of ever coming back. She tried to soften her daughter's heart with tears:

“You can't imagine how upsetting this is for me . . .”

“Oh, yes I can. What's upsetting you is the thought of your little allowance being docked. Isn't that right? Well, all good things come to an end . . .”

She broke off when she heard the front door open. She got up and went out into the corridor:

“Who is it? Oh, it's you, Paulino! I wasn't expecting you to­day . . .”

Paulino came in. He was wearing a raincoat and didn't bother to remove his hat. When he saw Lídia's mother, he cried:

“What are you doing here?”

“I'm—”

“Get out!”

He almost shouted these words. Lídia intervened:

“Whatever's gotten into you, Paulino? You're not yourself. What's wrong?”

Paulino glared at her:

“What do you think?” He turned around again and bawled: “Are you still here? Didn't I tell you to leave? No, wait, now you'll find out what a sweet little thing your daughter is. Sit down!”

Lídia's mother fell back onto her chair.

“And you can sit down too!” Paulino said to Lídia.

“I'm not used to being spoken to in that tone. I don't want to sit down.”

“Do as you please, then.”

He removed his hat and coat and threw them on the bed. Then he turned to Lídia's mother and said:

“You're a witness to the way I've always treated your daughter . . .”

“Yes, Senhor Morais.”

Lídia broke in:

“So is this a matter for me or for my mother?”

Paulino wheeled around as if he'd been bitten by something. He took two steps toward Lídia, expecting her to draw back, but she didn't. Paulino took a letter from his pocket and held it out to her:

“Here's the proof that you've been cheating on me!”

“You're mad!”

Paulino clutched his head:

“Mad? Mad? You have the nerve to call me mad? Read it, read what it says!”

Lídia opened the letter and read it in silence. Her face remained utterly impassive. When she reached the end, she asked:

“And you believe what it says in this letter, do you?”

“Do I believe it? Of course I do!”

“So what are you waiting for?”

Paulino stared at her, uncomprehending. He found Lídia's coolness disconcerting. Mechanically, he folded the letter and put it away. Lídia was looking him straight in the eye. Embarrassed, he turned to her mother, who was watching, mouth wide in amazement:

“Your daughter has been unfaithful to me with a neighbor, the young man who lodges with the cobbler and his wife, a mere boy!”

“Oh, Lídia, how could you?” exclaimed her mother, horrified.

Lídia sat down on the sofa, crossed her legs, took out a cigarette and put it between her lips. Out of sheer habit, Paulino offered her a light.

“Thank you,” she said, exhaling a cloud of smoke. “I don't know what you're both waiting for. Paulino, you say you believe what's in that letter, and you, my mother, find me accused of having an affair with a young man who, I imagine, hasn't a cêntimo to his name. So why don't you both just leave?”

Paulino went over to her and spoke more calmly:

“Tell me if it's true or not.”

“I have nothing further to add.”

“It's true, then, it must be! If it wasn't, you would protest your innocence and—”

“If you really want to know what I think, I'll tell you. That letter is just an excuse.”

“An excuse for what?”

“You know as well as I do.”

“Are you suggesting that
I
wrote it?”

“Some people will do anything to get what they want . . .”

“That's an out-and-out lie!” roared Paulino. “I would never do such a thing!”

“Possibly . . .”

“Don't push me too far!”

Lídia stubbed out her cigarette in the ashtray and got to her feet, trembling with rage:

“You burst in here like some kind of savage, make some ridiculous accusation and expect me not to react?”

“So it's
not
true, then?”

“Do you honestly expect me to answer that? It's up to you whether you choose to believe what the letter says rather than believe me, but you've already said that you believe the letter, so what are you waiting for?” She gave a sudden laugh and added: “Men who think they've been deceived usually either kill the woman or leave. Or pretend they know nothing. What are you going to do?”

Paulino slumped down on the sofa, defeated:

“Just tell me it's a lie . . .”

“I've said what I had to say. I only hope you don't take too long to come to a decision.”

“You're making things very awkward for me . . .”

Lídia turned her back on him and went to the window. Her mother followed her and whispered:

“Why don't you tell him it's a lie? He'd feel better then . . .”

“Leave me alone!”

Her mother sat down again, gazing at Paulino with a commiserating look on her face. Paulino, still sitting hunched on the sofa, was beating his head with his fists, unable to find a way out of the labyrinth into which he had been plunged. He had received the letter after lunch and almost had a heart attack when he read it. The letter was unsigned. It gave no indication of where the illicit meetings took place—which meant he had no chance of catching Lídia in flagrante—but it did go into long, detailed descriptions and urged Paulino to be a man. When he reread it (shut up in his office so as not to be disturbed), it occurred to him that the letter had its good side. He was still intoxicated by Maria Cláudia's freshness and youth. He was always finding pretexts to call her into the office, and this was already setting tongues wagging among the other employees. Like any self-respecting employer, he had a trusted employee who kept him informed of everything that was said and done in the company. Paulino, however, had gone on to provoke still more gossip by redoubling his attentions to Maria Cláudia. The letter could not have come at a better time. A violent scene, a few insults, and goodbye, I'm off to pastures new! There were, of course, obstacles in his path: Maria Cláudia's age, her parents . . . He had considered keeping both irons in the fire, so to speak: continuing his relationship with Lídia, who was, after all, a very tasty morsel, and wooing Claudinha, who promised to be an even more tasty morsel. But that was before he had received the letter. It was a formal accusation and called upon him to be a man and take a stand. The worst thing was that he wasn't entirely sure about Claudinha and feared losing Lídia. He had neither the time nor the inclination to find another mistress. But what to do about the letter? Lídia was cheating on him with some poor wretch obliged to live in rented rooms: that was the worst possible insult, a slur on his manhood. Young woman, old man, young lover. He could not possibly let such an insult pass. He called Claudinha into his office and spent the whole afternoon talking to her, without, of course, mentioning the letter. He very carefully tested the waters and was quite pleased with the result. When she left, he reread the letter and decided to take whatever radical steps the case demanded. Hence the present scene.