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VIII
- The Feminist Press
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Calabria were telling her that he was all ready to knead with his dark chubby hands the milk-white body of the young Duchess as if she were dough placed there to rise for him. She had regarded him with contempt. His bold, arrogant way of presenting himself displeased her - for Heaven's sake, what was he? A simple painter, an obscure nobody come up from some Calabrian hovel, brought into the world by parents who were probably cowmen or goatherds. But later she laughed at herself in the darkness of her bedroom, for she recognised that her social disdain was a lie, that there had risen in her an agitation she had never before experienced, an unexpected fear that almost throttled her. Up till now no one had revealed in her presence such a visible and unrestrained desire for her body, and this seemed to her quite unheard of, but at the same time it filled her with curiosity. The next day she had the painter informed that she did not want him, and the day after she wrote him a note to begin work. She put two boys at his disposal to mix the colours for him and clean his brushes. She would remain shut away in the library, reading. And so it was. But twice she went out on to the landing to watch him while, perched on the scaffolding, he busied himself drawing with charcoal on the white walls. It excited her to watch the movements of his small hairy hands. His draughtsmanship was confident and graceful, demonstrating a skill so profound and delicate that it could not fail to ".rouse admiration. His hands daubed with colour, he rubbed his nose, smearing it with yellow and green, grabbed a slice of bread and tripe, and lifted it to his mouth, scattering crumbs of bread and fragments of offal. VIII No one expected that the third child, or rather the third daughter, would be born so quickly, almost a month early, with feet foremost like a calf in a hurry. The midwife had sweated so much that her hair stuck to her head as if she'd had a bucket of water emptied over her. 34 Marianna had followed the movements of the midwife's hands as if she had never seen them before: put to soak in a basin of hot water, softened in lard, making the sign of the cross on her chest and then once again being immersed in water. Meanwhile Innocenza kept putting handkerchiefs soaked in essence of bergamot over her mouth and on her belly, stretched taut with pregnancy. Come out, come out, you little sod With help from our Almighty God. Marianna knew the lines and read them on the lips of the midwife. She knew that the midwife's thoughts were on the point of reaching out to her and that she had done nothing to fend them off. Perhaps they would alleviate the pain, she said to herself, and concentrated on them with her eyes shut. What is the little stinker up to? Why don't you get born, eh? He's taken a bad turn, the turnip. What on earth is he up to? Is he turning somersaults or something? The legs are coming out first and the arms are all squashed to one side. It's almost as if he's dancing . .. and dancing . .. and dancing, my little one . .. but why don't you get born, you naughty little snail? If you carryon like this I'll give you a good thrashing ... but then how could I ask the Duchess for the forty tart I've been promised? Ahhh, but it's a little girl, ahi ahi ... oh oh, oh my, oh my, nothing but girls come out of this ill-starred belly, what a misfortune. She doesn't have any luck, the poor dumb creature .... Get born, get born, you stinking little girl .... Suppose I promised you a little sugar lamb - no, you're determined not to come out. . .. If this one don't get born I'll be in trouble . .. everyone will know that Titina the midwife can't manage to bring a baby into this world and lets both mother and baby die. Holy Madonna, help me ... even though you never gave birth .... What do you know of birth and work? ... Help me to get this baby girl out and I'll light a candle as big as a pillar for you, I swear...