Hold on to the Sun

Between Two and Four

BetWeen tWo And four every day between two and four the little girl was left by herself.the first few moments of those two hours—hours that would soon freeze until the world returned, thawing into its normal course—were still taken up by the usual routine that followed the meal.the mother piled the dishes into the sink to wait for after their nap, and the father filled thelittlekitchen—alreadysteepedinthesmellsofvegetable soup and pumpkin—with the aroma of a cheap cigar that mingled with steam from the kettle and vapors that rose from the water poured into his tea cup. But these moments of grace came to an end when the newspaper dropped onto the father’s eyeglasses, and his snores were answered by the mother’s mutterings and mumblings as she too dozed off, and a prolonged oppressive silence took hold of the house. the sliding door closed behind her, and her room drowned in boredom. Sitting herself down on the prickly blanket that covered the sofa, she could not decide how to occupy herself. the smell of moth balls wafting from sweaters taken from the closet with the panic of the first 113 rains nipped at her nostrils.When winter approached, the grey window always seemed terrified by a looming disaster . now, the smell made the strangeness in the window even stranger.When she blinked her eyes shut, the window frame continued to float beneath her eyelids, a phosphorescent green that quickly turned to gold and was burned there, a sharp stain. the only refuge was the balcony, whose tiles still held the warmth of the morning sun’s rays. She poked her head through the iron railings, above wilting plants in asbestos pots.the new scene stamped on her sight brought with it the cooing of wild doves, air laden with the smell of mowed grass, and the top of a birch tree, pigeons hopping from its branches onto telephone wires.the waves of her breathing caressed her and the room’s terror was dispelled from her lungs, replaced by an inexplicable joy that seeped into her throat until she almost cried out. Biting hard on a hunk of sweater she had stuffed in her mouth to stifle the scream, the girl deeply abandoned herself to the waves of happiness that flooded her chest and swept along with them random pictures drenched in pleasure. But just as suddenly as she had freed herself from the grip of the room and the sofa, now something inside her decided that she had had enough.At once, she found herself in the midst of a string of hushed actions, intended first of all to open the sliding door to her room and guide it carefully back into place, and then to open the front door, 114 BetweenTwo and Four which, despite the well-practiced pressure she put in every fraction of the handle’s turn, and the spit she spread on the cold bolt of the lock, still made squeaking sounds that made her heart jump and the whole stairwell pound and spin. the last slam, and the smell of plaster and dust that filled the stairwell, gave an air of secret adventure to the freedom now galloping toward her. it was cool in the courtyard. now and then streaks of light broke through the clouds and rushed across her face. they would light up the wall of the house for a moment and then dissipate, leaving a patch of paled light on the limestone hills. fallen leaves, earthworms, splintered ice-cream sticks, and cigarette stubs were scattered around the foot of the birch tree. She lay her hand on its naked trunk, but weak with joy she could not bring herself to climb it. for that she would have to take off her shoes and the woolen socks her mother had folded down, and fuss with the folds of her skirt that flapped between her knees. finally, the sun’s warmth pulled her legs out from under her, and she sat cross-legged,spreading her skirt over clods of earth.She stared at the vein of a yellowing leaf until it became blurry. But after a moment, eyes that had refused to blink so as not to miss a single detail of the intoxicating sights were stabbed with a sharp pain. or maybe it was the smell of manure rising from the sacks of the gardener who...