Free Skylight by José Saramago

dressing gown undone, her arms by her sides, her eyes fixed on the ceiling, she would release any muscular, nervous tension and surrender herself to time. A kind of vacuum formed inside Lídia’s mind and in the room. Time slipped by with the silky murmur of sand running through an hourglass.
    Lídia’s half-closed eyes followed her vague, hesitant thoughts. The thread grew thinner, shadows interposed themselves like clouds, then the thread would reappear with absolute clarity only to become veiled in shadows again and reemerge farther off. It was like a wounded bird dragging itself along, then fluttering into the air, appearing and disappearing, before falling down dead. Unable to keep her thoughts above the dimming clouds, Lídia fell asleep.
    She was woken by the loud ringing of the doorbell. Confused, her eyes still heavy with sleep, she sat up on the bed. The bell rang again. Lídia got to her feet, put on her slippers and went out into the corridor. She peered cautiously through the spyhole, scowled, then opened the door:
    â€œCome in, Mother.”
    â€œHello, Lídia. May I come in?”
    â€œOf course, isn’t that what I just said?”
    Her mother went in. Lídia led her into the kitchen.
    â€œYou look annoyed.”
    â€œMe? The very idea. Sit down.”
    Her mother perched on a stool. She was in her sixties, and her graying hair was covered by a black mantilla, as black as the dress she was wearing. She had a flabby, almost unlined face the color of grubby ivory. Beneath her near-lashless lids, her eyes were dull and fixed, and her sparse, thin eyebrows resembled circumflexes and gave her a look of permanent vacuous amazement.
    â€œI wasn’t expecting you today,” said Lídia.
    â€œNo, it’s not my usual day or my usual time,” said her mother. “Are you well?”
    â€œPretty much. And you?”
    â€œMustn’t grumble. If it wasn’t for my rheumatism . . .”
    Lídia tried to take an interest in her mother’s rheumatism, but, failing utterly in the attempt, changed the subject:
    â€œI was deep asleep when you rang. You woke me up.”
    â€œHm, you don’t look well,” commented her mother.
    â€œReally? It’s probably because I’ve been asleep.”
    â€œCould be. They do say that sleeping too much is bad for you.”
    Neither of them was taken in by this exchange of banalities. Lídia knew perfectly well that her mother’s visit had nothing to do with whether she was well or not; and for her part, her mother was only holding back before mentioning the real reason for her visit. Then Lídia realized that it was nearly four o’clock and she needed to go out.
    â€œSo what brings you here today?”
    Her mother began smoothing a crease in her skirt, focusing all her attention on that task as if she had not heard the question. Then, finally, she murmured:
    â€œI need some money.”
    Lídia was not surprised. This was what she had been expecting. However, she could not conceal her displeasure:
    â€œEvery month you come to me earlier and earlier . . .”
    â€œYou know how difficult things are for me . . .”
    â€œI know, but you should try to put some money aside.”
    â€œI do, but it gets spent.”
    Her mother spoke in the serene voice of someone confident of getting what she wants. Lídia looked at her. Her mother was still sitting, eyes lowered, staring down at her skirt, watching the movement of her own hand. Lídia left the kitchen. Her mother immediately stopped smoothing her skirt and looked up. There was an expression of contentment on her face, that of someone who has sought and found. Hearing her daughter coming back, she resumed her modest pose.
    â€œHere you are,” said Lídia, holding out two one-hundred- escudo notes. “That’s all I can afford right now.”
    Her mother took the money and put it in her purse, which