Free Skylight by José Saramago Page B

it, then slowly put the book down and, with her eyes fixed on her own reflection—where she saw a look of amazement reminiscent of her mother’s—she rapidly reviewed her life: light and dark, farce and tragedy, dissatisfaction and deceit.
    It was almost half past four by the time she had finished dressing. She looked very pretty. She had excellent taste in clothes and never wore anything outlandish. She had put on a gray tailored suit that gave her body a sinuous, supple shape, a body that obliged men in the street to stop and look. A combination of the miraculous skills of the dressmaker and the instincts of a woman who earns her living with her body.
    She went down the stairs with a light step to avoid making too much noise with her heels. There were people outside Silvestre’s apartment. The door stood wide open, and the cobbler was helping a young man carry in a large trunk. Out on the landing, Mariana was holding a smaller suitcase. Lídia greeted them:
    â€œGood afternoon.”
    Mariana responded. Silvestre, in order to return her greeting, had to pause and look around. Lídia’s gaze passed over his head and alighted with some curiosity on the face of the young man. Abel looked at her too. Seeing his new lodger’s questioning expression, Silvestre smiled and winked at him. Abel understood.

8
    When Adriana appeared around the corner, walking fast, the day was already growing dark and one could sense the night in the quiet onset of twilight, which all the noise of the city could not cancel out. She took the stairs two at a time, her heart protesting at the effort, then rang the bell frantically and waited with some impatience for her mother to open the door.
    â€œHello, Mama. Has it started yet?” she asked, kissing her mother on the cheek.
    â€œSlow down, child, slow down. No, it hasn’t started yet. Why all the rush?”
    â€œI was afraid I might miss it. I was kept late at the office, typing some urgent letters.”
    They went into the kitchen. The lights were on. The radio was playing softly in the background. Isaura was still busy sewing, hunched over a pink shirt. Adriana kissed her sister and her aunt, then sat down to catch her breath.
    â€œI’m absolutely exhausted! Good heavens, Isaura, what is that hideous thing you’re making?”
    Her sister looked up and smiled:
    â€œThe man who’s going to wear this shirt must be a complete and utter idiot. I can see him now in the shop, gazing goggle-eyed at this ‘thing of beauty,’ ready to give the clothes off his back to pay for it!”
    They both laughed. Cândida commented:
    â€œYou two don’t have a good word to say about anyone!”
    Amélia agreed with her nieces and, addressing Cândida, said:
    â€œSo, in your opinion, would it be a sign of good taste to wear a shirt like that?”
    â€œPeople can dress as they like,” said Cândida with unusual forthrightness.
    â€œThat’s not an opinion!”
    â€œShh!” said Isaura. “Listen!”
    The announcer was introducing a piece of music.
    â€œNo, that’s not it,” said Adriana.
    There was a package next to the radio. Given the size and shape, it looked like a book. Adriana picked it up and asked:
    â€œWhat’s this? Another book?”
    â€œYes,” said her sister.
    â€œWhat’s it called?”
    â€œThe Nun.”
    â€œWho’s the author?”
    â€œDiderot. I’ve never read anything by him before.”
    Adriana put the book down and promptly forgot about it. She didn’t care much for books. Like her sister, mother and aunt, she adored music, but she found books boring. They took pages and pages to tell a story that could have been told in just a few words. She couldn’t understand how Isaura could spend so much time reading, sometimes into the small hours. With music, on the other hand, Adriana could happily sit up all night listening and never tire