“And so…. Oh, but that’s right! You have no idea what Rome is like. To be alone, not to know a soul; to spend your days waiting for the only person who is supposed to love you just a little…. He stays out almost all day. He’s always busy. His office is far away. Most times he just grabs a bite to eat in a small restaurant. It wouldn’t be possible, you understand, to come home for lunch every day. The distances are too great. And then in Rome, they have different ways of doing things. Some evenings he comes home with two or three friends. Lawyers like him. People who write for the newspapers. They talk for hours and hours about things I don’t understand: politics, theater, philosophy. And so in the next room, I feel like some worthless thing tossed in a corner. One of those rag dolls I used to make when I was little. I’m not a part of the life he leads. Whenever he does notice me, it’s only to complain. If we go out, he practically gets embarrassed because I must look ridiculous in dresses I wore when I was younger. I don’t know anyone. On the streets of Rome I feel like an ant, but he knows everybody. It seems so strange to me that one can have friends in that crowd that rushes about without ever pausing…. One day I sold my little gold watch, it was useless to me, and I bought a brand-new blue dress. He liked it, and he took me to the theater once—he has free seats. But then I felt terrible because I realized he might be just a little more affectionate if I weren’t so poor, and I …”

“But you were wrong!”

“To do what?”

“To spend your own money.”

Vanna smiled, lacing her fingers together. “I wish I had my own! And besides, he always says that in a city like Rome you need to teach yourself how to make a little money one way or another. The fact is he wasn’t at all surprised about what I’d done.”

The two of them talked in quiet voices on the terrace that overlooked the water. Vanna spoke without bitterness.

She saw the sea, the beautiful sea of her youth that greeted her from a distance, its pearly foam spraying onto the deserted beach. She was happy she’d come back. A beneficial languor soothed her nerves, and she suddenly fell quiet, overcome by the need for silence.

Maria’s voice shook her.

“Vanna!” Maria was saying. “Why didn’t you talk more openly when you came back the first time? Why didn’t you write, after?”