And don Raimondo, wise and accommodating, started up the conversation. He found a comfortable position, brushed a stray hair off his knee, and then asked, looking at the box of stamps that had been set out on a small table, “So, you’ve only been here a short time?”

“Three months.”

“I bet you’re not fairing too well, since you’re used to big cities.”

“Thus far, you’re right. But I’m hoping things will improve in the future,” answered the professor, looking at Caterina.

“And after this, you’ll be moving far away?”

“It depends. If I make the move to a high school, I could settle down in Palermo.”

And he started talking about exams, contests, titles, and publications, announcing that he was preparing a study on educational reform.

Caterina wasn’t listening. She felt the stranger’s eyes on her, inspecting her coldly without kindness or indulgence.

She thought about the purpose of the visit and reddened. She saw her long arms in sleeves that were too short; her breasts seemed enormous, her body huge. She felt a kind of shame just being there in that living room, exposed to the gaze of a stranger who was scrutinizing her with the sole purpose of later sharing his opinions with signora Teta’s husband. Nenè was talking excitedly:

“Palermo? Yes, I lived there for six years. But in a convent, can you just imagine! The Foro Italico? Oh! Go back? I wish! It’s all I dream about!”

Caterina suffered less when her cousin was commanding the professor’s attention. But when the eyes of that man who had not yet said so much as a word to her returned to rest coldly on her person, anguish and shame took hold of her once more.

Why had she come to play a role in this farce? She felt a deep disgust for herself and for everyone around her. He was supposed to be her fiancé, that man? Why? Just any man, then? Not the one she’d dreamed about on the road going to Sinibbio in the voluptuous warmth of springtime.

No. No.

But then why stay?

They were asking her something.

“No thank you,” she answered distractedly, without looking at anyone.

“The professor was asking you if you like to travel.”

“Travel?” she repeated, confused and sounding awkward. “I think I would like it. I’ve never traveled.”

She must have seemed quite clumsy in that insignificant corner of the couch. Could she ever interest that man? No, she would never interest him. She would never interest anyone.

Her head was pounding; it was like going down a bumpy road at night, barely able to see, shaken by the frequent sharp jolts on uneven stones.

How long had she been suffering like this?

She looked at her father to tell him “Let’s go!” with a sign.

But her father was completely engrossed, wearing his usual good-natured expression, studying his future son-in-law.