Joséphine rose and briskly closed the window, shutting out the animals that highlighted her failings. She got back into bed, relieved not to be betraying the man who was no more. She must not listen to those savage feline growls any more. At night she would have to block her ears and drink extract of lime to help her sleep. Tomorrow she would make sure that valerian and orange blossom would deliver a slumber where dreams were pious. She was aware that everyone thought she should give herself over to the contemplation that mourning demands. A widow, that was all she was to everyone here, and they thought she should conform to the role. In the country, mourning was taken very seriously, more so than in towns, and since she did not want to dress in black as it was, she wished to avoid running the risk of being harshly judged. All desire was impossible during mourning, but she did feel desire, and the stronger it became because it was forbidden, the more imperative it was to extinguish it.

August 2017

August 2017