...Every evening, the old nanny, Francesca, would have Luisa lie down next to her, so that their eyes were level, and look at her. The nanny"s gaze went deep into Luisa and lured her out, leading her into a world that was very unlike the one she was used to. The mist would melt, and things crystallised out of it, - and as the nanny described to her what was there in the room, she saw that the lamp was the lamp, and the chairs were the chairs, and the clock on the wall was exactly what it was, the clock. Things were themselves, they had a meaning of their own. It was only now that she could truly see them. And her body too, she would suddenly be able to sense it, and would feel the warmth of the nanny"s wrinkled hand touching her own. She could comprehend this transfigured world where she saw things for what they were. Francesca would smile, having noticed that Luisa sees her. But it would last only a split moment; then the contact between them would be lost, and Luisa would sink back into herself, into solitude and emptiness.
Sometimes Luisa would simply stare straight through Francesca for hours, as she would have if the nanny"s body were made of glass; and, much as Francesca longed for it, there was never a glimmer of comprehension or curiosity in the girl"s large gray eyes. And the stare would make Francesca more and more uneasy, until she went silent; strange, strong feelings would start rising in her, which were, above all, disturbing to have and to be aware of. Occasionally she would get angry, so much that she felt like grabbing Luisa and flinging her against the wall; at other times, she was overcome by helplessness, as if she was trying to climb a slippery wall of ice and kept sliding back each time; still at others, she merely stared back in a sudden and inexpressible terror. It seemed that Luisa, even though she was simply not there, could see into her very soul and knew every tiny thing about her, could read her most intimate thoughts and feelings; she could not shake off the feeling that Luisa had discovered some terrible mystery within her, which even she herself had no idea about.
...Darkness terrified her. When she went to bed, a little oil lamp would be left on the table at her side, its etched glass a deep green. The emerald light that fell from it mesmerised her, drawing her into itself; she would drown in it and find herself in a whole other world, - a world that had wailing winds and waters, and whirlwinds of shapes, though nothing was truly there, a world full of ceaseless motion where nothing was ever constant. She would swim in it, swirl round and round. Sometimes Francesca would touch her shoulder and shake her, frightened to see her just lying there silently with her eyes open, and then all would suddenly vanish.
...The train thundered into another tunnel. ‚More, more!" shouted Luisa in excitement and clapped her hands. Outside, lamps were shining in the darkness, light curling behind them as they swished by and disappeared. Luisa slid off the couch and crawled over the mat, then lay completely still. Her body shaking, she listened to the endless metallic tickity-tackity-tickity-tackity-tack-tack of the wheels, tangled in the sounds as if they were part of herself. There was a lovely loud screech and the train started slowing down, and she laughed. A man came in, and the word ticket, ‚bigliette", slipped out of his mouth, - very dark blue, nearly black, with a hue of burnt carmine, and, it seemed to Luisa, with just a little bit of gold hidden in it. Everyone else started to say it too, and she watched it being tossed from one person to another. Then the train began to gain speed again, and she remained pressed tightly to the mat as though she were rooted to it. She was one with the trembling, and with the jangling of the wheels that filled her with a wild joy, especially when the floor shuddered violently and she seemed to rupture inside. Then someone was lifting her, tearing her out of the sounds and motion, and she screamed and beat at the hands that held her while she was carried out of the carriage.
...She was swathed in some thick grayish-white mist, through which she could see only the mere shadows of things. Sometimes, light would shine through it, making it morph into magical images. In the mist, she felt secure, and was sunken into such a deep serenity that she wanted to stay there forever. When someone tried to transpire through the mist in some way, she saw it as a threat, - be it somebody touching her, looking her in the eye or coming too close, or trying to talk to her, maybe to simply say hello, or a stranger walking into the room, - and each time it was like being torn into the minutest shreds, and she would scream and scream.
But the mist meant she was in a solitude so complete she could not stand it. She had to be with others, though she had no idea how. She would hurt herself to make the mist melt, biting herself or banging her head against the wall, and only then the hollowness that had been trying to swallow her would go away.
...When someone came too close, their eyes became dark holes that would draw her in, their words were like the a brass gong striking, and hit her hard, upsetting everything inside her. Occasionally she would see their faces contorted with grimaces, their teeth grinding together. 'It' could happen at any moment; she could not tell what 'it' was, but it would be the most terrifying thing ever, and the world would never be the same again. She would start screaming, thrashing and shaking all over. Her heart would be thudding, her teeth clattering in terror, and tears would roll down her cheeks. She would be so frightened she wanted to run away, very far, to a place where nobody would find her again; and when she could, she ran and ran and ran, until she was stopped.
...From where she was crouching she could see the shapes of those sitting beside the table. Each was an unsteady, shifting blur, like spilt ink leaking in different directions over a board, yet each was special, and it was easy to tell it from the others. Their words were a soft, steady silvery murmur, like water trickling. Somebody noticed her under the table, and she felt their hands on her body, holding her, burning into her like flames. She twisted, tense as a steel spring, and tried to wriggle out of them, screaming; she tried to scratch at the hands and bite them. Her heart was thumping madly in her temples.
Then it was over, and she was sitting limply in her mother"s lap. Some white and yellow thing was slipped into her hand, and she stared at it, not sure what it was or what she should do with it. Eat, her mother said; did you hear what I told you, eat. She was still staring, and her mother lifted the sandwich to her mouth, told her to open it, then to chew, then waited a bit and told her to swallow. Mechanically, she continued to eat, or rather, to stuff the bread and cheese into herself without feeling any need for it.
...In the church, the mist that shrouded her would start to shine with a bright pink. The words of the priest would unfurl before her like blossoms,- rosy roses, the edges of their petals glimmering, laden with golden light, - unfolding and fading away while new ones flared up.
...Only Francesca could enter the mist and be there with her. When she did, the dull gray of the mist would become a scintillating silvery-golden, and the nanny"s words would be like long shining strings that stretched out, twining and winding around the two of them, making Luisa laugh in delight. Luisa obeyed everything her nanny told her to do, and always knew exactly what she wanted. She let the nanny dress her up or wash her, or even rinse and comb her hair. When someone else tried to do these things, Luisa would thrash, scratch and scream without end. Only sometimes, when the nanny was with her in the mist, something would be wrong; the mist would start to curdle like sour milk, and the sight of it unsettled Luisa, so that she had to start rocking back and forth or flailing her arms.
...She liked to climb into the loft. She felt she belonged there, in that small building where she could bask in the sunlight, surrounded by white birds whose cooing shot out of their throats in cascades of sky blue bubbles. It seemed there were soft white clouds everywhere. The pigeons walked around in search of grains, or sat and slept; occasionally one of them stirred, and Luisa could see a wing shuddering before the bird tucked its head more comfortably underneath it, and was still once more. They were her friends, these birds whose fluffy white forms she saw wherever she turned, and she shared something with them which was not there with other people. She spoke to them, and they would soon take off and start circling round her, while the space of the loft expanded and became endless. The white clouds swirled, creating elaborate designs, closed in on her, and with them she soared high up into the sky.
...The told her she would sit like that for hours, her back to the beach, clutching her large colorless ball that shone as it caught the sunlight. One by one, the shallow waves would bump softly into her, each surrounding her with coolness and bubbly whiteness. They brought twigs that settled onto the wet sand, only to be lifted and carried onwards by the water, and sometimes their stirring attracted her. She would take one and examine it, letting all the little details draw her in. There was the slimy bark that crumbled in her fingers, the tendrils of seaweed that were clinging to it, then only glossy browns and streaks of green and the salty, tingling and somewhat moldy scent, and then everything ceased to exist, sinking in the blinding brightness that was streaming down on her. She never came out of the water at will. When Francesca tucked up her skirt and stepped into the sea, trying to take Luisa"s hand, she hid hers, and when the nanny did grab hold of it, she tried to tear it away. Crying, she had to be dragged back to the beach.
She could well wander into the water until she was submerged, and would not understand she had to turn back, so Francesca taught her to swim. Even then, she still had to be watched, or she would swim off straight into the open sea. Once Francesca lost sight of her for a moment while talking to her mother, and when she turned back, Luisa was nowhere to be seen. Everyone searched for her on the yellow sand of the beach, in the thicket of dwarf pines on the slopes of the dunes, shouting into a loudspeaker and calling, ‚Luisa!.. Luisa!..", so that the sound drifted far along the coast in great sunny sploshes with little sharp specks of white inside. By chance Luisa"s mother glanced at the sea, and caught sight of something golden in the distance, lost in the turquoise of the waves. She screamed, Luisa, Luisa, look, there she is, and a boat was immediately lowered into the sea. Soon Luisa was lying in it, oblivious to what had happened to her though she had heard and seen it all.
...Francesca made Luisa stand before the mirror, holding her head with her hands so that she could not turn and look sideways. "Luisa," she said, pointing at her. Then she repeated, again and again. "Luisa, Luisa, Luisa." Luisa watched the mirror. There was nothing in it, save for some stirring of grays and whites, something swaying and shaking. But she liked that sound, "Luisa"; it had a yellowish-golden clang to it, with just a tiny bit of a snowy, sharp, white coldness in its midst, and it made her laugh softly in her gladness.
...She settled into the soft yellow leaves and gathered them around her to make a comfortable seat. She leaned her back against the boulder. Before her, shining shards danced shambolically over the stream. She watched them, and they were closer and closer, until she could see each explosion of silver, each curve of the water surface which would then smooth out or break into bubbles. Then she was as light as a grain of dust, and drifted over the shimmering turbulence of the water and up, till the woods were a a carpet of green beneath her. She dived down again to glide above the ground, nearly brushing the golden, light-soaked leaves that had only just started to turn brown, and swam upwards in large circles through the clear sunlight, escaping the emptiness to which she was condemned when she stayed locked in her body. They told her they discovered her sitting very still behind a boulder by the stream, a tiny bundle of smokey lace, her golden locks scattered over her shoulders. Her gray eyes were serene on her sharp, somewhat drawn face, and showed no sign that she was there at all. Only when she woke to the hands touching her, she began to cry.
...Everywhere she went, she heard the word "Luisa". It was said differently, and when it gleamed before her, a little droplet of yellow and gold, it too was different each time. She could sense this "Luisa", it seemed to hint at some entity that was so close to her, yet so elusive, and it slipped out of her hands whenever it seemed that she had started to comprehend it.
...She had heard the jeep start and approach her, and rushed into the middle of the road just as it came round the corner. The brakes screamed, and she stood stock-still, full of a sudden joy that was surging in her. The piercing screech was like a song to her, - one that made the fabric of things ripple, so that the world was transformed and became tangible, understandable. Then the moment was gone, and things were back to their usual state. As for the danger, she had no sense of what that was, so it did not matter. After all, what was danger to such a great feeling?
...The boys were running around her and playing. They shouted, so that the air was full of scarlet sparks, sometimes they fell and scrambled to their feet again, while she sat very still on a box in their midst. Unseen to the boys, she was amongst them and took part in their game. She clung to someone"s collar and whooshed through the air with him as he ran, thrilled with the swift motion. Then she suddenly let go, and glided over the yard to land gently on the ground beside the house. She threw herself into the crowd of boys, catching one and then loosening her grip, so that she was tossed to someone else whom she caught in turn, again and again, and it was like leaping over the stepping stones in a stream. But no; someone"s hands were shaking her, and she was back on the box.
...She wandered where her eyes were leading her. Light seeped through a sighing slur of browns and yellows, which shimmered and shifted as she looked. It was dizzying and made her more and more confused. Once or twice, she stopped and covered her eyes, but the confusion did not leave her. It was lulling her to sleep, and eventually she curled up on something rustly, some rough thing against her side, and closed her eyes. She came to when she felt hands on her, shaking her, lifting her up. There were many people around her, and words were being said which she had heard many times before, and understood,- "worried", "wandering", "cannot be left on her own", "watched", "what on earth do I do with her", "in the woods", green words with a thrilling tension to them. When she heard them images began to crowd her mind. She saw a solitary little girl walking through the woods, having followed a random stranger and then just gone off on her own; she lay down, tired, onto the yellow leaves under a large elm, and fell asleep while the whole neighborhood was helping her concerned family look for her. But she could not tell who this girl was, nor could she convey these images to someone else.
...Tentatively, she touched the shiny surface. There had been a time once when she would not be by the mirror, because whatever she saw on it troubled her, even made her terrified. She would begin to scream and thrash wildly whenever her nanny tried to get her there. But that time had long been left behind. Now she could look into the mirror easily, and, after months of describing to Francesca the way she looked, an image had slowly started to crystallize out of what would have otherwise been just a moving smudge of jungle green and gold and white. She could make out an elongated face with sharp features, tall cheekbones, straight light eyebrows above large gray eyes, a thick golden braid against the dress of green and yellow silk. A girl was gazing at her from the looking-glass,- and that girl"s name was Luisa.
...The lamp above the door shone obscurely through the torrents of rain, and Luisa could just barely make out the murky outlines of the house and the trees around it. She sploshed through the thick dirt, feeling the cool water streaming over her face and down her body, sometimes closing her eyes in delight, singing softly to herself. She was so much more comfortable than in the crude clothes she was usually made to wear. Then, suddenly, she was snatched by the hand. Her mother was there; the air around her had darkened, and many stabbing silver streaks were coming out of her mouth. Her mother bent and lifted the gray shapeless things, damp and dirty, that lay scattered on the ground, and tucked then under one arm. Then Luisa was dragged towards the house and through the open door, into the twilight of the hall, dimly lit by several oil lamps. Clothes were being slipped onto her again. They were scraping her skin, and she could not stand their crisp scent. There had been something of herself in her old clothes, something left of her own body, her sweat. It had been comforting to bury her face in them, or tuck them around herself, and be reminded that she was safe at home, where nothing could harm her. But there was none of that in this new scent, and it was strange and scared her. She started to scream and struggle in her mother"s hands.
...Later that evening, Luisa was standing in the dining room downstairs. She was looking shyly down at the carpet. It was thrilling to watch her mother's words flutter about in the dusky room, like tongues of lilac flame that sometimes darkened to a deep violet; to float amidst them, allowing their flow to toss her this way and that. Then she became aware of pressure on the sides of her face. Her mother was squatting beside her, holding her head in her hands and staring straight into her eyes. 'You monster', her mother whispered, 'you do not really understand, do you?..' Luisa was silent. Her mother's eyes were delving deep into her, and she, unable to escape them, went still all over. It seemed she had turned into ice, and there was an icy crust on her that was growing thicker and thicker until she was in the middle of one solid lump of ice. Her mother suddenly shoved her away and staggered back, and told her to go up to her room, for goodness' sake. When she did not move, her mother took her by the shoulders, turned her towards the door and landed her a light blow on the back, and Luisa slowly walked out of the room and up the stairs.
...It had become a ritual of sorts. Francesca would stand in front of the mirror, talking to her own reflection as she would talk to another person and pointing at herself with her finger, saying ‚I" again and again, before it was Luisa"s turn to do the same. ‚I". Io. It was a navy blue sphere shrouded in a shimmering, silvery-white down, and it whirled around while one said it. It sounded soothing, and this made Luisa want to do everything her nanny told her, - to stand still and watch her, to say the same words, even when she had no idea what they meant. She wanted to utter that ‚I" too, so that she could call it into existence and see its soft, steady motion. And, as the months went by, its meaning was becoming clearer, as if it was slowly being etched out inside her. ‚I" was who she was. But this word, which never changed, somehow encapsulated the essence of everyone who ever said it, too. She could call herself ‚I", and so could everyone else, and each time it meant something different, depending on who exactly that was. It was an exciting realization, as well as an odd one, and it took a long time before it could sink in completely.Then it was time to learn other, stranger words. ‚Noi" was sky blue with a small speck of white, and it meant her and some other person, taken together as a whole, which was difficult to grasp. ‚Voi" was violet with the same white speck, and meant two or more people taken together, without her being included in their midst. ‚Lei", glimmering with yellows, was a separate person when she spoke to him or her directly, someone who was not that close to her, so that she needed to be civil with them. ‚Tu", which was a bright turquoise, meant much the same, except she had to use it only with her relatives and friends, something that took an extra effort for her to comprehend. Often, Luisa did not understand these distinctions and confused them with each other, but she was eager to learn. At first it was Francesca who did most of the talking, Luisa only repeating after her; but eventually Luisa began to find words of her own to describe the world, - and, she did, she felt it become more palpable, more accessible in a way she had not known before.
...Once, while walking in the yard with Francesca, she saw two men who were striking each other with words that made them shrivel and blacken on the inside, - words that made one sick if one said them, or heard them and had no shield to put up against them. Something was happening between these men which, instead of bringing them together, made them want to hurt one another, and it was bewildering. The nanny explained to her that these men were "enemies" and "loathed", could not stand the sight of each other. That was a disgusting word, "loathe". It was like a yellowish slug that slithered out of Francesca"s mouth, thrusting outwards the two threatening horns on its head. Uttering a thing like this was unbecoming for Francesca.
Since then, she saw a lot of people who spoke the same way. It seemed there were enemies wherever she went, and almost everyone was bound to have an enemy at certain times. Some had only one, while others had many more. She had no idea what to make of it, and mused about it on her long walks through the woods. The words "enemies" and "loathe" had become embedded within her, and try as she might, she could not get them out of her mind. This was the least comprehensible out of all the trouble other people went to. What was it like to "loathe" somebody, to have him or her as one"s "enemy"? What would one do in such a case? Above all, why - why did it have to happen at all?
She wanted to find out what turned people into "enemies", or what caused them to "loathe". Sometimes she wondered whether, once she did, she could explain to them how utterly senseless it was. They would all die in the end; they would cease to be, lose that which had made them who they were. It would no longer matted that they had hated, that they had not wanted to meet and had not spoken, - and, when they had, they had sought to wound one another with their words. They should have been together while there was still time. She wanted to tell this to others, to clothe it in words they would understand. But for that, she had to stay the world they shared, - caught up in something complicated which she could not endure, and could not escape either, thrashing like an insect in a spider"s web, each movement she tried to make only enhancing her confusion. She wondered whether she would ever be able to live like this.
Of course, she could choose to stay in her own world, which was crystal clear to her. In it, she would be at ease. She would not have to make tremendous efforts to try and think like the others, or do the things they do. She would not have to understand what "death" means, or what causes people to "loathe" and be "enemies". But then her world was no longer the same. Slowly, it had changed, and the clarity was gone. It had turned into a convoluted labyrinth with no way out, where she wandered, tormented by sharp, ominous sounds and sudden lights that cut her eyes. It made her exhausted to stay there. Some current seemed to be carrying her out, into that strange world which others called the "ordinary" one, and those others whom she could not understand, and she decided to give herself over to it.