Another time Cristina called me. I followed her into the room
containing the cradle. My mother was there, with the baby on her knees.
The child was moving its limbs and arms, turning its eyes from one side
to the other, burying its fingers in its gaping mouth. At the wrists,
at the ankles, behind the knees on the lower abdomen, the flesh swelled
out in little cushions and was covered with rice powder. My mother's
hands caressed the little members with delight, pointing out to me every
detail, expatiating on the skin which a recent bath had polished and
made lustrous. The infant seemed to be enjoying it.
"Feel here, feel how solid he is already!" she said, inviting me to
touch him.