Both of us were silent for some time.
“You don’t want to leave then?”
“I can’t.”
* * * * *
Wanda drives in the Cascine without me, and goes to the theater without
me; she receives company, and the negress serves her. No one asks after
me. I stray about the garden, irresolutely, like an animal that has
lost its master.
Lying among the bushes, I watch a couple of sparrows, fighting over a
seed.
Suddenly I hear the swish of a woman’s dress.
Wanda approaches in a gown of dark silk, modestly closed up to the
neck; the Greek is with her. They are in an eager discussion, but I
cannot as yet understand a word of what they are saying. He stamps his
foot so that the gravel scatters about in all directions, and he lashes
the air with his riding whip. Wanda startles.
Is she afraid that he will strike her?
Have they gone that far?
He has left her, she calls him; he does not hear her, does not want to
hear her.
Wanda sadly lowers her head, and then sits down on the nearest
stone-bench. She sits for a long time, lost in thought. I watch her
with a sort of malevolent pleasure, finally I pull myself together by
sheer force of will, and ironically step before her. She startles, and
trembles all over.
“I come to wish you happiness,” I said, bowing, “I see, my dear lady,
too, has found a master.”
“Yes, thank God!” she exclaimed, “not a new slave, I have had enough of
them. A master! Woman needs a master, and she adores him.”
“You adore him, Wanda?” I cried, “this brutal person—”
“Yes, I love him, as I have never loved any one else.”
“Wanda!” I clenched my fists, but tears already filled my eyes, and I
was seized by the delirium of passion, as by a sweet madness. “Very
well, take him as your husband, let him be your master, but I want to
remain your slave, as long as I live.”
“You want to remain my slave, even then?” she said, “that would be
interesting, but I am afraid he wouldn’t permit it.”
“He?”
“Yes, he is already jealous of you,” she exclaimed, “he, of you! He
demanded that I dismiss you immediately, and when I told him who you
were—”
“You told him—” I repeated, thunderstruck.
“I told him everything,” she replied, “our whole story, all your
queerness, everything—and he, instead of being amused, grew angry, and
stamped his foot.”
“And threatened to strike you?”
Wanda looked to the ground, and remained silent.
“Yes, indeed,” I said with mocking bitterness, “you are afraid of him,
Wanda!” I threw myself down at her feet, and in my agitation embraced
her knees. “I don’t want anything of you, except to be your slave, to
be always near you! I will be your dog-”
“Do you know, you bore me?” said Wanda, indifferently.