Lila sat down there, and I strolled around, pretending to go somewhere else
Menna Abu Zahrahar citerati fjol
She took a piece of chalk and wrote on the blackboard (now I don’t remember what, I didn’t yet know how to read: so I’m inventing the word) “sun.” Then she asked Lila:
“Cerullo, what is written there?”
Menna Abu Zahrahar citerati fjol
In the classroom a fascinated silence fell.
Menna Abu Zahrahar citerati fjol
Nunzia shook her head no emphatically.
Menna Abu Zahrahar citerati fjol
Cerullo, that small dark-haired, dark-eyed child, in a dark smock with a red ribbon at the neck, and only six years old, answered, “Me.”
Menna Abu Zahrahar citerati fjol
According to Rino, Lila’s older brother, she had learned to read at the age of around three by looking at the letters and pictures in his primer.
Menna Abu Zahrahar citerati fjol
Her body repulsed me, something she probably intuited. She was a dark blonde, blue-eyed, voluptuous.
Menna Abu Zahrahar citerati fjol
Certainly she wasn’t happy; the household chores wore her down, and there was never enough money.
Menna Abu Zahrahar citerati fjol
If, however, I came in second after Lila, I wore a meek expression of acquiescence.
Menna Abu Zahrahar citerati fjol
I was a pretty little girl with blond curls, happy to show off but not aggressive, and I gave an impression of delicacy that was touching.