398
PARTISAN REVIEW
in the world where people have the right number of navels. But I
shared-or thought I shared, that world only when I was very little.
I was the Eve of the apple at five years old: that was when I found
out.
"I was walking with my doll one hot day in our garden and we
came to a pond with goldfish in it. I decided that Minnie-Minnie
was my doll-that she wanted a wash. So we sat down by the pond
and I discovered that she had only one navel. I felt so sorry I cried,
rocking her naked little body in my arms, trying to comfort her, and
promising not to throw her away like the others. And then I became
thoughtful. The day was growing dark all around me, it was going
to rain. But whom was I sorry for? Which of us was wrong? I sat
very still by that pond, my tears flowing and the raindrops starting
to fall. I carefully examined Minnie again and when I found that
she had other parts missing I grew calmer-but I had grown crafty
too. Nobody must know that I suspected. Poor Minnie would have
to be sacrificed because I had torn her clothes off and could not
put them back again. I hardly noticed the thunderstorm as I hunted
around for a string and a big stone. I tied the stone to Minnie,
kissed her for the last time, and dropped her into the pond. I
threw in my bracelet too. Then I ran home soaking wet and told the
grownups that a thief had grabbed me and had stolen my bracelet
and doll. They didn't believe me, of course-there are always anned
guards planted all over our house: if you pushed a chair you bruised
a detective-but everybody pretended to believe; nothing happened
to me; except, that night, in my dreams, the goldfish ate up poor
Minnie, and I was there in the pond, watching, and was not sorry.
After that was like Eve after the apple. I was very careful about
keeping myself well covered up especially when there were other
children around being careless. I found out about them, they never
found out about me."
"How about your family?" he asked.
She said she was an only child. "Mother knows, of course. I
don't know about Father. When Mother or the maids gave me a
bath they put on such matter-oI-fact faces I was often tempted to
point at myself and giggle. I knew that they knew that I knew, but
we all pretended that I didn't and that
they
didn't. The set-up was
perfect for blackmail: I never had to threaten them aloud.
If
you
