THE
WOMAN FROM MEXICO
23
writing to me. I worked with
him
for a bit ... I sang and he
accompanied me on the guitar ... Then I got fed up. We had to
go to
all
sorts of funny places in the provinces . . . and I pre–
ferred to stay in Rome." They had come out of the square by
this
time and were walking along a wide, muddy street, without
any pavements, and encumbered by a double row of pedlars'
handcarts.
Albina was in no hurry to get to her dinner. One by one,
she examined each of the handcarts, even the ones which held
second-hand books, even the ones which sold razor-blades.
Really and truly, Sergio could not help thinking, she was a
typical little vagabond, the kind of person that creeps out at
twilight from some miserable lodging to enjoy the spectacle of
the streets. But not even the devouring light of the acetylene
lamps seemed to impair her characteristic, rather brutal attrac–
tiveness; at most, it showed up the pallor of her cheeks and the
yellowish halo of fatigue round her black eyes. At a men's
outfitter's shop, above which a long band of rain-soaked cloth
proclaimed in large letters: "Sensational Fall in Prices," she
turned resolutely and went in, saying: "Come on in, I want to
buy a tie for Luciano."
Sergio followed her, piqued by this stubborn faithfulness.
The shop was small and in a state of great disorder; it looked
as though it were not only the prices that had fallen, but also
the entire stock of merchandise, all over the counter. The shop–
keeper displayed under the eyes of Albina a tangled mass of
cheap ties, and Albina carefully selected the ugliest of them
all;
she then asked Sergio: "That really
is
a pretty one, isn't it?"
"Very pretty indeed."
"Is it for this gentleman?" asked the shopkeeper. "It's just
the right thing for the gentleman." Albina fumbled in her purse
in
an embarrassed way. "Let me pay for it," said Sergio, urged
on by a kind of vindictive punctilio.
