102
BERNARD MALAMUD
serious wind; and once in a while they entered a movie in the
Trastevere, for she hated to cross any of the bridges of the Tiber,
and then only in a bus, sitting stiffly, staring ahead.
As
they were
once riding, Fidelman seized the opportunity to hold her tense fist
in his, but as soon as they were across the river she tore it out of his
grasp. He was by now giving her presents-tubes of paints, the best
brushes, a few yards of Belgian linen, which she accepted without
comment; she also borrowed small sums from him, nothing un–
usual-a hundred lire today, five hundred tomorrow. And she
announced one morning that he would thereafter, since he used
so much of both, have to pay additional for water and electricity–
he already paid extra for the heatless heat. Fidelman, though con–
tinually worried about money, assented. He would have given his
last lira to lie on that soft belly, but she offered niente, not so much
as a caress; until, one day, he was permitted to look on as she
sketched herself nude in his presence. Since
it
was very cold the
pittrice did this in two stages. First she removed her sweater and
brassiere, and viewing herself in a long, faded mirror, quickly sketched
the upper half of her body before it turned blue. He was dizzily
enamored of her form and flesh tones. Hastily fastening the bra and
pulling on her sweater, Annamaria stepped out of her sandals and
peeled off her culottes, and white panties torn at the crotch, then
drew the rest of herself down to her toes. The art student begged
permission to sketch along with her but the pittrice denied it, so
he had, as best one can, to commit to memory her lovely treasures
-the hard, piercing breasts, narrow, shapely buttocks, vinehidden
labia, the font and sweet beginning of time. After she had drawn
herself and dressed, and when Augusto appeared and they had retired
behind her bolted door, Fidelman sat motionless on his high stool
before the glittering blue-skied windows, slowly turning to ice to
faint strains of Bach.
3.
The art student increased his services to Annamaria; her in–
crease was scorn, or so it seemed. This severely bruised his spirit.
What have I done to deserve such treatment? That I pay my plenty
of rent on time? That I buy her numerous presents, not to mention
two full meals a day? That I live in flaming hot and freezing cold?
,
