,.
STILL LIFE
105
that Friday afternoon. Uneasy as the hour approached, Annamaria
seemed relieved as the streets grew dark. She had worked badly
after viewing Fidelman's painting, sighed frequently, gazed at him
with sweet-sad smiles. At six she gave in to his urging and they
retired to her room, his unframed "Virgin with Child" already hang–
ing above her bed, replacing a gaunt self-portrait. He was curiously
disappointed in the picture- surfacy thin- and made a mental note
to borrow it back in the morning to work on it more. But the
conception, at least, deserved the reward. Annamaria cooked supper.
She cut his meat for him and fed him forkfuls. She peeled Fidelman's
orange and stirred sugar in his coffee. Mterwards, at his nod, she
locked and bolted the studio and bedroom doors and they undressed
and slipped under her blankets. How good to be for a change on
this
side of the locked door, Fidelman thought, relaxing marvelously.
Annamaria, however, seemed tensely alert to the noises of the old
building, including a parrot screeching, some shouting kids running
up the stairs, a soprano singing "Ritorna, vincitor!" But she calmed
down and then hotly embraced Fidelman. In the middle of a pas–
sionate kiss the doorbell rang.
Annamaria stiffened in his arms. "Diavolo! Augusto!"
"He'll go away," Fidelman advised. "Both doors locked."
But she was at once out of bed, drawing on her culottes. "Get
dressed," she said.
He hopped up and hastily got into his pants.
Annamaria unlocked and unbolted the inner door and then
the outer one. It was the postman waiting to collect ten lire for an
overweight letter from Naples.
After she had read the long letter and wiped away a tear they
undressed and got back into bed.
"Who is he to you?" Fidelman asked.
"Who?"
"Augusto."
"An old friend. Like a father. We went through much together."
"Were you lovers?"
"Look, if you want me, take me.
If
you want to ask questions,
go to school."
He determined to mind his business.
"Warm me," she said, "I'm freezing."
