Good Girls Don't Wear Trousers by Lara Cardella

Author:Lara Cardella [Cardella, Lara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-61145-660-8
Publisher: Skyhorse Publishing, Inc.
Published: 2011-02-16T05:00:00+00:00

I didn’t understand what he’d done to me then; I had not understood while it was happening, and I didn’t for a long time afterward. This isn’t as odd as it sounds. I know that I wasn’t that young, but who was there to tell me that what he had done was wrong? My grandmother? Well, she was old and it wasn’t her responsibility. My mother? Well, I've already told you how she dealt with, or rather shied away from, the subject of my periods.

The prospect of him coming back for more should have hung over me like the sword of Damocles, but I remained oblivious to It. In fact I didn’t really think of it as a threat; because he hadn’t blackmailed me or sworn me to secrecy I naturally assumed that it wasn’t worth hiding. And if It wasn’t worth hiding It couldn’t be very bad. So I forgot all about It, or at least I thought I had, until a few months later when my cousin Rosa started telling me about her periods and lots of other curious things connected with sex. What she said brought back my strange experience, as the things she was talking about seemed to have some connection with what had happened. So, showing off a bit in the way one does when one doesn’t want to be left out of anything, I artlessly told her what Uncle Vincenzo had done to me.

Perhaps it was just as well that I didn’t keep my mouth shut, because I was at last made aware of the seriousness of what had happened. I say “perhaps,” because Rosa’s reaction took me completely by surprise. She was absolutely horrified. When she got her breath back she said it was the most disgusting thing she had ever heard.

Just then Granny was in the hospital, having been taken ill a few days earlier. Her gum-chewing young doctor announced bluntly that It was a heart attack. I had no idea what this involved, but his impassive expression made me feel that there was nothing much to worry about. When Rosa made it clear that what my uncle had done was wicked, I was too scared to tell my mother. I thought she might beat me for lying. Most of all, I dreaded her reaction. If it seemed so appalling even to my favorite cousin, what on earth would my mother say? It had to be my grandmother, whose love and sympathy I had always been able to rely on. So, sitting on her bed, I told her.

“Annetta, are you sure you’re telling the truth?”

I nodded. She burst into loud sobs.

“Oh my God, the filthy pig! Dirty child molested”

Three days later she died. My mother had always been close to her so I wasn’t surprised when, a few days after the funeral, she examined me in the presence of my brother.

“Is it true, that garbage you told your granny?”

Embarrassed, I could only nod.

“You silly bitch, why didn’t you just shut up? It killed her, you know.

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