Panics by Barbara Molinard

Author:Barbara Molinard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: The Feminist Press at CUNY

THE CAGE

There were days of fog, days of rain, and days of sun. Days of cold, days of wind, and more days of sun.

“What lovely weather!”

“What lovely sun!”

The entire town was vibrating with a joyous murmur.

“Yes, what lovely sun!”

“Really so lovely! And what weather!”

But she, she didn’t really notice the color of the sky. Only when the women went out in the streets in dresses, the men without overcoats, and the terraces were filled with people, then she felt a bit more alone, a bit sadder, too. It wasn’t until the rain, the wind, and the frost dismayed the passersby, who walked quickly without looking around, their heads tucked behind their coat collars, that she felt a certain harmony between the world, the weather, and herself: a harmony of grayness, a harmony of sadness.

The boulevard bathed in sun and the buds ready to burst announced that a brand-new spring had arrived. She was walking, or rather strolling, since that’s the term one uses when out on a Sunday to get some fresh air in the streets, with no desire and no purpose in the middle of a radiant crowd. The windows that enticed the passersby left her indifferent; what pleasure could she find in a new bag, a ring, or a scarf? No, her concern was to figure out what she could do with her afternoon to fill it as best as possible. Since she had the good fortune that day, like every Sunday, not to be at the factory, she had to make the most of it—she was always saying this to herself: that she had to make the most of it. But she never knew how to go about it, and each Sunday found her a little more distraught, so she would go out, in the vague hope of finding outside a remedy to her turmoil.

As she passed by a movie theater, she read on the poster: MODERATO CANTABILE. Although she didn’t understand the meaning of those two words, she found them lovely to read; to herself, to hear them, she said the words quietly, softly, and enjoyed repeating them to herself again. She was tempted to join the line of people waiting to see the film, but the risk of having to leave the theater during the screening, which often happened to her, ruffled by the presence of an elbow brushing against her breast or an unfamiliar hand wandering, as though by accident, over her knees, made her renounce the idea. So she resumed her stroll.

Already the day seemed interminable and she began to long for the end. And yet, during the week at the factory, the coming Sunday always seemed like a halo, like it would surely bring about some kind of joy, some great change to her life! Not wanting to give in to the discouragement that awaited her, she lifted her head, quickened her pace, and forced herself to smile as though she were happy. On the opposite sidewalk, she saw a circle of onlookers.

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