The Art of Always by Patricia Friedrich

Author:Patricia Friedrich [Friedrich, Patricia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Woman's Fiction; Art World; Family Saga; Brazil; 20th Century; 1920s
Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
Published: 2021-09-21T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 16

Ana

March 1922

A devastating wave of nausea overcame Ana when she tried to slice a tomato. She had a notion that she could identify every smell in the world, that she had the odor-detecting power of a hunting dog locked in on the scent of its prey. This time, she almost didn’t make it to the lavatory, and when she did, she sat on the floor exhausted, her neck pounding from the effort her body made to reject food.

She took a towel to her forehead.

It had become impossible to deny what this was. She was exhausted all the time, so sick it was like perpetually living on a boat over restless waters, and so on edge that any meaningful thought or scene could trigger interminable tears. Sitting on the cold bathroom floor with her arm wrapped around the latrine, as if it were a floating device after a shipwreck, she considered what to do.

Her first impulse was to call Joaquim and yell at him. Demand that he take responsibility for his part in the affair, for this child. But then what? Was it right for him to leave his wife and take her and their unborn baby? Ask that he initiate the destruction of another woman?

Bad idea, most certainly. She had made enough mistakes as it was, had risked more than she was willing to lose. This nausea, this anxiety was all she had now.

She had managed to hold her dream inside her palm and close her fingers around it for a second, her dream of being an artist, of living freely. And then she let it fly away, swept by spontaneity. In truth, she had been drunk with arrogance, believing that the rules of the world did not apply to her.

And now she needed a decision. She was going to do what she had never done before. Running away to Eugênia, who was logical, more centered, was her plan. She would find shelter in the countryside and wait, hoping that a solution would come to her.

She would witness her stomach expand in awe and terror. She’d cry and smile at every new flutter from inside until running from this responsibility became impossible. And maybe she would be forever sad like Pierrô who lost his beloved to the dark and unfeeling Arlequim in the centuries-old story that had been transplanted from the Commedia dell’Arte of Venice to the Brazilian festival of the people.

It was a fitting fancy for this time of the year, this time of so many make-believe Arlequins and Pierrôs parading the streets. But in Carnaval, an arlequim only pretended to be sad, a single tear drawn with kajal on his cheek standing in for the real thing. Instead of sulking, they took to the streets dancing and singing, rejoicing at the biggest Brazilian celebration, the one which made all of the troubles of the year bearable.

They were in the boulevards and alleys right then. She could hear them, the many Carnaval dancers with their vibrant costumes made of colorful satiny fabrics and sequined masks.

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