LISPECTOR, Clarice

One Day Less

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Wiping her eyes, she felt relieved for a moment and had an idea so novel it didn’t even seem like her own: it seemed demonic, like the lady’s ideas . . . It was to take the phone off the hook so that, should Madame Constanca be as constant as her name, she wouldn’t call back for that miserable Flávia. She blew her nose. Ah, if it weren’t for her manners, what she would have said to that Constanca woman! She was already regretting everything she hadn’t said because of her manners.

Yes. The tea was cold.

And tasting distinctly of sweetener. The third little piece of toast spit out onto the tablecloth. The afternoon ruined. Or the day ruined? Or her life ruined? Never had she stopped to consider whether or not she was happy. So, instead of tea, she ate a slightly tart banana.

Then.

Then. Then it was four o’clock.

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The Imitation of the Rose

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When Maria returned and took the bouquet, in a fleeting instant of greed Laura pulled her hand away keeping the roses one second longer—they’re lovely and they’re mine, it’s the first thing that’s lovely and mine! plus it was that man who insisted, it wasn’t me who went looking for them! fate wanted it this way! oh just this once! just this once and I swear never again! (She could at least take one rose for herself, no more than that: one rose for herself. And only she would know, and then never again oh, she promised herself that never again would she let herself be tempted by perfection, never again!)

And the next second, without any transition at all, without any obstacle at all—the roses were in the maid’s hand, they were no longer hers, like a letter already slipped into the mailbox! no more chances to take it back or cross anything out! it was no use crying: that’s not what I meant! She was left empty-handed but her obstinate and resentful heart was still saying: “you can catch Maria on the stairs, you know perfectly well you can, and snatch the roses from her hand and steal them.” Because taking them now would be stealing. Stealing something that was hers? Since that’s what someone who felt no pity for others would do: steal something that was rightfully hers! Oh, have mercy, dear God. You can take it all back, she insisted furiously. And then the front door slammed.

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