Читать книгу The Adventures of China Iron - Gabriela Cabezón Cámara - Страница 10

Everything Covered Me like a Second Skin

Dear old Estreya, sparky and with a blue sheen to his black fur, was no longer new to the world and was learning nearly as much as me. We were growing up together: when we left, he only came up to my knee, and me, up to Liz’s shoulder. When we arrived, and we didn’t know we were arriving, he reached my waist and I was nearly as tall as Liz. I remember him as a puppy, sitting up straight like a gentleman with his ears down, eyes intent, and nose wet, even now he’s touchingly innocent when he trusts in the results of his good manners. I lived in a similar innocence, though I was beginning to feel a new fear. While I used to be afraid that there was nothing to life but La Negra, Fierro, and our ramshackle hut, now I feared the end of our journey, of the wagon, the smell of lavender, the shape of my first letters, the porcelain, the shoes with heels and laces, and all the words in two languages. I dreaded seeing anger on Liz’s face, or glimpsing something undefined and ghostly hiding behind a sand dune – sand dunes were starting to appear – or between the roots of an ombú tree, or out there in the dark amongst the creatures whose noises broke the silence. The creatures of the pampas are nocturnal, they come out of their tunnels and caves as darkness falls. I was afraid that something would send me back to my old hut and to my life as a china.

I had gone from the raw to the cooked: the leather of my new boots was just as much leather as the leather on Fierro’s saddle, but it wasn’t the same kind of leather. The leather of the shoes Liz gave me was burgundy, glossy and supple, and it fitted my feet like a second skin. It wasn’t just the shoes and the leather: it was the cotton sheets, my silk petticoat from China – the real China where the girls really are chinas – the jerseys and the wool: everything covered me like a second skin. Everything was smooth and warm and caressed me and every step filled me with happiness, every morning when I put on my petticoat and the dress and jersey on top, I felt that at last I was complete in the world, as if up till then I’d been naked, flayed even. Only at that point did it hit me. The pain of being left to fend for myself at the mercy of the elements, before being dressed in these fabrics. I felt a violent passion for my clothes, my dog, my friend, a love which was as much fear as happiness, fear that they’d get broken, that I’d lose them, a love which swelled up and made me laugh till I could scarcely breathe, a heart-stopping love which came out in over-protectiveness towards the dog, the woman and my clothes, a love that watched over them with a shotgun. I was as happy as I was unhappy and that was more than I’d ever felt before.

I wore wool a lot because we set off at the beginning of spring and it was still quite cold. I don’t think I’ve mentioned it yet but we were heading towards Indian Territory, to the desert.