“I’m sure he liked the previous librarian too. What he likes is for the work to be done well, that’s all.”
“He didn’t like the one before that because he kicked the dogs.”
“Really?” said Miss Prim, horrified.
The children nodded.
“I’d like to go to Italy with you,” said Eksi. “We couldstudythings and you could look for thathusband.”
For a moment Miss Prim pictured herself walking around Florence, wandering in a blissful haze into the Accademia, then standing enraptured before Michelangelo’sDavid. She imagined a figure who appeared at her side and whispered mockingly into her ear: “Are you ready to take out your ruler and compasses?”
“I have no intention of looking for a husband, Eksi, really I haven’t,” she said sternly, unsettled by her vision.
“Miss Prim,” Teseris’s voice had a dreamlike quality, “I think we will see you again.”
Prudencia stroked the hair of the three children sprawled on the rug and directed an affectionate look at the little girl lying on the ottoman.
“Do you really think so?” she asked with a smile.
The child nodded.
“Then I’m sure you’re right. Absolutely sure.”
Lulu Thiberville’s note came as a surprise to Miss Prim. The news that the old lady wanted to say good-bye to her made her feel deeply anxious. She was an imposing personality—the librarian had been very conscious of it the afternoon they met—and Miss Prim believed that imposing personalities, like forces of nature, were dangerous and unpredictable. As she walked through the village to the Thiberville house, she scattered greetings and salutations among shopkeepers and residents. All responded warmly. A wave for the butcher, who had told her how to cook the Christmas turkey. A smile for the cobbler, who had taken such good care of her shoes over the past few months. A few words with the owner of the stationery shop, who reserved a pack of her handmade notepaper for Miss Prim every month since she had adopted the local custom of writing letters. She went into the doctor’s surgery, to thank him for the cough syrup he’d prescribed for the children a couple of weeks earlier. And she said good-bye to the owners of the haberdashery where she bought her underwear, since she now knew it to be of equal or superior quality to any in the city.
The hall of the large old house where Lulu Thiberville lived had a smell of birdseed and medicine, but also of cake batter baking and bread toasting in the kitchen in preparation for the librarian’s visit. Miss Prim found the old lady reclining on a sofa by the window. A heavy silver tea service was set out on a pedestal table beside her. Miss Prim approached and seated herself on a little padded footstool.
“For the love of God, child, sit on a chair!” cried the old lady in her cracked voice. “You’ll put your back out on that thing.”
Prudencia assured her that she was quite comfortable on the stool. She never hunched; she’d been taught not to as a child.
“Yes, I’ve noticed you always sit properly, on the edge of your chair with a very straight back. It’s a comfort to think that there are still some women who know how to sit correctly. I can’t stand to see all those young things slouching along the streets with sunken chests and rounded shoulders. I blame modern schools. Tell me, Miss Prim, did you learn to sit as you do in a modern school?”
She explained that her excellent posture was not a product of her schooling but was thanks to an old aunt of her mother’s who had trained her from an early age to walk with books balanced on her head and to sit with the elegant rigidity of an Egyptian queen.
“They used to teach it in schools. Of course in those days they were still places where children learned something. Now they’re factories of indiscipline, hatcheries for rude, ignorant little monsters.”
Miss Prim looked uneasily at the old lady.
“I wouldn’t put it quite so strongly,” she murmured.
“Of course you wouldn’t, but I just have. You have no idea what schools used to be like, have you?”
She confessed meekly that she hadn’t.
“Then you’re in no position to compare. You simply have well-meaning opinions. And people of an optimistic outlook, as you seem to be, not only don’t improve things but contribute to their decline. They convey the false impression that everything is going well when in fact—don’t deceive yourself—it is going hopelessly badly. But please explain,” she said, motioning to the cook to place two serving dishes on a side table near her, “why you’re leaving us? Is it because of that business we discussed at Hortensia’s house?”
Miss Prim nodded. She’d wanted to avoid this. In the past week she felt as if she’d done nothing but take her leave of people who wanted to delve over and over into the matter.
As if guessing how she felt, the old lady went on: “Don’t worry, I’m not going to get you to tell me the whole story. This is a small place. I assume you realize I don’t have to inquire directly to find out what’s going on?”
Prudencia, pouring the tea, shuddered.
“I had hoped that my private affairs wouldn’t be spread around the village. Maybe I was being naive.”
The old lady smiled wryly, accepting a cup of tea.
“No, not naive, just young.”
