room in Villa Serra for anyone else’s grief. Adriana wept anyway, fiercely, freely, relishing the privacy. When she wiped her eyes and blinked around, noon had filled the room.
Adriana jumped up and cleaned the rest of the parlour. She finished with the writing desk, polishing it until its scratches were scattered needles of shine. Then she searched in its drawers for pen and paper and wrote a note.
My most beloved Signora,
Yes I did have a baby she has nine years but she is un-formed not a child of the Lord Almighty Our Saviour so I do not smile but my behaviour distressed you I did see so I beg of you to let me remain in your employ.
Yours in obedience,
Adriana
Adriana stared at the note, then folded it several times, trying to make it as unobtrusive as possible, but the more she folded, the thicker and stupider it seemed. Finally, a paper-cut finger in her mouth, she backed away from the damp lump dumbly reflecting itself on the desk.
* * *
As for the un-formed herself, Sibilla had begun her day as usual. She woke to the sound of her grandmother’s snores and to the sight of a blur that slowly crystallised into a thicket. She got out of bed, stepping out of nets of hair, then wrapped it around her waist and rustled over to the hearth. Her mother had made breakfast before leaving for the Signora’s. Sibilla sat down and tucked the hair from her face behind her ears. She took mincing bites of her porridge to avoid swallowing any hair and stared out the window. It was…raining? Sibilla peered and blew upward – a waft of breath would lift her hair and grant her a better glimpse.
Sibilla had observed hair on other people. Nonna had kinky white curls that crept outward from her head when it rained, haloing her frowning face. And Mama got hairier when she washed their clothes, the fuzz on her arms darkening with that first plunge into water. This was reassuring. They have hair too, Sibilla thought. Mine is just longer. But Sibilla didn’t like her hair. It felt like a part of her but also apart from her. Which was what Nonna had said when Sibilla had asked where babies come from. This was more helpful than what Mama had said, which was ‘You don’t want to know.’
But Sibilla did want to know. She wanted to know everything. Over time, she had learned to put together the things she already knew, to see how they fit. Like: Mama didn’t smile and she worked all the time. Or: Nonna couldn’t see well and Sibilla couldn’t see well, but not for the same reason. Or: there were day dangers and night dangers and both came from outside. But Sibilla still yearned to go outside, more than anything. She asked Nonna every day if she could, hoping her pleas would one day slip between the widening cracks in the old woman’s mind.
Today, for example, Sibilla wanted to know if it was in fact raining out there. She turned to ask but Nonna was still asleep, eyebrows raised in faint surprise, wrinkles ashiver with every whistling snore. Sibilla pushed porridge around her plate. Her grandmother didn’t usually sleep in this late. But last night, Nonna and Mama had had a seething fight. Sibilla had woken to them whisper-shouting across the room. It seemed that Nonna thought Sibilla ought to spend more time outside; Mama thought this was too risky. Danger, danger, growing girl, sun and air, never ever, don’t you know, of course I know – the voices rose and rose and broke – you have no idea what they would do to her…
Sibilla looked through her hair darkly, putting some things together. Outside the house was the same as inside the house, just not as safe. But if Nonna thought she could go outside, it couldn’t be that dangerous…Sibilla found herself at the door of the cabin, as if transported. She stared at its rough surface. The key turned (a click, a glance backward). The handle turned (a creak, another glance). The door swung open. Sibilla and the world met for the first time.
* * *
Villa Serra was ripe with the smell of conquered rot. Adriana gathered her coat, her bag and her thoughts. These last, as usual, were of her daughter – she sometimes felt as if Sibilla was still inside her and she often dreamt of the birth: the midwives pulling the