“And I’m not happy. Her mother informed her of the betrothal on the first painful day of her menarche, shortly after her eleventh birthday. His hat was placed upon one pole, his wig on another. ” She peered at him through the semi-blackness. I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. She would buy a Greyhound ticket to New Orleans, make a kill or two, then travel into Texas and seduce some wandering man into taking her to Mexico, feast upon him once they got there. He looked at her guiltily. Rows of roasted duck, brilliantly varnished; luscious vegetables, which she had been warned against; baskets of melon seed and water-chestnuts; men working in teak and blackwood; fan makers and jade cutters; eggs preserved in what appeared to her as petrified muck; bird's nests and shark fins. “Please not now. But she was disappointed. Her father, Bartolomeo, was a well-respected member of the Arte di Calimala: the Wool Makers Guild in Mantua.
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