Selected Cronicas

DISCOVERING THE WORLD

What I wish to narrate is as delicate as life itself. And I should like to draw on the delicate side of my nature as well as that peasant streak which is my salvation.

In my childhood and subsequent adolescence I was precocious in many things. In absorbing atmosphere, for example, or in sensing someone’s intimate aura. Yet in other important matters I was far from being precocious and incredibly backward. And I am still ignorant about so many things. What am I to do? There appears to be something childish in my nature which refuses to grow up.

Even beyond the age of thirteen, for example, I was still unaware of what Americans call the facts of life. The expression refers to that deep sexual relationship between a man and a woman which produces children. Or could it be that I had some vague perception of these facts which I deliberately suppressed in order to hide my embarrassment and go on being innocent and attractive to little boys? Being attractive at the age of eleven meant scrubbing my face until it shone. Then I felt prepared. Could my ignorance have been some foolish and senseless attempt to remain ingenuous in order to go on thinking about little boys without feeling guilty? Most likely. For I have always known about things without even being aware that I know them.

My friends at school knew about everything and even exchanged anecdotes about the things they knew. Completely bewildered, I would pretend that I understood rather than have them despising me for being so ignorant.

Yet for all my ignorance of the facts, I instinctively went on flirting with any boy who took my fancy. Instinct had outstripped my intelligence.

Until I became thirteen and felt sufficiently grown-up to discover facts which might shock me. I told a close friend about my guilty secret: I knew nothing about the things the other girls discussed, and had only pretended to understand. She was flabbergasted. My pretence had been so convincing. But I finally persuaded her I was telling the truth and she decided without further ado to unravel life’s mysteries. Unfortunately she was also in her early teens and incapable of explaining things without causing me acute embarrassment. I stood there, paralysed, staring at her, my innocence mortally wounded, my emotions in turmoil, and overcome with bewilderment, fright and indignation. Mentally, I babbled to myself: But why? For what reason? The shock was so great — and traumatic for several weeks — that there and then on the street-corner I swore I would never marry.

Although some months later, I had forgotten my oath and resumed my little flirtations.

And as time passed, I was no longer shocked at the way men and women make love. I even came to find it quite perfect. And extremely delicate. By then I had already become a tall girl, pensive by nature and rebellious. Yet for all my wildness, I was still very shy.

Before coming to terms with the ritual of life, I experienced much suffering which I might have been spared if some responsible adult had taken the trouble to tell me about love. That person would have known how to cope with my ingenuous nature without offending my sensibilities, without obliging me to be born anew in order to accept life and its mysteries.

For the greatest surprise of all was to find that, after discovering everything, the mystery remained intact. I know flowers grow from a plant yet I go on being surprised by nature’s secret paths. And if I feel somewhat embarrassed to this day by the facts of life, it is not because I find them shameful, but simply out of feminine discretion.

For I am convinced that life is beautiful.