Selected Cronicas

THE SWEATER

Someone gave me a sweater. That seems simple enough. But it is not.

The sweater was sent to me by a girl I did not know. I discovered through a mutual friend that she is a designer of considerable talent. She lives in Sāo Paulo. On a visit to Rio, she had lunch with him. She arrived wearing a very pretty sweater and my friend, thinking it would look good on me, ordered one in exactly the same pattern. The girl happens to be one of my readers — or am I mistaken? And when she discovered who the present was for, she insisted on buying it for me herself. Our mutual friend agreed.

So here I am, the proud owner of the prettiest sweater you ever saw. It is a bright cherry red and seems to embody all that is good for both of us. That warm red is the colour of the sweater’s soul. I am writing these lines before going out, wearing my new sweater. The colour of fire and flame, it has been given to me with such affection that its warmth embraces me and keeps out the chill of solitude. It is like being caressed in deep friendship. Today I am wearing it in public for the first time. The sweater is ever so slightly tight, but perhaps that is how it is meant to be worn: proudly flaunting the glorious state of womanhood. The moment I have stopped writing, I shall spray myself with my favourite perfume. My little secret. I adore secrets. And then I shall be ready to face the wintry cold outside: the real cold as well as those other chills we experience.

I am just another woman too many.