The Corsican Woman [antikvár]

Taita, Corsica, August 11, 1960 Sybilia Rocca sat motionless in a high-backed chair. Only her fingers gripping the table's edge and the unnatural hunch of her shoulders betrayed her tension. The windows were shuttered, but beams of light shone through the wide cracks, lending the stark room a deceptive mellowness. Sunbeams shone on the yellow varnished table, reflecting on the woman's upturned face so that she resembled a golden statue of the Madonna. Her stillness accentuated this impression, and so did her features, which were classically correct. Her deep blue eyes, usually warm and laughing, were glazed and swollen, but even then she was lovely, with a bruised, sensuous beauty that incites male aggression and the rancor of unfulfilled desires. In the village Sybilia was known as the putana, the whore, and she was despised, but she bore her reputation with dignity and a certain nobility that infuriated the men and drove the women to envy her. But here, in the solitude of her room, dignity had fled as she clung to the table and tried to stifle her sobs. Abruptly Sybilia stood up, flung back the shutters, and leaned out. It was noon: the sky was a luminous blue behind jagged peaks. Snow-streaked and sun-drenched, the mountains were a shimmering backdrop of brilliant glare against —3—