and paint black lines in her eyes; then
paint her lips and fingers red--these things hid her. She must be hidden
when he came--concealed behind paints and clothes so that when he looked
at her it would be someone else he saw.

A tall man with black hair. His face was white. His eyes were silent and
hidden. But when they looked at her they screeched like parrots. They
ruffled up and yellow points came into them.

He liked to walk up and down pretending she was nowhere, pretending
there was no Rita, pretending he was looking for her. Then she ran
around and one by one she took off the things--the dress, the
petticoats, the silks, the jewels and bracelets and gold bands. Each one
she took off was for him. It was a game. She came out of hiding places.
Each one she took off was a secret she confessed to him.

She sat at the window dreaming of the ways she belonged to him. Her
thought was a pantomime which prostrated itself before his memory. She
remembered sacrifices.... He would lie cold in his bed. Then she crawled
to his side. She dared not look at his eyes. They were above her and
kept themselves hidden. She vanished before the thought of them.

Then his body grew warm under her hands. Her lips made his body tremble.
He was white and naked like her. He was a fire to which she fed herself.
The moment came when there was no longer any Rita. A little ember lay
burning happily in his passion.

When he fell asleep she went away. In her own bed she lay dreaming words
that were like hiding places. Only he could lure her out of them. After
he fell asleep she carried memories of him into herself.... He had
smiled. His body had shivered. His fingers had clutched at her face. He
had picked her up and fought with her. When he did this it was as if he
lifted her to his eyes and she could look at him--as if the wind lifted
the flames about.

The street was dark. But he would come soon. He only stayed away till it
grew dark. Now it was his time again. The street and all the lights
would open the door and come into the room. And she would be waiting,
hidden away. It was exciting to wait. It was the way he kissed her--by
making her wait and pretending when he came that there was no Rita.

The night was like a story that frightened. As she watched from the
window she remembered the caravan along the roads. Fires and dark faces
and red handkerchiefs. The night along the roads changed the trees into
birds that flew away. The wagons