Tales of a Cruel Country

THE blossom of the lilac-tree gave a pulp-like sound as it thwacked against her window, and curiously named Stephanie Miniati smiled to herself as she turned in her bed and, placing a hand on her rounded breast, closed her eyes in order that she might see Orosdi. For not only did Orosdi dwell in her heart, but his big, black eyes burned in her brain and lit it, and his sinewy hands were ever about her throat in love-cruelty. She closed her eyes and, in imagination, summoned him to her chamber. He came: not hurriedly, as an anxious lover moves, but with long, lazy strides, his baby-face all smiles, his selfish, rounded chin thrust a little forward. He stood by her side and then, in imagination, she made him bend down suddenly and kiss her shoulder....

She sighed in a luxury of love, and “Orosdi! Or-os-di!” she murmured. And she thought for the thousandth time: “I am the most beautiful girl in Ajvatli, and Orosdi is the most handsome lad of all who walk on the plain of Langaza.”

But as yet she was only half awake, and in her semi-consciousness had forgotten her other lover who now lay in the church cemetery on the high land above Ajvatli.

The noise of the sheep and the goats herding down the uneven street brought her to full consciousness, and, sitting up in bed, the smile slowly faded from her face, a scowl, almost a snarl, taking its place. For she had remembered that to-day was the anniversary of the death of her other lover and that, though Orosdi had made the thought of her dead sweetheart sometimes hateful, yet fear of her neighbours would, she knew, compel her to weep and pray at his grave and fondle the bones that had once been covered with stubborn flesh. She sat and scowled; then, suddenly, having taken up a mirror that lay on a chair by her side, she smiled entrancingly at her reflection. She pulled back her lips and looked at her white teeth; she bared her breasts and, holding the mirror below them, looked at and admired the twin curves reflected therein; then, making slits of her eyes, she looked from the corners of her eyelids—looked roguishly, invitation in her glance.