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daughters have hard bottoms and white breasts, the winters are interminable, the summers scorching. Can you understand what the problem is?
    Obscurely, but she could understand it.
    The grandmother opened her eyes and stared at her.
    Don’t think you can make it by running away. They run faster than you. And when they don’t feel like running, they wait for you to come back, and then they beat you.
    The grandmother closed her eyes again and grimaced, because something inside was devouring her, bite by bite, each one unexpected and unpredictable. When it passed, she began breathing again and spit out on the floor a fetid liquid, colored with colors that only death could invent.
    You know how I did it? she said.
    The young Bride didn’t know.
    I played hard to get till I drove them crazy, then I let myself be caught, and then I held them by the balls all my life. Did you ever wonder who commands in this family?
    The young bride shook her head no.
    Me, stupid.
    Another bite took away my breath. I spit out that stuff, I no longer even wanted to know where. I was careful only not to spit on myself. It ended up on the covers, not even the floor.
    Now I’m fifty-three years old, I’m about to die, and I can tell you confidently one thing: don’t do as I did. It’s not advice, it’s an order. Don’t do as I did. Do you understand?
    Why not?
    She asked in an adult, even aggressive tone. All at once there was no longer anything of the child in her. She was tired of it, suddenly. I liked that. I straightened up a little on the pillow, and understood that with that child I could be hard, mean, and imaginative, as I had been, with great pleasure, in every instant of the life that was now fleeing in spasms of stabbing pain in my stomach.
    Because it doesn’t work, I said. Everyone goes crazy, nothing turns out right anymore, and sooner or later you find yourself with a swelling stomach.
    That is?
    Your brother gets on top of you, sticks his prick inside, and leaves a child in your belly. When your father doesn’t. Now is it clear?
    The young Bride didn’t flinch. Clearer, yes.
    Don’t imagine it as unpleasant. Most of the time it’s a thing that drives you mad.
    The young Bride said nothing.
    But that you can’t understand now. Just be sure to impress it in your mind. Is that clear?
    Yes.
    So don’t do as I did, it’s all wrong. I know what you have to do, listen carefully, I’ll tell you what you have to do. I called you here to tell you what you have to do.
    She took her hands out from under the covers, she needed them to explain. They were ugly hands, but it was clear that if it had been up to them they would have waited quite a while before going underground.
    What you have between your legs—forget about it. It’s not enough to hide it. You have to forget about it. Not even you must know that you have it. It doesn’t exist. Forget that you’re a woman, don’t dress like a woman, don’t move like a woman, cut your hair, move like a boy, don’t look at yourself in the mirror, ruin you hands, burn your skin, don’t ever wish to be beautiful, don’t try to please anyone, you mustn’t please even yourself. You have to inspire disgust, and then they’ll leave you alone, they’ll forget about you. You understand?
    I nodded yes.
    Don’t dance, don’t ever sleep with them, don’t wash, get used to stinking, don’t look at other men, don’t become a friend of any woman, choose the hardest jobs, kill yourself with weariness, don’t believe in love stories, and never daydream.
    I listened. My grandmother looked at me carefully, to be sure that I was listening to her. Then she lowered her voice, and you could see that she was about to come to the most difficult part.
    But pay close attention to one thing: preserve the woman you are in your eyes and your mouth, throw away everything but keep your eyes and