A Woman of Seville Read Online Free PDF

they say, is imagining it—I’m spending more time with the ladder-man these days. I’ve found that he is a kind of balcony prince, welcome on many rooftops where owners greet him as a relative or friend. Some Triana residents have even made low tin shelters for him to sleep under. Why is he so loved and accepted? People give him a coin in exchange for nothing more than a beautiful smile or a gracious bow. But then I catch him at his business. Watering the balcony plants for neighbours who are out of town or too busy to do it themselves. He also provides water and seeds for caged birds. And enjoys doing it—his little secret.
    The ladder-man’s first task, after he’s bandaged my knee with the red kerchief, is to teach me to balance on his ladder. Why I need to learn this trick is not quite clear. However, I’m prepared to try the stunt to make him happy. The ladder-man holds the ladder up while I climb the lower rungs. Then he says, ‘Ready?’, and I nod. He lets go of the ladder but of course I can’t hold my weight. I jump off quickly. I’m not going to get the hang of it. Balancing on a ladder is not going to be my strength, like it is his. But we try, again and again.
    ‘I’m just learning to tip over doing this,’ I complain. He takes a piece of charcoal from his pocket and writes on the cement at our feet: ‘To fall is to balance.’
    The ladder-man writes everything down because he doesn’t speak. Rather than making me fearful of him, this impediment has the opposite effect. A mute man is not really a man to be scared of at all. Besides he has a gentle narrow face and soulful eyes. I’ve learnt to trust a man by his eyes; there’s nothing predatory about the way the ladder-man looks at me. And he has graceful hand movements to back up his graceful smile. He pulls out a charcoal or chalk whenever necessary. Now he writes a few questions on the wall of the building.
    —Name?
    ‘Paula,’ I say aloud, then wonder if I should have given him a false name, like Zonda or Amira.
    —Married?
    I shake my head, but then think I should have said I was, for a bit of extra protection.
    —Hungry?
    At this I hesitate, because I am just at that mid-point where you are happy either to eat or do without. Finding me undecided he takes a nutcracker and some almonds from his pocket and breaks them open. The shells he collects and puts back in his pocket. He’s very neat and tidy like that. He doesn’t seem to have any obvious faults, though I can’t help commenting on his hairpin shape.
    ‘You’re very thin.’ It’s a rude thing to say but it wasn’t meant as a put-down. His meagre frame is the most obvious thing about him.
    He nods and writes on the wall. ‘Always thin.’ He wants me to know he isn’t fasting or ill.
    The ladder-man then writes a sentence that I can’t understand because I don’t know all the words. I blush and pretend to understand. Oh dear, he must have been able to see through my pretence. He must have worked out I can’t read properly because he never writes a long sentence for me again. But I’m not a total ignoramus. Little words I know, as do most unschooled people.
    To fall is to balance. I ponder this paradox. Maybe the combination of these words means something else in writtenlanguage. Or maybe what the ladder-man really means is that to fall is to desire balance all the more. Certainly each time I fail to keep the ladder upright, I’m furious with myself. I try even harder next time. Indeed I’m getting muscles in my legs from so much practice. I’ve learnt to avoid smack-bang falls and eggplant bruises.
    But maybe the ladder-man really does mean to fall is to balance. Exactly that. In falling I’m giving gravity its due. Succumbing to nature’s laws. He , in balancing on a ladder, is defying gravity, is upsetting balance. Oh, come on Paula. Just who are you trying to bluff?
    ‘Will I ever learn to do it?’ I ask after a few seconds of magical equilibrium have been