The Cave Read Online Free PDF Page A

bathroom, a domestic utility that had been installed when he was still an adolescent and which had long been in need of enlargement and improvement. He looked at himself in the mirror, but found no new line or wrinkle on his face, It's probably somewhere inside me, he thought, then he ran the tap, washed his hands and went out. They ate in the kitchen, sitting at a large table that had known happier days and more numerous gatherings. Now, since the death of the mother, Justa Isasca, of whom we will perhaps have little more to say in this story, but whose first name we
give here, since we already know her surname, the two of them sit at one end of the table, the father at the head, Marta in the place vacated by her mother and, opposite her, Marçal, when he's home. How did your morning go, asked Marta, Oh, the usual, replied her father, bending over his plate, Marçal phoned, Oh, yes, and what did he want, He said that he'd been talking to you about us going to live at the Center when he's promoted to resident guard, Yes, we did talk about that, He was annoyed because you said yet again that you didn't think it was a good idea, Well, I've had a change of heart since then and I think it will be a good thing for both of you, And what brought about this sudden change of heart, You don't want to work in the pottery all your life, No, although I enjoy what I do, You should be with your husband, one of these days you'll have children, and three generations of clay-eaters is quite enough, And you're willing to go with us to the Center, to leave the pottery, asked Marta, Leave, no, never, that's out of the question, So you're going to do everything yourself, are you, dig the clay, knead it, work at the bench and the wheel, fire the kiln, load it, unload it, clean it, then put everything in the van and go off and sell it, may I remind you that things have been difficult enough even with the help Marçal gives us on the few days he's here, Oh, I'll find someone to help me, there are plenty of lads in the village, You know perfectly well that no one wants to be a potter any more, the ones who get fed up with the country go to the factories in the Industrial Belt, they don't leave the land in order to work with clay, Yet another reason for you to leave, You don't think I'm going to leave you alone here, do you, You can come and see me now and then, Oh, Pa, please, I'm being serious, So am I, love.
    Marta got up to clear away the plates and serve the soup, which it was the custom in their family to eat after the main course. Her father watched her and thought, I'm just complicating matters with this conversation, I'd better tell her now. He didn't, his daughter was suddenly eight years old, and he was saying to her, Look, it's just like when your mother kneads the bread. He rolled the block of clay
backwards and forwards, pressing it and stretching it out with the heels of his hands, then he slapped it down hard on the table, squashing and squeezing, then started all over, repeating the whole operation, again and again and again, Why do you do that, his daughter asked him, So that there aren't any lumps or air bubbles left inside, that would be bad for the work, Is it the same with bread too, With bread you just have to get rid of the lumps, the air bubbles don't matter. He put to one side the compact cylinder into which the clay had been transformed and began kneading another lump, It's high time you learned, he said, but immediately regretted his words, Don't be ridiculous, she's only eight, and so he said instead, Go outside and play, go on, it's cold in here, but his daughter said that she wanted to stay, she was trying to make a doll out of a scrap of clay that kept sticking to her fingers because it was too soft, That clay's no good, try this piece, that way you'll be able to make something, said her father. Marta was looking at him anxiously, it wasn't like him to sit with his head bent over his plate to eat, as if, by hiding