The Scroll of Seduction Read Online Free PDF Page A

you were, your interest in history. I suspected you’d have a lot in common with Juana.” He smiled. “I teach the Renaissance at college, but I don’t often meet girls of your age who show much curiosity in what they’re studying. Besides, I have to cover Juana’s entire life in one class. Even though I’d love to dedicate more time to her the syllabus does not allow it. I thought instead that you might share my interest.”
    â€œYou know, it’s funny, after you mentioned her, her name came up in a conversation I had with Mother Luisa Magdalena about my mother’s jealousy.”
    â€œThat’s not surprising, Lucía. Ask anyone. Ideas have magnetic properties, thoughts attract other thoughts, they lead to sudden revelations and inexplicable coincidences. To some extent, we’ve all had that sort of experience, those apparent coincidences.”
    Manuel got up to make coffee. I watched him maneuver around in his tiny kitchen. It felt so natural to me, now, to be there with him. But if it hadn’t been for a whole series of events, we might never have met and there might not have been another chance for us to become friends. There was no doubt that he was the one who had orchestrated our encounter. The Sunday after our trip to El Escorial I bumped into him down the street from my school.
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    THAT DAY I HAD WOKEN UP WITH A MIGRAINE. MOTHER LUISA Magdalena found me doubled up in bed. She tucked me in, gave me a few drops of Cafergot. She had been nice to me all week, considerate and attentive. It was her way of trying to console me for something that neither of us could do anything about. In the early afternoon she brought me lunch and stayed, sitting with me for a while. The hot soup and medicine started to have an effect. They were soothing, and I began to feel better. She suggested that I take a bath and then go for a short walk before it got dark. The bakery would still be open, she said, winking. She was very observant. She knew I always came back on Sundays with a selection of pastries.
    I took a long shower. On weekends there was never any fear of running out of hot water after everyone had bathed, since so many girls went home then. So I used that time to wash my hair, scrub my hands and feet with a pumice stone, shave my legs, and just wallow in the pleasure of water running down my naked body. Over the four years I’d been there my body had undergone tremendous changes, and I had watched the process, startled and thrilled at the same time. My breasts began to take shape almost overnight, two raised mounds crowned with large, light pink nipples. From a size 32A at thirteen, I had gone to a 36C. My pubis, which had been smooth and hairless when I arrived in Spain, was now entirely covered with curly, wiry, black hair. My waist had become slightly more defined, though not much. I would never be one of those women with dramatic, voluptuous curves. My hips were narrow and my legs were skinny, though I did have a nice, round bottom. I didn’t know if I’d grow any more before I turned eighteen, but I prayed to God I wouldn’t; I already felt like a giant. The thing I liked most about my body was my flat stomach; my belly button was so deep and tiny that the only way I could clean it–as part of my weekly ritual–was by using a cotton swab that went almost halfway in before hitting the end. And for some inexplicable reason, whenever I did that, I felt a tickling sensation in my rectum.
    After the shower, I felt less dazed and sluggish. I powdered my face and put on some eyeliner. On my way out, I crossed paths with Margarita, one of the other boarders. She was just coming in, walking through the foyer–which was decorated with Talavera ceramic tiles–wearing a plaid, pleated skirt and carrying a few packages. Margarita was a tall, childlike girl from Guatemala; she had a big heart and we got along well.She was also good at telling jokes and