I was my mother's only child... We lived in a secluded, out-of-the-way place, withdrawn into ourselves... All I know of my father is that he abandoned my mother for reasons unknown to me; but I would notice that my mother had no wish to speak of him. Whenever I brought up his name her face darkened, her features clouded over, and a look of hatred came over her that made me shrink into myself, defeated... Still, from what she used to repeat in my hearing now and then, I was able to conclude that my father had not been an ideal man... For she never ceased, on every occasion and none, to warn me, saying: Beware of men, my little girl — that wicked, scheming, deceitful sex... those treacherous wolves who tear at human flesh with no check or restraint from their conscience... And she would fall silent, furious and resentful, grinding her teeth in menace and threat... and I would nod my small head as though I had taken in what she said...

I loved my mother — indeed, the word love is not enough to convey the deep, rooted bond that tied me to her... She devoted her life to my comfort, working night and day to secure my living and provide me with every comfort... The loveliest hours for me were those I spent sitting with her, trading talk... I would tell her of my troubles at school, of my teachers and companions, and she in turn would tell me of childhood memories and hold me long in her arms... It was enough for my mother to hint, ever

so covertly, that she did not want something, for me to hasten away from it and never return to it... I remember once coming home with a group of my girlfriends, some of whom were accompanied by their young brothers — I was then no more than ten years old... No sooner did my mother catch sight of them than her face darkened, her features contracted, and I felt a wave of anger running through her expression... I supposed she was angry that I had brought these little ones along, when she wanted me to herself so we could talk quietly as we always did... I went on introducing them to her, and I sensed that she was forcing a smile to welcome the little ones. Hardly had they gone when I went back to my mother, clasped her to my breast, and asked her whether something was troubling her, and whether the children's coming to our house had upset her... She pressed me tenderly to her breast and went on murmuring words from which I understood that she did not want to lose me, and tears streamed abundantly from her eyes. I pitied her and buried my head in her breast, repeating in her ear that I loved her dearly and that I would never let those little ones share her with me... Yet I did not learn the real reason for her out-burst until evening, when we had finished the supper we swallowed in calm and silence. She had barely taken up the cup of coffee she was accustomed to drink right after the meal when she turned to me, a look of pity in her eyes full of ten-

derness and affection; then she put her arm around me and whispered: Who were those boys who came with your friends?! I answered in astonishment: Didn't I introduce them to you? They are their brothers... A forced laugh escaped her, upon which her face darkened; then she began muttering, staring at the coffee cup before her: — I do not like those boys... They are wicked... wicked... They belong to that vile sex... the sex of wolves.

Those words were enough to make me grasp what was passing through her mind... yet I remained unable to grasp fully what she meant by saying wicked — wolves... I raised imploring eyes to her and asked, seeking to understand:

— What do you mean by wicked... wolves... Do you mean that they eat little ones like me...

A delicate smile crossed her lips as she answered:

— Tomorrow, when you grow up, my little girl, you will understand what I mean by this...

And I fell silent, half convinced... for my mother is never wrong...

•

I took to waiting for that day when I would grow up and understand what my mother meant by her words: wicked... wolves... A kind of terror and trembling would seize me whenever my eye fell on a boy or a man. On my way to and from school I would hurry my steps and come back in haste, feeling my heartbeats quicken one