Late at night, Dada woke up involuntarily. She glanced around the room. The moonlight washed over a small bronze statue of Rodin's "The Thinker," its rays reflecting dazzlingly. Without thinking twice, she got up, turned on the light, placed the statue on the table, and set herself up to paint. She was so intensely captivated by painting that she didn't even notice when dawn broke, or how the servants began making noise in the courtyard. She paid no attention to the breakfast brought to her in the morning either. It was as if she were not of this world. She sat and painted endlessly. Turning it this way and tilting it that way, there seemed to be no end to her drawings; the entire floor was covered with sheets of paper, each capturing Rodin's statue from a different angle.
Yet Dada would not calm down. Her hands were blackened with charcoal up to her elbows. Even her pajama pants were completely smeared with charcoal. But still, Dada painted and painted endlessly, without stopping.
It was already getting to be too much; midday was approaching, and soon it would be time for dinner; yet Dada was still immersed in her creation, hearing nothing of what was happening around her.
Seeing her like this, the servants became a bit alarmed and immediately informed the Padrone. Although this was not the first time Dada had acted this way, the Padrone nonetheless rushed back home. He found Dada lying on the floor, stretched out across her drawings. At first, he thought she had fainted, but as he drew closer, he noticed that Dada's eyes were open and she was staring at a single point somewhere in space.
She had been like this all night; she hadn't closed her eyes until dawn, nor had she drunk even a drop of water. Ever since the servants had carried her over to the bed, she lay there motionless, as if she were not of this world; only her flesh breathed, while her soul and mind soared somewhere far away.
Deeply worried, the Padrone called for a doctor. It didn't take long to examine Dada; the doctor understood immediately. Her condition was caused by some hidden stress, which undoubtedly stemmed from her childhood.
- Still the same? - the doctor asked the heavy-hearted Padrone.
The Padrone nodded grimly. Having no other choice, the doctor took out the necessary supplies from his bag and started an IV for Dada, and they waited for the next day, hoping for the best.
Dawn had barely broken when Dada flew out of bed like a bird. A terrible sense of hunger overcame her; there wasn't even a trace of the stress from the past few days. With a cheerful face, she ran around the house and burst into the large kitchen at the back, where the servants were. The moment she entered, the aroma of freshly baked bread made her head spin, and her eyes darted around, searching for it. At Dada's entrance, the servants stood up straight; some fixed their hair, others their aprons. They probably thought Dada had come in to choose a new subject, and they craned their necks. Dada glanced at everyone with a smile and reached for the hot bread, breaking off almost a quarter of the loaf. It was so hot, so hot that the plume of steam rising from the bread burned her fingers. A servant split the bread in half and stuffed it with large slices of cheese.
Dada squealed with joy, looking at the servants with such cheerful and grateful eyes that her playfulness caught on with them too, and they gifted her with smiles in return.
Having just stepped outside, she hadn't even had time to taste the bread when she saw a plump servant woman screeching at the top of her lungs at some old beggar:
- I'll break off a piece of bread for you! I can't help you with anything more! If I let even one in, then every beggar will flock here and demand to be hired!
Leaning heavily on his cane, the beggar said nothing to the shrewish woman and bowed his head.
Dada looked at him with pity, her eyes filling with tears. She stepped closer and offered the beggar her bread stuffed with cheese. The man, with his disheveled hair and beard, looked up at her slightly from below, shook his head in refusal, and was just about to take a step away, when Dada stepped forward, split the bread in two, handed one part to the beggar, bit into the other piece herself, and smiled at the stranger.
The old man stared in astonishment at the piece of bread held out toward him and at the smiling face of the girl who, unlike the others, looked at him neither with disgust nor with hypocritical pity. Beneath a wide-brimmed hat pulled down almost to his eyes, the beggar's faded, shoulder-length hair was visible. One couldn't tell if its color came from dirt or if it was already quite silvered. On the other hand, gray was heavily streaked through his long, loose, unkempt beard. Clad entirely in rags, he stood there, still stunned. He did not dare to take the bread, for no one ever offered him such freshly baked bread, much less stuffed with cheese. Wherever he turned, he was turned away with stale bread and a refusal of work. He was so severely weakened by hunger that, leaning on his staff, he could barely keep his balance. Because of this, his exact age could not be told; he appeared broken before his time.
Dada held out the bread once more. The beggar still hesitated. Finally, he brought himself to accept it and took it from her; just then, the plump servant woman returned and reproached Dada with a disgruntled look:
- Why did you give him fresh bread? Now he won't leave us alone, he'll start loitering around here every single day! Then he'll bring all the other beggars like him upon us, and this place will be crawling with vagrants! - The servant woman handed the beggar a small pouch of accumulated stale bread, gesturing for him to leave quickly.
Dada became furiously angry. She looked strictly at the servant; the woman's outstretched hand froze and she no longer knew whether to hand over the pouch or draw it back. Dada scanned the courtyard, noticed the Padrone a short distance away, and motioned to the servant, commanding her to bring him over. The Padrone walked over with quick steps. The plump servant woman followed him at a run, barely keeping up, reporting to him on the way why Dada was calling for him. Meanwhile, the weakened beggar, leaning heavily on his staff, looked around in bewilderment, no longer knowing whether to go on his way or to wait, in the hope that he might still receive the pouch of stale bread prepared for him. Dada looked first at the Padrone with pleading eyes, and then glanced over at the beggar. The Padrone understood her. He observed the beggar intently:
- What can you do? What would you even be capable of doing? You can barely stand on your feet as it is! - Then he turned to the servant and ordered her to let him in. - Host him for a few days, and then we'll see, perhaps we can find some suitable work for him!
Dada was filled with joy. Meanwhile, the servant kept muttering that if they let everyone in like this, the whole world would flock here, and the courtyard would be filled with thieves and vagrants. Dada didn't even listen to the servant's muttering; with happy and joyful eyes, she looked up adoringly at the Padrone, who never said no to any of Dada's whims. Looking at Dada, the Padrone was also filled with joy, and then he told her, "Now sit down and think about how we might employ this poor man, otherwise his time as a guest will run out, and he'll have to go from courtyard to courtyard begging again. You know we don't run a shelter here; everyone works." In the evening, Dada brought a large sheet of paper into the Padrone's room and spread it out on the table.
Their estate was depicted on the large format; the house was adorned with an ornamental decoration, and flowers were drawn within the ornamental band. The Padrone smiled; he understood that Dada was asking to plant a decorative garden, and was appointing the newcomer as the gardener.
LEX · Friday, January 29, 2016
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