Her white robe is slipping from her shoulders, her hands clasped, her arms resting on her pregnant belly. She’s looking up, her eyes open just enough to see what’s in front of her, or perhaps what she’s seeing is inside her own mind. In this painting, Mary is lying down but she’s awake to something. The desire to write is something of a passion for Vitória, driving her to make notes on the artworks in the museum, some of which form part of the novella’s text. Each doorway, even mine, its own theatre of something, with its own suggestion or promise. Although Vitória has little money or creature comforts, she finds enjoyment in the simple pleasures of life such as reading books, buying a new pair of brightly coloured stockings or writing about the paintings surrounding her at work.Įvery morning and night I walked through that city, to and from the museum, fall turning into winter. The novella is narrated by Vitória, a relatively young woman who works as a cleaner in a museum of art.
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