'tell her you buy the entire bucket if she lets you take a picture of her', my friend said.
I looked at her again. her hands black with mulberry, a rosary instead of a bracelet. her head turned away, not defying but simply indifferent, her entire attitude as serious and dignified as that of a little queen.
'please, let me see your eyes', I begged all of sudden, and something like the despair of a rejected lover could be heard in my voice.
slowly, she turned towards me, and looked at us. it was not interest lighting her face, nor smile, only a vague and sad amazement at a world in which somebody's eyes could inspire such wild passions. hers was the world of quiet mulberries, of things whose life and roots are one, breathing equally and peacefully since the beginning of time. deep down in the field, deep down in the woods.
when I pushed the button, I was glowing with humility.
my friend bought her entire mulberry bucket.