Page 633 - women-in-love

Their eyes met for a moment. Then he looked away. He
would say no more.
‘And how did you become a sculptor?’ asked Ursula.
‘How did I become a sculptor—‘ he paused. ‘Dunque—‘
he resumed, in a changed manner, and beginning to speak
French—‘I became old enough—I used to steal from the
market-place. Later I went to work—imprinted the stamp
on clay bottles, before they were baked. It was an earthen-
ware-bottle factory. There I began making models. One day,
I had had enough. I lay in the sun and did not go to work.
Then I walked to Munich—then I walked to Italy—begging,
begging everything.’
‘The Italians were very good to me—they were good and
honourable to me. From Bozen to Rome, almost every night
I had a meal and a bed, perhaps of straw, with some peasant.
I love the Italian people, with all my heart.
‘Dunque, adesso—maintenant—I earn a thousand
pounds in a year, or I earn two thousand—‘
He looked down at the ground, his voice tailing off into
silence.
Gudrun looked at his fine, thin, shiny skin, reddish-
brown from the sun, drawn tight over his full temples; and
at his thin hair—and at the thick, coarse, brush-like mous-
tache, cut short about his mobile, rather shapeless mouth.
‘How old are you?’ she asked.
He looked up at her with his full, elfin eyes startled.
‘WIE ALT?’ he repeated. And he hesitated. It was evi-
dently one of his reticencies.
‘How old are YOU?’ he replied, without answering.

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