In Other Words (11 page)

“What color?”

“Black.”

“Oh, I'm sorry.”

The owner called to the woman behind the mirror. She asked her to pick the clothes up off the floor, put everything in order.

“This lady is missing a black sweater,” she said. “I don't know you,” she continued. “How did you find me?”

“I was outside. I followed the others. I didn't know what was inside.”

“You don't like the clothes?”

“I like them but I don't need them.”

“Where are you from?”

“I'm not from here.”

“I'm not, either. Are you hungry? Would you like some wine? Fruit?”

“No, thank you.”

“Excuse me.”

It was the woman who worked for the owner. She showed something, a garment, to the translator.

“Here,” said the owner. “It was hidden, we found your sweater.”

The translator took it. But she knew immediately, without even putting it on, that it wasn't hers. It was another one, unfamiliar. The wool was coarser, the black less intense, and it was a different size. When she put it on, when she looked in the mirror, the mistake seemed obvious to her.

“This isn't mine.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mine is similar, but this isn't it. I don't recognize this sweater. It doesn't fit.”

“But it must be yours. The maid has put everything in order. There's nothing on the floor, nothing on the couches, look.”

The translator didn't want to take the other sweater. She felt antipathy toward it, revulsion. “This isn't mine. Mine has disappeared.”