The Mouse
I woke with a start touching my nose and let out a scream. My mother immediately turned on the light. The mouse, frightened, after having crossed the bed to its full length, jumped, darted away.
"Have you seen her... have you seen the pantegana*?" I stammered.
"It's not a pantegana: it's just a country mouse."
"He was eating my nose... is it bleeding?"
"No, it's all right," my mother reassured me.
"Now I understand who ruined my rosary. I'm sorry because it was made with the pits of olives from the garden of Gethsemane."
"Obviously still tasty after two thousand years!" The fright had passed and I was beginning to enjoy myself. "You know, I thought badly of Clara. While she tidies up the room I often surprised her with my nail polish and lipsticks, and I was glad she was having a little fun, poor Clara; but I didn't understand why she had to use all of my pencils and steal away bits of soap. Of course this mouse, who may be from the country but seems to me as big as a pantegana, really just has a tremendous appetite."
When we told him what had happened, Papa got excited. Then he left the room and came back with a shotgun.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"To kill the mouse."
* a brown rat
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