I was so astonished that I almost fell back in the
bed. "But what is this, Filomena? Have you learnt to read from someone
else?" "No, only from you yesterday. But for five years my only wish has
been to learn to read, and I am so glad to be able to." I wanted to
teach her to spell. "I almost think I can a little." And she was already
so far that--without spelling first--she read a whole page of two-letter
spellings, almost without a mistake. She certainly very often said: "Da
--ad," or read _fo_ for _of_, but her progress was amazing.
When she spells, she takes the words as a living reality, not merely as
words, and adds something to them, for instance, _s--a, sa; l--i, li;
r--e, re; salire alle scale_, (jump down the stairs.) "Filomena, I
could teach you to read in three weeks." _She_: "I have always
thought it the greatest shame for a man or woman not to be able to
read." I told her something about the progress of the human race, that
the first men and women had been like animals, not at all like Adam and
Eve. "Do you think I believe that Eve ate an apple and that the serpent
could speak? _Non credo mente_. Such things are like _mal'occhi_
(belief in the evil eye)." And without any transition, she begins,
_sempre allegra_, as she calls herself--to sing a gay song. Just
now she is exceedingly delighted with a certain large red shawl.
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