ÌÇÐÄ´«Ã½

Over at you can read “First Kiss,” a short story by Clarice Lispector, and translated from the Portuguese by Rachel Klein.

The two of them murmured more than talked: the relationship had begun just a little while before and they were both giddy, it was love. Love and what comes with it: jealousy.

ÌÇÐÄ´«Ã½”ItÌÇÐÄ´«Ã½™s fine, I believe you that IÌÇÐÄ´«Ã½™m your first love, this makes me happy. But tell me the truth, only the truth: you never kissed a woman before you kissed me?
It was simple:
ÌÇÐÄ´«Ã½”Yes, IÌÇÐÄ´«Ã½™ve kissed a woman before.
ÌÇÐÄ´«Ã½”Who was she?, she asked sorrowfully
He tried to tell it crudely, he didnÌÇÐÄ´«Ã½™t know how.

The tour bus slowly climbed the mountain range. He, a kid surrounded by noisy kids, let the cool breeze hit his face and pass through his hair with its long fingers, fine and weightless like those of a mother. At times he remained quiet, without quite thinking, and only feeling ÌÇÐÄ´«Ã½“ it felt so good. Concentrating on feeling was difficult in the midst of the uproar of his friends.

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