Estación de la mano

I gave her names: I liked to call her Dg because it was a name that only allowed to be thought of. I encouraged her probable vanity by forgetting rings and bracelets on the shelves, spying her attitude with secret constancy. I once thought that she would wear the jewels, but she studied them a lot moving around without touching them like an untrusting spider; and even though one day she put on a ring of amethyst, it was only for an instance and she abandoned it as if it burned her. So I hurried to hide the jewels in her absence and she seemed happier ever since.
So the seasons came, some slender and others with weeks tinted with violet lights without their rewarding calls reaching our ambience. Every evening the hand would return, frequently wet from the autumn rain and I would see it spread its back out on the carpet, and dry two fingers together tediously, sometimes with small, satisfying jumps. In the cold dusks her shadow was tinted violet. So I lit a brazier next at my feet and she would cuddle and hardly stir, except to set, annoyed, an album with prints or a ball of wool that she liked to knot and twist. I soon discovered that she was unable to stay still for a long time. One day she found a trough with clay and rushed to it; for hours and hours she modeled the clay while I, with my back turned, pretended to not care about her work. Naturally, she modeled a hand. I let it dry and placed it on the desk to show her that her work pleased me. It was a mistake: Dg ended up bothered by that rigid and rather convulsed self-portrait. When I hid it, she pretended out of modesty not to have noticed it.
My analytical interest rather quickly became. Tired of amazing myself, I tried to know an invariable and unfortunate end to all adventures. The questions arose about my guest: Did she vegetate, feel, comprehend, or love? I spread ropes and delivered experiments. I had warned that even though the hand was incapable to read, it would never write. One day I opened the window and put a pen and blank sheets on the table and when Dg entered, I left so that I would not weigh on her shyness. Through the hole of the lock I saw her comply with her habitual walk; then, hesitantly, she went all the way to the desk and picked up the pen. Diagonally, and with outlined handwriting, Dg had written: This resolution voids all the previous ones until there is a new order. I was never able to make her write again.