UFRGS 2020

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Juliet had a book open on her lap, but she was
not reading. She did not take her eyes from
what was going by. She was alone in a double
seat and there was an empty double seat
[05] across from her. This was the space in which
her bed was made up at night. The porter was
busy at the moment, dismantling the car’s
nighttime arrangements. In some places, the
dark-green zippered shrouds still hung down to
[10] the floor. There was the smell of that cloth, like
tent cloth, and a slight smell of nightclothes
and toilets. A blast of fresh winter air was felt
whenever anyone opened the doors at either
end of the car. The last people were going to
[15] breakfast, other people coming back.
There were tracks in the snow, small animal
tracks. Strings of beads, looping, vanishing.
Juliet was twenty-one years old and already
the possessor of a B.A. and an M.A. in classics.
[20] She was working on her Ph.D. thesis in
Toronto, but had decided to take some time
out to teach Latin at a private girls’ school in
Vancouver. She had no training as a teacher,
but an unexpected vacancy at half-term had
[25] made the school willing to hire her. Probably
no one else had answered the ad. The salary
was less than any qualified teacher would be
likely to accept. But Juliet was happy to be
earning any money at all, after her years on
[30] stingy scholarships.
She was a tall girl, fair-skinned and fine-boned,
with light-brown hair that would not retain a
bouffant style, even when sprayed. She had
the look of an alert schoolgirl: head held high,
[35] a neat rounded chin, wide thin-lipped mouth,
snub nose, bright eyes, and a forehead that
was often flushed with effort or appreciation.
Her professors were delighted with her — they
were grateful these days for anybody who took
[40] up ancient languages, and particularly for
someone so gifted — but they were worried as
well. The problem was that she was a girl. If
she got married — which might happen, as she
was not bad-looking for a scholarship girl, not
[45] bad-looking at all — she would waste all her
hard work and theirs. And if she did not get
married, her life would probably become bleak
and isolated — she would lose out on
promotions to men (who needed them more,
[50] since they had families to support). Either way,

she would not be able to defend the oddity of
her choice, to defy what people would see as
the irrelevance, or dreariness, of classics, to
slough off that prejudice the way a man could.
[55] Odd choices were simply easier for men, most
of whom would still find women glad to marry
them. Not so the other way around.

Adaptado de: MUNRO, Alice. Chance. In: Runaway. London: Vintage, 2013. p. 52-53.