Alberto's Lost Birthday (15 page)

‘We went to separate schools, but we spent our evenings and weekends together. We would talk of everything – and I thought we would be together forever.

‘On the day that I left home to go to university, she went to the station with me. It was there that I kissed her for the first time. I told her that I loved her.

‘As I began my studies at university, I planned our life together – how I would become a renowned research scientist, and we would marry and have at least four children.’
Smiling, Raúl sadly shakes his head. I hand him the brandy and he takes a deep drink.

‘I wrote every week and at first she replied regularly. Then less so. Then barely at all.

‘The next time I returned home, I visited her. I was surprised at how much she had changed. She was thin and serious – it was as though her youth and sparkle had disappeared. She was
courteous but kept me at a distance.

‘I spoke to her sister, Mercedes, about her. She said that Angelita had started disappearing, sometimes late at nights and she refused to speak of where she’d been.

‘At first, Mercedes said Angelita had been happier than she’d ever seen her. But over a few months, the happiness had become something darker. During this time, Angelita turned to
God. She started to visit church whenever she could. She barely ate, she left school and the life seemed to be seeping out of her.

‘Mercedes confided in me that she believed Angelita was having an affair with a married man. She thought her sister was visiting church to repent her sins but the guilt was making her
ill.

‘I was shocked, appalled and distraught in equal measure. How could she change from being the innocent girl I had given my heart to, to another man’s mistress?’

I shake my head and refill the glass. Raúl takes another drink.

‘Eventually, I confronted her,’ he continues. ‘At first, she looked horrified at my accusation. I suppose she was so entrenched in it that she couldn’t see what others
could. Then she told me that yes, she was having an affair with a man who could never be hers. I begged her to leave him, but she said she loved him with all her heart.

‘I became emotional and I’m ashamed to say I wept in front of her. She looked at me with such pity that I had to leave. I returned to university. I threw myself into my work and did
well at my exams. The next time I came home, I avoided Angelita’s family and her friends. But the day before my return to college, Angelita appeared at our door.

‘She looked terrible, dark circles under her beautiful eyes, and her long hair was lank. She asked if I could forgive her and allow her to talk to me. Of course, I said yes to both.

‘We went for a walk in the park. There, she told me that the affair was over. He had finished it a few months earlier. I expressed my relief, but she broke down in tears. She told me that
she was pregnant. The father had no idea and she couldn’t tell him now that they were no longer together.

‘We both knew her family would disown her. She told me that no one else knew, not even Mercedes, and she had turned to me, her only true friend, to help. She said she would understand if I
wanted nothing to do with her. But I took her to me and held her in my arms.

‘The solution seemed obvious to me. She would marry me and we would leave the area. I would raise the child as mine, and she would never have to see the father again. She couldn’t
believe it – that I would be prepared to take care of her and another man’s child without a second thought.

‘I told her that I loved her, that the past didn’t matter. If she’d have me, we would start a fresh life together.’

I smile at my friend. ‘You are a good man, Raúl. A romantic fool, but a good man.’

Taking another sip of brandy, he continues, ‘The rest you know. We married quickly and I began looking for work. We chose this area as neither of us had family or friends near here.
Meeting you was the best thing that could have happened to us: learning about the wine business alongside having the opportunity to apply my scientific knowledge to winemaking.

‘We were happy. As her pregnancy developed, Angelita grew healthy; being so far from that other man seemed to help. Very occasionally I would catch her looking out of the window and I knew
she was thinking of him. But she said she loved me and that she was looking forward to the arrival of this baby and many others.’

Raúl takes a deep breath and pauses. Then he carries on. ‘You saw what her death did to me. I wasn’t sure that I would recover. But the support I found here and the
unconditional love of that little baby kept me going.

‘I’ve never said anything to Alberto about his father. I think it’s enough that he has no mother. Perhaps when he’s older, I’ll tell him, or perhaps there will
never be a need to tell him.

‘Whatever happens, I see him as my son. He is his mother’s son in his looks, but he has picked up certain habits and characteristics from me, too. I adore him as I adored her.
I’m very lucky, Dante. When I look into his eyes, I have the chance to see my adorable Angelita every day.’

Raúl stops talking and drains the glass.

‘Well, your secret is safe with me, Raúl. If you decide to tell Alberto about his father, I will be here to support you. My wife and I are proud to be the family he doesn’t
have.’

‘Thank you, Dante,’ says Raúl. ‘I’ve kept this secret for so many years. It is a relief to finally talk to someone about it.’

‘I’m proud that you decided to confide in me, my friend,’ I say, gripping his arm. ‘Now, what do you say – shall we let the rabble outside try our fantastic brandy,
or shall we stay down here and keep it to ourselves?’

The boy sucked noisily on the ice lolly, occasionally licking orange drips off its end. His grandfather pulled gently on a cigarette – a rare treat he sometimes allowed
himself. They sat on a cold stone bench set back from a quiet road. The leaves of a line of palm trees rustled quietly above them, and cast a little shade from the sun.

‘Are you all right?’ asked Alberto. When the boy had calmed down, he’d taken him out for this small treat.

The boy stopped licking the ice lolly and looked seriously at his grandfather. ‘We have to find your birthday, Apu,’ he said.

‘It might not be possible,’ replied the old man. ‘Look how difficult it has become already.’

Tears welled up in the little boy’s eyes again.

‘Don’t be upset. Even if we don’t find it, I have found Isabel. I never thought I’d see her again in my lifetime. So something good has—’

‘But we have to find your birthday, Apu,’ interrupted the child.

‘Why? Why is it so important to you?’

Tino looked down, crunching the last mouthful of his lolly and swinging his legs. Alberto waited patiently for him to speak.

‘Just because,’ Tino eventually said, his bottom lip protruding.

‘Because what?’ the old man pressed gently.

‘Because of God.’

‘God?’

‘Mmm.’

‘What does God have to do with my birthday?’

‘Nothing.’

The old man waited again, confused.

After a short wait, the boy sighed loudly.

‘It’s just fairer, that’s all. If you get your birthday back, Papá will get better.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I prayed. I said to God, if I help you look for your birthday and we find it, then he’ll make Papá better.’

Alberto stared at the child, bemused and touched. ‘So you suggested a deal to God? If you do something nice for me, then he’ll do something for you?’

The child nodded, still looking at his swinging feet.

‘Well, I don’t know for sure, but I don’t think God does deals. If he makes your papá better, it’s because he loves you, and Mamá and
Papá.’

‘But what if Papá doesn’t get better? Does that mean God doesn’t love me?’

The old man could see the tears welling up again and heard a wobble in the boy’s voice. He pulled the child towards him and held him. ‘God will always love you. Just like Mamá
and Papá and me.’

The little boy let out a sob, and the old man held him tighter.

‘Your papá is getting better – remember what Mamá said? But we must both keep praying, and telling God how much we love Papá.’

The old man sat holding the small boy for quite some time.

It was mid-afternoon, and the restaurant was emptying when they sat down to eat their meal. Alberto had accepted Isabel’s invitation but told the boy they would start
their journey home afterwards.

The old man was more disappointed than he had ever imagined he would be when they’d started this journey. Having had a few of his memories jogged back to life, he wanted to know more.
Where had he come from? How had he arrived at this village? What of his family? There was so much to learn, but they had reached the end of their search.

Isabel sat beside him, watching in delight as Tino wolfed down the food she’d put before him. She turned to look at Alberto, who gave her a sad smile.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said.

‘Don’t be. This search has brought me to you. I’m glad to have seen you again.’

Isabel smiled back. ‘I’m very glad you found me. In fact,’ she said, easing herself up from the table, ‘I know the perfect thing to mark the occasion.’ Isabel
turned and walked slowly to the bar, leaning heavily on her stick. Andrés appeared as if from nowhere to help her, but she waved him away.

Leaning behind the bar, she opened a dark wood cabinet and reached towards the back of the shelf. When she stood straight again, Alberto saw she was holding a dark green bottle. ‘I save
this for very special occasions,’ Isabel said. She walked back towards them.

By the time she reached the table, Andrés was placing two brandy glasses beside them.

‘And one for yourself, Andrés,’ said Isabel.

Andrés raised an eyebrow to her, but Isabel nodded. ‘If it weren’t for this man, you would never have been born,’ she said.

Andrés silently placed another glass on the table.

With her gnarled fingers, Isabel twisted the cork stopper out of the bottle and poured a little into each of the glasses.

‘This brandy was my husband’s favourite. It’s changed now – it’s not as good – but luckily my husband bought a case many years ago. This is the last bottle of
that case. I can’t think of a better person to enjoy it with, Alberto.’

As Tino looked on, Alberto nodded graciously to Isabel.

‘What are we toasting, Mamá?’ asked Andrés, raising his glass.

‘Alberto?’ asked Isabel.

The old man paused a moment, swirling the glass and watching the rich umber liquid slide round inside. Finally, he raised his glass and waited while the others raised theirs. The boy
raised his glass of pop.

‘To friends. Friends we’ve lost and friends we’ve found,’ said Alberto. He tilted his glass towards Isabel.

‘To friends,’ they all chorused.

Alberto took a large sip and let the brandy sit in his mouth, savouring its smooth flavour. Swallowing slowly, he turned the bottle to see the label.

‘Apu,’ said Tino excitedly, ‘can I try some?’

‘I don’t think you’ll like it, young man,’ said Isabel, laughing.

‘But it’s a special bottle. I’d like to just try it. Can I, Apu?’

But Alberto wasn’t listening. He was staring intently at the brandy bottle. As Isabel and the boy looked at him, he picked up the bottle and looked closely at the label on the front.

‘Alberto?’ said Isabel.

‘Apu?’

Slowly, a smile spread across Alberto’s face.

‘Apu?’ came the whisper in the dark.

‘Yes,’ came the gruff reply.

Alberto shifted in the bed. Andrés had insisted the pair of them should stay the night in his apartment, and his wife had made a fresh bed for Alberto and the boy.

‘I told you we were going to find your birthday – and I was right!’

‘We haven’t found it yet. And I told you that I don’t think that God does deals. You have to believe that Papá will get better. Believe it in your heart.’

‘I do, Apu,’ said the small voice. Then, ‘When Papá is better . . .’

‘Mmm?’

‘Will he be . . . ?’

‘What?’

‘Will he be the same?’

‘You heard your mamá say they were starting to remove the bandages. He is getting better.’

‘No. I mean will he be the same as before?’

Alberto sighed. ‘I don’t know. I hope so.’

‘But he was in a big explosion, Apu,’ said the boy, becoming distressed.

Closing his eyes, the old man saw a blast – a burst of light and heat. But it wasn’t a boiler he saw; it was a car. He frowned and the image began to fade.

‘What if he can’t do things anymore?’ carried on the boy. ‘What if he can’t play football with me, or take me swimming?’

Alberto shook his head, still trying to dispel the image of a burning car and an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach.

‘He will always be your father,’ he said gently. ‘Whatever happens, he will love you and care for you.’

‘But he won’t be the way he used to be. And the kids at school will laugh at me because there’s something wrong with my papá.’

‘Stop it,’ said Alberto fiercely. ‘I will not let you speak like that. If other children laugh, then they are not worth knowing. You will find your true friends. But this is
not a time to worry about yourself. Now is the time to be brave – for your father and, more importantly, your mamá.’