Swift as Desire (14 page)

L
LUVIA LOOKED AT THE
photograph carefully. She had no doubt that her mother was pregnant. The signs were obvious. She noticed that her mother had her hands on her belly as if trying to protect the creature within from some imminent danger. She turned the photo over and confirmed that it had been taken in 1946. Two years before Lluvia had been born. There must be some mistake. The photograph suggested that her mother had gone through a third pregnancy. It wasn’t possible. It seemed strange that for so many years no one would have mentioned it, especially her mother. Doña Luz María Lascuráin didn’t lie. Lying was one of the most condemned forms of behavior in their home. It was shocking to discover that her mother had broken the moral code by which the family had always lived. But after a little thought, she decided that perhaps her mother hadn’t lied so much as hidden information.

And her father? What was his reason for keeping quiet? Why would he keep the birth of his child a secret? Maybe the pregnancy hadn’t reached term and the birth in question had never occurred. In any case, there was no
justification for their having hidden it this way. And what about Raúl? He had been eight at the time, and that wasn’t so little. If another child had been born, Raúl would surely remember it. But what if he didn’t? What if he, like she herself, knew nothing about it? But then she thought to herself it was most likely that Raúl did know about it and had not said anything because of his overprotective nature. That attitude of her brother’s had always bothered Lluvia. He thought of her as a weak, helpless child that he had to take care of, as if she were incapable of defending herself. Lluvia was tired of still being treated like the baby sister. Why had everyone conspired to hide this information from her? More than deceived and betrayed, she felt angry.

I
WONDER HOW MUCH
time passed between the moment God said “Let there be light” and the appearance of light? Sometimes, the mere difference of a single second between one event and another can be enough to turn our lives around one hundred and eighty degrees.

When does love turn into hate? How is that point reached? What unleashes such a transformation? Do there have to be continuously repeated insults or assaults, or can just one isolated incident be destructive enough to end a loving relationship?

In architecture, houses can crumble away little by little over the course of years; or they can be demolished in the blink of an eye by a powerful explosion. Cities and neighborhoods can be gradually transformed by time; or they can be devastated in an instant, in the few seconds that an earthquake lasts. A human being can go into a slow decline; or an unexpected bullet can erase him from the world in an instant.

Similarly, deep inside us, the opinion we have of a person can grow over the years; or it can decline in a
flash. Words of encouragement can bolster our own self-confidence; or wounding or insulting words can destroy it. And others close to us can make us better people; or they can continually erode our self-esteem. Sometimes a single word, just one, is enough to wipe out years of psychoanalysis. So, each time I go to visit my mother, I have developed the habit of preparing myself by building up barriers to protect me from her negative words, her resentment, and her distrust.

“Hola, m’hijita, ¿cómo estás?”

“Bien, mamita, ¿y tú?”

“I’m okay, I suppose, you know I’m never free from suffering, but let’s not talk about me. Let me look at you. It’s been so long since you’ve come to see me.…
Ay m’hijita
, just look how skinny you are! I’ve told you before, I don’t want you killing yourself taking care of your father. What you need is a rest, go to the beach, sit in the sun. If I were you, I would check him into a place where they would take good care of him, then at least you could live a normal life. You look worn out, exhausted, and I’m sure it must be hard for your children to have so many people in the house. It’s not fair.…”

“It’s not fair to send
papá
to an institution either. I’ve already told you …”

“Okay, okay, let’s not argue. I won’t meddle in your life. I’m just telling you what I think.… Oh, and by the way, how is Perla?”

“Fine,
mamita
, she’s got her
novio
…”

“
Ay, m’hijita
, that really worries me! You’re so distracted
by your
papá
you’re not even aware of the huge problem you’re facing there. If your daughter gets all hot and bothered and ends up making the wrong decision, her tears will never stop! You really ought to talk to her. I don’t like it at all. They’ve been
novios
for so many years, and they’re still not married. Look, at the last party where we were all together, I don’t know if you noticed, but they didn’t care one bit that all the rest of us were around. They just went on holding hands and kissing each other and,
mira, m’hijita
, let me tell you, when
novios
don’t care about others seeing them, well, you’d better watch out!”

“
Ay, mamá
, leave them alone. Let them live their own lives.”

“No, I’m not going to butt in, I already told you, I’m not going to interfere in anybody’s life.”

“Good!”

“What I will say is that I’m very worried, because men, all of them, listen to me now, never think about anything except filth, they’re all a bunch of pigs.…”

I
T’S TIME TO REINFORCE
the walls, to brick myself in, to raise the protective barriers! I knew by heart the speech that was to follow:
Men! They’re all the same. They don’t think about anything except screwing anyone who happens to go near them, whether it’s a neighbor, a servant, or their son’s wife. Men are disgusting pigs who feed on garbage and will even screw a rat.…
I don’t know what men my mother is talking
about. As far as I know she only had one boyfriend, and she married him. And as hard as I try, I can’t remember a single shred of my father’s personality that could fit her description. On the contrary, I remember him washing dishes, standing in line to buy fresh tortillas, stuck in the kitchen on Sundays preparing
cochinita pibil
, that delicious roast pork from his native Yucatán, and all the while watching over Raúl and me. I never caught him casting a libidinous glance at a neighbor or a servant or anyone else. If he ever did, he took care to do it far from home. But I am not going to argue with my mother. Rather than make any comment, I prefer to raise my eyebrows, which can be interpreted in a thousand different ways, and to change the subject to avoid further argument.

“
Oye, mamita
, how is Raúl?”

“
Bien.
I spoke with him yesterday on the phone and he asked me about your
papá.
I told him that your father is very sick and he agrees that you should put him in a home.”

“Instead of giving you his opinion, he should call
papá
more often.”

“What are you talking about?! You know how busy he is. And you, instead of speaking ill of your brother, you should thank him for sending you money to pay for the nurses. If it weren’t for that, just imagine what a disaster it would be! That’s why I say you should …”

“
Mamá
, I already told you, I’m not going to put
papá
anywhere. It’s no trouble for me, just the opposite.…”

“Well, that’s your choice, just don’t come running to me later when you get sick or when Perla wants to leave home.…”

“Mamá. ¡Por favor!”

“
Sí, m’hijita
, like I told you, I don’t want to interfere with your decisions, but I think having your
papá
in your house is causing you a lot of problems, and really, I don’t know why you insist so on defending him! Look how life has turned out! The daughter he never wanted to be born is the one who is defending him so much now.…”

“Why do you say that,
mamá?
”

“Because that’s how it was. For your information, your
papá
wanted me to have an abortion when I got pregnant with you.…”

I surrender. There is no way to leave my mother’s house unscathed. She always manages to hit me with something that takes me by surprise, that hurts me. I don’t know if what my mother has just said is true. If it is, my father must have had his reasons. What does it matter to me now?! She’s not going to be able to use that to convince me that my father doesn’t love me. There hasn’t been a single moment in my life when I ever felt he didn’t love me. And now that I think about it, if I were a man and if I had married my mother, maybe I wouldn’t have wanted to have children with her either. At any rate, I’m not about to play her game, no, I’m going to chart my own course.

“B
Y THE WAY, SPEAKING
of
papá
, he asked me to tell you that he wanted to talk to you.…”

“
Mira, m’hijita
, I’ve told you a thousand times, I don’t have anything to talk to him about. I left all that behind a long time ago.”

“Yes, I guess you did the same with this photograph.”

“Where did you get this?”

“Lolita gave it to me. Who were you pregnant with in this photo,
mamá?
”

“She went to see your father?”

“Yes, but you haven’t answered me. Who were you expecting?”

“You, of course, who do you think? Just look how many of these people are dead now! Juanito, Lalo, and Quique are already dead.… I think Pepito is too…but let’s stop talking about these people you don’t even know. Tell me, how is Federico, has he put on any more weight?”

“No,
mamá
, he’s as skinny as ever, but tell me, why didn’t you ever tell me that you and
papá
had had another baby?”

“Did your father tell you about him?”

“No.”

“Hmmm! Then was it that nosy Lolita? She’s such a gossip, and she was always in love with your father. She’ll say anything to cause trouble, that must be why she gave you this photograph. How interesting that she should choose precisely this one!”

“Why would this photo cause trouble? What’s wrong with it?”

“Look, Ambar, that’s exactly why you and I always end up arguing. You’re just like your father, always putting words in other people’s mouths, always trying to guess what one is thinking.… I don’t have anything to hide, and if I did, well, it would be my own business. Children don’t have to know everything about their parents, there’s no need for that. Look, tell me, would you like it if your children interrogated you about why you got divorced? Have you told them all of your reasons? No, right? Then who are you to come to my house and judge me?!”

“Nobody is judging you,
mamá.
I’m just asking you …”

“Well, you have no right! That’s all I needed! Who do you think you are to come here to cross-examine me?! What gives you the moral authority to judge me?” “I already told you I didn’t come to judge you.” “Well, that’s not what it seems like,
chiquita
, and you’d better change that tone of voice. I am still your mother and you have to respect me! What is done is done! I have my reasons for everything I have done in my life. I don’t owe you any explanations. Who said you were my confessor? No one, you hear me, no one. If you are so curious about other people’s lives, why don’t you go and question your daughter! Ask her how many kisses her
novio
gave her yesterday, or where he touches her! I’d love to hear what she tells you! One has to respect the rights of others!

“Well, since you are so interested in knowing if I had another child, I’ll tell you. Yes, I did. And he died. And if you want to know how he died, ask your
papá.
…Are you happy now? Why didn’t you just ask me, instead of
putting me on the spot like this? Why don’t you just go now, Ambar, because you’ve made me mad, and I don’t want to say anything that might hurt you. I have never, listen to me, never done anything with the intention of hurting you. I think I have been a good mother to you. I have given you my love, my care, my best. If I have made mistakes, they haven’t been serious ones. You should have had a bad mother, then you would have had something to really complain about. A mother who beat you up, or a drunk, or a murderer …”