Read The Wind From the East Online
Authors: Almudena Grandes
Tags: #Fiction, #Literary, #Contemporary Women
The Wind From the East (8 page)
But he’d spent many years in the same situation, and he was sure it wouldn’t be much of a problem compared with everything else that might befall him.
He was much more concerned about leaving Tamara alone in the house for so long, however much Maribel, who seemed very efficient, assured him that she’d drop in to check on her first thing every morning, on her way to number thirty-one, and that she’d have the little girl’s lunch ready by the time she and her son got back from the swimming pool. Ostensibly Tamara would only be on her own for about two weeks, until term began, but Juan knew that, deep down, her loneliness would last much longer; in fact he couldn’t see an end to it.The blows his niece had had to endure—the death of her mother, then her father soon afterwards—had turned her relationship with him into an almost unhealthy dependency, a form of permanent emotional blackmail, more like that of a baby than a child her age. Juan realized that she was afraid of losing him as well, because he was all she had left, but he felt uncomfortable as a hostage to her love, not so much because it limited the freedom he’d become so accustomed to, having lived alone for so many years. No, it was because the anxiety that made the child’s eyes grow wide every time she saw him start up the car was only a glimpse of the monstrous solitude that stalked her like a shadow.
And yet Juan was convinced that life was beginning to improve for the child, whilst he couldn’t be so sure about Alfonso. It was his brother who worried him most, who was constantly on his mind. When, on the first of September, at seven in the morning, he went into Alfonso’s room and found him sleeping on his back, with the bedclothes thrown off and his pajama top all twisted around his body, he regretted not having a god of any kind to pray to. He sat down beside his brother, called his name and shook him, gently at first, then a little more energetically.Alfonso kicked him a few times before he finally sat up and the first thing he said, in his strained, nasal voice, was that he didn’t want to go. But he gave in to his older brother’s authority as Juan made him get out of bed, straightened his pajamas, and led him downstairs to the kitchen. There, Juan listened to Alfonso complaining while he prepared breakfast.
“I don’t want to go,” Alfonso said over and over, waving a finger for emphasis. “No, no, no. I’m staying here. Home sweet home, home sweet home.”
Spreading a slice of toast with butter, Juan said nothing, concentrating on somehow filling the hole that had opened up where his stomach used to be, stunned by the mixture of pity, fear, anger, love and sadness he felt every time he had to force his brother to do something he didn’t want to do.
“Look, Juanito, look at my tears.They’re running down here, and here. I don’t want to go, don’t want to, don’t want to . . . don’t, and that’s that.”
“Why not, Alfonso?” Juan said at last, putting a cup of hot chocolate before him and sitting down. “What do you want to do? Stay in the house all day on your own? You’d be bored.”
“I wouldn’t. I’d watch TV. I know how to change channels.” And he held out his right hand, tapping with his index finger as if he were pressing on a remote control. “Zap, zap, zap! See? I can change channels myself. Like that.”
“And who’s going to get your lunch, eh?”
“You.” He smiled, pleased at having found a solution.“You could get it.”
“But I won’t be here. I’ll be going to work each morning and I won’t get back until late afternoon.”
“You!”Alfonso exclaimed, meekly at first but growing more and more angry,“You get my lunch, you, you!”
“Don’t shout, you’ll wake Tamara up. I can’t, Alfonso, I’ve got to go to—”
“You!” Alfonso shouted again and then threw himself on the floor.
Half an hour later, Juan had finally managed to get him dressed, although he hadn’t brushed his teeth.This wasn’t Alfonso’s only reprisal. He refused to accompany Juan upstairs to say goodbye to Tamara, and while Juan was out of the room he threw his cup of hot chocolate into the sink. As it was boiling hot, he managed to burn his hand and the whole drama started again.
“Do you want me to get cross, Alfonso? Do you?”
As usual, the threat triggered a new phase in Alfonso’s onslaught. Even though he’d been up for only an hour, Juan was already exhausted and drove in silence to El Puerto de Santa Maria, while his brother, strapped into the back seat, complained and insulted Juan in equal measure.
“You’re bad, very bad,”Alfonso said one last time, as they parked outside the center.
The day couldn’t have got off to a worse start, thought Juan, as he pushed open the door to the clean, new building, with large windows and spacious, square classrooms that had so impressed him at the beginning of July, when he was arranging his brother’s enrollment. Surprisingly, Alfonso also seemed to like the place, because as soon as he entered the foyer he stopped crying and started looking around with interest. Suddenly the day changed direction, like a ball rising in the air after striking the ground.
Juan gave his name to the receptionist who told him to wait there. She went over to Alfonso and asked him, in the firm but soothing tone teachers use to negotiate with small children, if he’d like her to show him his classroom.They had just headed off down the corridor when a woman in a white coat came across the foyer towards Juan.
“Hello, I’m Isabel Gutiérrez.” She looked about thirty-five, had discreetly dyed hair, wore no make-up, and had a wedding ring on her right hand. She projected a promising air of efficiency.“I’m a psychiatrist and the Assistant Director of the center.You must be Mr. Olmedo. Would you like to come with me? I need to ask you a few questions about your brother, so that we can focus our plan of action.”
As he followed her down a bright corridor, punctuated at intervals with enormous dark-green aspidistras, Juan reflected on the woman’s choice of phrase, and appreciated the nuance that separated it from other terms she could easily have used, such as “treatment” or “program.” This reassured him about the tone of the conversation he was about to have.
“I believe you’re a doctor yourself,” she said, offering him the chair on the other side of her desk and opening Alfonso’s file.
“Yes, but my specialty is broken bones,” he said, and she smiled.“I’m an orthopedic surgeon.”
“We’ll make sure we give you a call if we ever break anything! Now, let’s see.Your brother’s condition is the result of oxygen deprivation during childbirth, is that right?”
“Yes, they didn’t realize that the umbilical cord was twisted around his neck. At some point his brain was starved of oxygen. We don’t know exactly why or for how long.”
“The usual incompetence.”
“Well, yes, that’s true, it was a complete mess. The labor was very quick, it was my mother’s fifth. She became fully dilated in the car on the way to hospital, so when she arrived the doctors sent her directly to the delivery room, but they wouldn’t wait and opted to use forceps straight away.They must have been in a hurry that morning.”
Dr. Gutiérrez consulted her notes, underlining things from time to time, avoiding his eyes as she asked questions.
“He was her last child?”
“Yes. All the other births were fine, quite normal. After Alfonso was born, she didn’t realize there was anything wrong. She wasn’t an educated woman so she didn’t fully understand what had happened to him. She didn’t make any sort of formal complaint either—she just put it all down to the will of God.”
“And she brought him up exactly like her other children?”
“Exactly the same.”
“So Alfonso has always lived with the family?”
“Always.”
The doctor smiled appreciatively at his response.
“First he lived with my parents,” Juan continued, “then, when my father died, he stayed on with my mother. She was always fit and active, and very strong physically, until she had a brain hemorrhage seven years ago. So then Alfonso went to live with my brother Damián, as he was better off than my two sisters. He had a large house with a garden, in the Estrecho district, near to where we all grew up. Everybody in the area already knew Alfonso and he could manage quite well on his own. Damián was married to a girl who’d lived next door to us for years, and she was very fond of Alfonso. Her name was Charo, and he adored her. Their house was very well organized, with a live-in maid and another girl who came in the afternoons to look after their daughter, my niece Tamara, who was only a baby at the time. So Alfonso’s arrival didn’t alter their way of life too much. I’m the eldest, but I live on my own.Well, not now; I mean that I lived alone back then, and that’s why it seemed the best solution.”
“So what happened?” the doctor asked. As he remained silent, she decided to press him further.“I’m only asking because Alfonso now lives with you.”
“Yes.” Juan took a breath and answered in one go.“My sister-in-law died in a car accident eighteen months ago. My brother was the driver. He suffered very serious injuries, including brain damage, which was what eventually killed him seven months later. My sisters’ situations were both still very difficult—they each have three children, and the younger of the two is divorced. I’ve always been closer to Alfonso than they have and I’ve always spent a great deal of time with him. I’d take him out at weekends, for lunch, or to the cinema, and he’d sometimes stay at my place on Saturday nights. We’d go away on short trips in the summer. I tried to help my brother and sister-in-law, to give them some breathing space.As you can imagine, Alfonso can be quite exhausting. Damián and I were always very close too. I was only eleven months older than him and I knew his wife very well—we were all part of the same group of friends when we were kids. I went to visit them a lot, I often had lunch there on Sundays, and I’d stay with Alfonso and Tamara if they couldn’t find a babysitter. My niece only saw my sisters at Christmas, on her birthday or her cousins’ birthdays, so when her parents died, I decided to take care of both her and Alfonso.”
“That was very brave of you.”
“No.”This time it was Juan who looked away.“I simply accepted my responsibility.”
“And the change of location? I expect you realized that this could have an adverse effect on your brother.”
“Yes, but I was more worried about my niece.” Juan had foreseen this question.“She was deeply affected by the loss of her mother, and when in the end her father died too, she became very withdrawn, she wouldn’t speak to anyone, and she began to do badly at school. I thought it would be a good idea to have a change, to leave a house that would always remind her of her parents.”
“Of course, of course, I understand,” the psychiatrist said quickly, apologetically, as if Juan’s words had called her expertise into question. “I’m sorry. I’d forgotten about the child. She must be about ten, is that right? I fully understand your decision. Now, tell me more about Alfonso. He must have been very upset over his brother’s death as well.”
“Yes, but he was much more affected by my sister-in-law’s death. I’m just telling you because he still talks to her a lot, as if she were some kind of invisible friend. He tells her what’s going on, talks to her at the table and asks her if she likes the food, asks us to tell her to come upstairs and give him a kiss at bedtime, that kind of thing. He was extremely fond of her because she was like a second mother to him. He had a different relationship with Damián. Damián had a very forceful personality, and well . . . he could be a little abrupt and impatient. It’s not that he didn’t love Alfonso, it was just that he insisted on treating him like a normal person. He expected him to do things he couldn’t possibly do, and imposed rules he couldn’t follow. He insisted on trying to get him to eat properly, stand up straight, keep his shirt tucked into his trousers. He was furious if Alfonso spilt soup down his chin.”
Juan stopped and, looking up, saw that the doctor was now staring at him. He’d known that the question would come up and he’d decided to be open for Alfonso’s sake, not minimizing the ugly facts for which he somehow felt responsible, and without exaggerating them so as to comfort himself for obscure reasons that this woman would never know.
“I would rather not ask you this, but I hope you agree that I really don’t have a choice. Did your brother hit Alfonso?”
“Yes.” Juan met her gaze. “I’m very ashamed to admit it, but he did. Never when I was there, of course, or his wife—she’d always stop him—but . . . It was never systematic violence, it didn’t happen every day, or even every week, it was just sudden bursts of anger. Sometimes, Damián simply felt he couldn’t take it any more, and he hit Alfonso. He didn’t actually beat him, he’d just strike him once or twice until he’d calmed down. But he frequently threatened to hit him and when Alfonso did something wrong, Damián would ask him ‘Do you want me to get cross?’ He acted as if there wasn’t a problem, but a couple of times I managed to get him to talk about it, and I even suggested that we put Alfonso in a residential home, but he’d never agree to it. He wanted to have his brother living at home, but he also wanted him to be different, so they were at an impasse. Damián was a complex character. I don’t think he could stand being the second child, he would have given anything to be me as I was the eldest. He had an obsession with being the head of the family, the patriarch, maybe because he started earning a lot of money when he was very young—he was the typical, successful young businessman. He liked to take care of my parents, buy them expensive, showy presents, give my sisters money at Christmas, and he always had to be the one who gave the most expensive toys to all the kids on their birthdays. Anyway, he wanted to be a father figure to all of us and he wasn’t used to people not doing as he said. Poor Alfonso wouldn’t, and this was the result.”
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