Reflections in the Mirror

by Luis A. Santamaría

  “Has something happened?” he ventured.

  Ricardo’s lips were trembling.

  “Bro,” insisted Daniel. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s all gone to hell, Danny.”

  “What?” Ricardo burst into tears. Daniel took his hand. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it can be fixed. I’ve learnt that everyone has problems, and there’s nothing wrong with sharing them to make you feel a bit better.”

  “She’s left me,” muttered Ricardo with his gaze fixed on the bed sheets.

  Daniel swallowed. “What?”

  “Teresa. She’s left me.”

  Daniel waited in silence for his brother to give more details. He didn’t.

  “Maybe it’s just a rough patch. Maybe you can get her back. You’ve been together for years, that’s not easily forgotten.”

  “She left me four months ago, Danny,” Ricardo interrupted. “She took her things and now she’s living with another bloke.”

  “Shit. And your daughter?”

  “With her mum.”

  Daniel never got on with that manipulative harpy, but it was his brother’s family. And now he was alone.

  “I’m sorry,” added Daniel sincerely. His brother thanked him with a squeeze to his shoulder. “You’ll get through this, you’ll see. Teresa wasn’t the best thing for you, you’ll find someone better.”

  “No. Teresa was right. She didn’t leave me, I pushed her away.”

  Ricardo turned to look his brother in the eye.

  “I’ve been a lousy husband and father these last few months.”

  “Hey, don’t say that. Your daughter adores you, and that will never change.”

  Amongst the pity he felt for his brother, Daniel understood that their relationship had changed. Far from keeping up the ridiculous rivalry born of jealously, both had changed to play for the same team.

  “Look on the bright side,” Daniel continued, “you’ve got the bar. How’s business going?”

  “On the verge of bankruptcy.”

  Why did no one sew my mouth shut while I was in a coma? he asked himself.

  “Rent was extortionate and it doesn’t get half the custom it did at the beginning,” Ricardo explained. “I’ve had to close the outdoor area and lay off the cocktail makers, I couldn’t afford to pay them. I haven’t been very attentive to business lately.”

  Just then Ricardo felt like a stupid, selfish insect. Not only had he just admitted that his life was in complete ruin, but he had also chosen the day his brother woke up from a coma to tell him. Inappropriate timing or what?

  “You know what? I’m going to help you get your bar out of the gutter.”

  Ricardo arched his eyebrows.

  “As soon as I leave this prison, I’ll be your business partner. That bar will go back to being the most popular in Madrid!”

  They both laughed. Then Daniel’s face darkened.

  “Hey, can I ask you about someone?”

  Ricardo nodded. He had understood who he meant straightaway.

  “I know,” he said. “But let me make a quick call first, ok?”

  “Sure, I’m not going anywhere,” Daniel joked, trying to play down his worry about the call his brother was about to make.

  Out in the corridor, Ricardo fiddled with his phone before opening the contacts list. Before making the call he looked both ways to make sure he was alone. He hated what he was about to do, but a promise was a promise. The day the Daniel woke up, if that day ever came, Ricardo had to call the number which was now on his screen. Without another thought, he pressed the call button.

  “Hello?” A male voice spoke in English.

  “Hi Jaime. It’s me, Ricardo.”

  “Hey, Ricardo, I hadn’t recognised your voice”. The voice on the end of the line switched to perfect Spanish. “How are you?”

  “Actually, I wanted to speak to...”

  “Hi, darling!” Jaime interrupted, as he spoke to someone else. “It’s Ricardo. He wants to speak to you. I’ll pass you over, OK? Ricardo?”

  “Oh, yeah, erm... great. Thanks.”

  “Take care.”

  “You too.”

  Through the earpiece, Ricardo heard how the phone changed hands.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Sofia.”

  There was a silence that seemed to last an eternity to Ricardo.

  “Ricardo, what is it?” Her voice shook.

  “It’s happened. Daniel has woken up.”

  Just then, the phone slipped out of her hands and smashed against the wooden floor with a dry crack. Through the living room window, the early morning sunlight bathed the flat in orange. Sunlight that fought its way between the gaps of the imposing governmental buildings of Manhattan.

  35

  From inside the car, the sky looked darker over the sierra. In spite of the cold outside, and thanks to the heating and the thick jacket he was wearing, Daniel was about to break out into a sweat.

  It had been a few days since he had been released from hospital, and although they had told him he could carry on with life as normal, one recommendation had been crystal clear. Don’t drive. Daniel had simply chosen to ignore their suggestion; he couldn’t put off what he was about to do.

  “I don’t know if you should go after her,” Ricardo had said in the hospital. “She’s settled down and happy.”

  “I don’t care. I’m being selfish, I know but being happy with that doctor isn’t enough. I want her to be happy with me.”

  Ricardo shook his head.

  “You don’t understand. I don’t care about her, I care about you. You’re going to get hurt. I’m just trying to avoid that.”

  “Tell me one thing: was Sofia worried about me while I was in a coma.”

  Ricardo wasn’t sure. Should he tell him the truth or tell a kind lie, which Daniel would probably see straight through. He knew him too well.

  “Yes,” was all he said.

  Daniel’s eyes glittered.

  “Then I’m sorry to say that there is nothing you can do to stop me going after her. I’ve decided.”

  Ricardo nodded with the conviction that Daniel had the same chance of winning Sofia over as he did as flying.

  “The best of luck then, little bro.”

  A lorry overtook him on a bend and Daniel had to slam the brakes on, bringing him back to the present.

  For the first time in his life, he knew what he wanted, no one was going to stop him, but before that he had to visit someone special. Reaching the top of a hill, he saw the spire of Buitrago church . A shiver ran down his spine, his sweat turned cold. When was the last time he had stepped foot in that place, he asked himself. A few days ago? Or a few years? Either of the options seemed equally as likely.

  Everything was exactly as he remembered. In the end, he’d lived there until not all that long ago. He drove along the cobbled one-way streets of the village and stopped the car beneath the oak tree that welcomed those presuming to visit old Jorge Santos (who were few and far between). The garden was just as unkempt as usual: overgrown weeds and bushes had made a perfect paradise for snails, crickets and cockroaches. As far as the house was concerned, the dark day gave it a ghostly feel.

  The front door was open. Daniel gasped when he saw the inside: termite riddled furniture, broken crockery and thick cobwebs in every corner. Specks of dust floated through shafts of light that fought their way between the shuttered windows. The scene would have given anyone goose bumps, but not Daniel, who looked over to the hole of a kitchen expecting to find his father eating toast and drinking coffee for breakfast. He smiled nostalgically. He savoured every step he took in that house as if it would be his last. Maybe it would be. He walked over to the floor where Manu would set up his torture devices. They seemed like memories from another life. He struggled to accept that all of that had taken place such a short time ago, however, in reality, he couldn’t take in that it hadn’t actually happened.

  The cupboard in the living room had eight drawers. D
aniel reached his right hand to the top one and pulled on the handle. He felt ridiculous for expecting to find anything but, surprisingly, it was there. He noticed how his cheeks got hot when he found the old piece of paper in that drawer. He gave a roar of laughter that bounced off the walls, then he carefully extracted the paper, fearful of it disintegrating at the slightest touch.

  The paper was folded in half, so that you couldn’t see what was written on it, but Daniel was certain he knew what it would say. Unfolding the sheet, a much smaller piece of paper floated down to his feet. He bent down to pick it up and blew it. Dust flew off it, making him sneeze. Daniel read the new paper:

  Dearest Danny,

  If you’re reading this, it means that you made it in the end and you managed to live. I’m so glad. I know I was far from being the dad that you needed. Not a day has gone by that I haven’t regretted that. I hope that you’ll come to forgive me one day.

  As they say, what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. Fate ran a high risk with you, but I’m confident that you’ve learnt your lesson. I’m sure that you have learnt that you have to live life with your heart and without fear, and that beating yourself up about your failures is a waste of time. But I don’t want to get carried away as usual, seeing as you’ll already know all of this yourself. Enjoy your life, be happy and make those around you happy too. That’s the secret.

  I love you, Son.

  P.S. Remember the theory of balance: to win you have to risk losing.

  With his eyes misty from tears, Daniel reflected on how much his life had changed. It was funny that he’d learnt more lying unconscious in a bed than he had throughout the rest of his waking life.

  He slipped the paper he’d been looking for into his jacket pocket, the one that his father had shown him just after they had finished watching the home video. It was a poem that he’d keep with him forever. Then he left the house with the sensation that he’d never go back.

  It’s totally abandoned, he thought as he stopped the car at the entrance to Buitrago cemetery. The sound of the wind against the trees was the only one that accompanied him as he entered. A shiver ran down his spine and he pulled his jacket tighter. The graveyard was set out in rows, and Daniel walked up and down them checking the names engraved on the headstones. He was looking for his father’s. As he walked with his arms crossed, he remembered the zombie films his brother used to make him watch when they were kids. He’d hated them. The vision of the living-dead disappeared when he found the grave. A simple, but clean headstone. He saw it had been put up recently.

  JORGE SANTOS ARROYO

  1945-2010

  He wished he hadn’t wasted so much time being angry at him. Right now, he’d change all of those years for just one more day by his side. But these things weren’t possible. He cursed himself for only realising now, now that it was too late, all the things his father had done for him. If only he could thank him. There had been a time when he’d be in a bad mood when his father called just to ask after him. How stupid he’d been! He’d give anything for one of those calls now.

  “Hi, Dad,” he said to the gravestone. “Today isn’t a good day. You left without making a sound, you didn’t even tell me. You preferred to say goodbye to me before I had to say goodbye to you. You stubborn old goat! I know what you’re going to say, that you’re too old and you’d already lived all that you were due and more but, you’ve messed me up!”

  He couldn’t hold it in anymore, he started to cry.

  “I remember the day Mum died. I think that was a turning point in all our lives. Since then we all just started to grow further apart from one another, right up to the point that you became a total stranger to me. But then, you saved my life. You took care of me, even when you were dead. You old git, you knew how much I didn’t like you when you came for me at the hospital and took me with you, and just as I started to remember what it was like to love you, just as I started to become your friend, you make me come back and you disappear forever. I know you did it on purpose. Your aim wasn’t to get me to love you, it was to get me to survive. When everyone had given up on me, you insisted on bringing me back to the realm of the living. You didn’t just help me find the way out of the coma, you showed me to see things in another way. You showed me how to live. You’re a damn genius, did you know that? Of course you did, you arrogant old man.”

  He paused to dry his eyes on the sleeve of his jacket.

  “You won’t believe it but, I’m going to miss all your weirdness, your pig-headedness of always having the last word. I’m going to miss waking up early in the morning and turning down the last piece of toast soaked in oil that you kindly would offer. You know, I’d go back and hug you every day that I ignored you and thank you for each and every thing you did for me.” He looked up at the sky with glassy eyes. “God, I hope you can hear me.”

  “Another thing. I’m thinking of working on the house here in Buitrago to do it up and make it as good as new. I’ll redo the garden, paint the walls and buy new furniture. When I have my own family, we’ll spend the summers here. I’ll never forget your theory of balance, because now I can admit it without having you get all smug in front of me, how right you were!”

  The first drops of what would turn into a thunderstorm started to fall. Daniel wasn’t fazed.

  “I can think of plenty of reasons to thank you and remember you by, but I can’t be here for the rest of my life. I just hope that one day you feel as proud of me as I do of you. Wherever you are, I hope you keep watching over me, because I can promise you that you’ll like what you’re going to see. You can rest in peace now, Dad.”

  His hand was shaking when he put it in his pocket and took out the piece of paper from the drawer. He kissed it and put it in an envelope, then placed it on the headstone, under a bunch of flowers to protect it from the weather.

  “Don’t forget your poem,” he whispered with a special glint in his eyes, “although I don’t think you’ll need it any more.”

  The rain was hammering down by the time Daniel took a step back and looked at his dad’s grave one last time. From here, he saw that a majestic oak tree watched over it from the left, while on the right...

  “Shit!”

  He had to rub his eyes to believe what he was seeing. According to the engraving the man who lay to rest beside Jorge, was none other than MANUEL SAN ROMÁN.

  The guffaw that Daniel let out rivalled the tears from before. The nutty physiotherapist was also six feet under. Daniel understood then too that, in a way, the Andalucian had also said goodbye to him in a way when he drove him to the party.

  “Thanks, mate. I’ll never forget you,” Daniel said. He went up to the headstone and planted a kiss on the granite top.

  He left the cemetery with the certainty of having three people waiting for him on the other side. Three people that knew what was going on inside his soul, because they’d been inside of him trying to make him better. Jorge, Manu and Steve, the old Englishman with the flowers in the water, were family and friends no more. They would always be much more than that. They were part of him, part of a secret that no one else would ever know.

  Relieved from the intense pain he’d lugged around inside for many years, he left Buitrago. It was a little over an hour to get to his next and final destination: the airport.

  JORGE’S POEM TO ANDREA

  On this terrible night,

  sad as a child that weeps,

  I give my thanks to God

  for my boundless fortune.

  Whimsical attacks of fate,

  have pained me, but I have not faltered.

  Seduced by solitude,

  I have not mourned, nor have I fallen.

  Behind this moment of fury and sorrow,

  my soul cries out victorious.

  And I look back:

  I have loved you and I have kissed you, my beautiful wife.

  It matters not what happens from this moment on,

  death and dying hold no fear for me.

/>   For I know that you shall be waiting for me there,

  and I have known how to live.

  My dearest Angie,

  I fear that old age has come and with it my most treasured possessions, my memories, slink away. Our story, just like my feelings for you, deserve to be remembered like epic battles. Because that was what they were right from the beginning, do you remember? That’s why I write this letter, to help me carry on. I will keep it with me until my last breath, moments before I see you again. Until then, don’t forget me. I promise to do the same.

  P.S. You’re behind the door once again.

  Yours adoringly,

  Jorge

  36

  “Don’t you think you might have overdone it on the decorations? We’re not going to see the branches.”

  Sofia smiled, looking at the artificial tree she and Jaime had bought for Christmas. In that corner of the living room, it glittered, but Jaime had got over excited and bought tons of shiny baubles, tinsel and mini Santa’s.

  “Don’t exaggerate, there aren’t that many,” he replied as he hung the last of the decorations on the remaining branches. “It always looks like there are more in the box.”

  That day was ideal for decorating the house for the festive season; a veritable deluge swept the streets of New York while the warmth of the radiators and the classic Christmas music gave a pleasant atmosphere to the afternoon.

  “Do you like it there next to the window?” Sofia asked pensively, with her finger on her chin.

  Jaime turned her around by her shoulders and hugged her close.

  “There is something that goes better,” he whispered in her ear.

  “What?”

  “You, of course!”

  “You’re daft.”

  “You go especially well in the bedroom.”

  Sofia giggled and rested her nose on his chin.

  “Do you think so?”

  Jaime nodded playfully.

  “How about we try it?” She checked her watch. Then she followed her impulse to give him a lingering kiss. “You’ve got time, right?”