by David Trueba
At his insistence, she agrees to have a drink in an expensive, elegant spot that clashes with her youth. Ariel’s phone rings again. It’s Husky, you talk to him. Ariel passes his cell phone to Sylvia. She says hi. She smiles at something he says on the other side of the line. No, I’d rather say good-bye now, I don’t want to be one of those people who cry buckets at the airport. Today’s been a lovely day and that’s it. I prefer it this way, you don’t mind, do you? Husky seems to have suddenly grown as quiet on the other side of the phone line as Ariel had sitting in front of her. Sylvia hangs up after saying good-bye, he puts an arm around her shoulders. Sylvia can barely hold back her sobs. I didn’t want to cry, she says, and she pulls away to take a sip of her drink. Nothing’s ending, you’re being stubborn, he insists. Fine.
On the street, his car is brought to them. A boy shouts at them from a distance, you were hot today, man. Ariel is surprised at her refusal to yield. I’d rather take a cab. Are you crazy? Ariel opens the door for her and invites her into the car. Let’s not end this badly, okay? A minute later, they are stopped at a traffic light. The red light illuminates Sylvia’s face inside the car. I don’t want a horrible good-bye, filled with tears, the same old story. I don’t want us to call each other every night and end up promising to see each other every three weeks in a hotel. It’s been wonderful, for me it’s been like a dream meeting you, being with you. But it’s over and that’s that. No big deal, right?
The light has turned but Ariel doesn’t feel like driving. He is silent. Random moments lived with Sylvia run through his head, in some sort of chaotic slide show. A section of her skin, along with a laugh, a look with a scent. Sylvia points to the traffic light with her head. Ari, it’s green.
Ariel arrives at Sylvia’s door. Today he brings the car closer than ever before. A guy flashes his lights at him as soon as he turns onto the street. He pulls over, settling in front of a garage entrance, but the car seems to want to go into just that garage and honks again. Ariel leaves the spot, angry. Son of a bitch, he had to go in right there. He stops again at a crosswalk. This is horrible, he says. Sylvia wants to hasten the good-bye, she doesn’t want the scene to go on forever. Take good care of yourself, okay? And she places her hand on the door handle. Ariel brings his fingers to the nape of Sylvia’s neck and she turns. They kiss briefly. Ariel wipes away Sylvia’s tears with the back of his hand. You take good care of yourself, too, he says. Sylvia nods and leaves the car without saying a word. Here, before she closes the door Ariel hands her the CDs he has in the glove compartment. I can buy other copies. Thank you, she says. She takes them and turns quickly.
She heads away from the car. Ariel sees her reach her door. Sylvia crosses between two parked cars, gets up on the sidewalk, and searches in her pocket for her keys. If you don’t turn around to look at me, I’ll kill you, whispers Ariel. Sylvia seems to hear him and very slowly turns around and waves the hand that holds the keys. She vanishes into the doorway. Ariel readjusts himself at the steering wheel. Now where do I go?
9
It’s Saturday. Sylvia opens the door for a young man. Her grandfather sticks his head out of his room. It’s my student, Luis. My granddaughter, Sylvia. They both say hi and avoid each other’s gaze. Sylvia takes refuge in her room and listens from there, to the piano class that takes place in the living room. Soon the new routines will become settled. Today they still hold surprise.
Two days ago, her grandfather moved in with them. Sylvia was used to seeing him in the hospital, when she visited Aurora. One day she’d found him sitting near the bed. With his head glued to the transistor on the nightstand. Almost out of batteries, he said, when he realized Sylvia had been watching them from the door for a little while. Aurora wasn’t really there. Sylvia opened the door to the closet and searched for a coat. She put it at the foot of the bed, then opened the wheelchair. It’s a beautiful day out, Grandpa. Leandro looked at her and then stood up. Let’s go, she said. Leandro took the saline bag off its hook and put it on Aurora’s lap. Then he did the same with the bag of painkiller fluid. Between them they laid her down and moved her carefully to the chair. She barely weighed anything. They had put her coat on while she sat up on the mattress, and Sylvia had looked at her pale nudity under the nightgown. Aurora opened her eyes but she didn’t have the strength to maintain her modesty. Seeing her bare feet, Sylvia took two thick socks out of her backpack, llama wool, they’re from Patagonia, she said as she put them on her grandmother’s feet. Leandro took off his belt and put it around Aurora’s waist to fix her to the chair. So she won’t fall out on us. Aurora didn’t appear to be aware of what was going on around her. The important thing is to act as natural as possible, said Leandro as he pushed the chair. Sylvia opened the door for him.
They waited for the elevator for a few tense minutes. Leandro looked at his granddaughter but they said nothing. There were too many floors in the building and the elevator would get too full. Sylvia readjusted the bags of saline solution and painkiller, making sure that they weren’t moving where they entered the skin under her coat. It gets harder and harder for the nurses to find a vein, said Leandro.
The doors opened and they were able to go down and out. The entrance plaza was an enormous cement square. They walked slowly until they got to a nearby street, its wide sidewalks lined with trees. It was filled with an intense smell of soldering metal, as well as the percussive sound of nearby construction, behind the corrugated fence. They headed away from the noise toward a street thick with traffic, an enormous avenue almost the size of a highway. The exhaust pipes poisoned the air; a bus passed closely by, braking with a metallic shriek at the stop. It was hot, but a slight breeze brushed across Aurora’s skin. They sought refuge on a calmer side street. Years ago all this was a vast open ground and in the summer they organized festivals here, said her grandfather.
Aurora traveled with her eyes open, although it had been several days since her words made any sense. She nodded hesitantly with her head when they asked her if she knew the people in front of her. Sylvia offered to push away obstacles in the street: when the sidewalks became narrow, it was impossible to pass between a garbage can and a traffic sign, the post of a streetlight or a tree. Without saying anything, they went around the block and headed back toward the hospital. The levels of the fluids were getting low.
At least she sees the street, said Leandro. The hospital is horrible. Sylvia complained that the stroll was frustrating. The street wasn’t welcoming, the noise was bothersome, there was nothing lovely to show to Aurora’s empty gaze. It’s a very contradictory feeling, said Leandro. When we lived together, I always wanted to be alone, for her to go out for a walk with her friends. I loved the silence the house was plunged into. But if she was late coming back, I would get nervous and worried, pace along the hall, peek out the window. They stopped at a traffic light; the street noise forced Leandro to raise his voice. Now I know I liked that silence so much because I knew that later she would come back and fill it with her voice, her questions, her radio program. And now …
Leandro couldn’t finish the sentence. They were approaching the hospital.
Sylvia spent the first day that her grandfather lived at the house observing him. He was a quiet man. He went down to the street early to buy bread and the newspaper and he served himself a slice with a trickle of oil as he sat in the kitchen reading the news. He washed what he dirtied and left it in the dish drainer. He watched as Sylvia played a few notes on the piano. It’s out of tune, he said, from the move. I’ll call Suso, the tuner, this afternoon.
The man appeared around nine. Leandro had just arrived from the hospital. Lorenzo replaced him at night. It was quite a show watching the piano tuner work. He had Parkinson’s, but when he pressed the keys, the trembling vanished. Sometimes he sang over the notes, with a frightening tone. La, ti, do, fa. Leandro winked at Sylvia, who was struggling to contain her laughter. The man’s vibratos created some sort of comic feeling of despair. He used to tune all the pianos at
the academy, her grandfather explained, he knows the workings better than anyone. Your grandmother invited him for lunch every time he came to the house to tune the piano. He used to make her laugh. The man heard Aurora’s name mentioned and only said, what rice she used to make, amazing. You don’t eat that well even in a restaurant.
That same morning, Sylvia finished her classes. All she had left was a few makeup exams to avoid more Fs. She was able to push one final to September, but she thought she could pass the rest, which was almost a miracle after her lack of involvement the last few months. To prepare her father, some days earlier she told him that she thought she’d have three incompletes. Lorenzo was shocked. Are you crazy? You want to get left back? She assured him she would pull through. Just you watch, your mother is going to kill me, said Lorenzo. I should have nipped that whole boyfriend thing in the bud, with these late hours you’ve been keeping, but we’ve all got our minds somewhere else. Come on, Papá, forget about it. I screwed up and I’m going to fix it, promised Sylvia. That was when Lorenzo grew serious, staring at the tray of croquettes, and said, if only I could go back to high school. Then he stood up and opened a can of beer. Can I have a sip? asked Sylvia. He hesitated for a second and passed her the can. As she took a small sip, Lorenzo sat in front of her. When did you start drinking beer? He shook his head without waiting for a reply. Then he talked to himself, without daring to look at his daughter. I don’t know, I just don’t want you to turn into a piece of shit, you know? It’s so easy to turn into a piece of shit. Now you’re … Lorenzo stopped himself. I don’t know, it’s so easy to screw up. Do everything wrong.
Sylvia then wanted to hug him, but a physical barrier had been established between them some time ago. It was only broken when joking around. He would muss her hair, she would squirt him with the cologne he hated, he would trip her from the couch, she would grab the remote from him. A hug would be a big deal. She asked him if he was still dating the Ecuadorian girl and all he said was, Daniela? No, it got messy.
Eat, Papá, your croquettes came out awesome, said Sylvia. And he stuffed a whole one into his mouth, as if he were trying to make her laugh.
Sylvia had gone into the math teacher’s office before the end of the day. I’m here to hand in the assignment you asked me for. Oh, leave it over there. There were two other teachers from the department, they were having a little wine one of them had brought. Sylvia placed her papers on the desk. How’d it go? Did you do a good job? I don’t know, answered Sylvia. Don Octavio smiled at her and glanced at the pages. Well, I’ll have a closer look at it and see if we can improve your grade, okay.
Before leaving, Sylvia shot a last look at the teachers in the back of the room. They seemed happy. Yeah, maybe they were drunk. There was barely three inches of cherry-red wine left in the bottle. They were celebrating the end of the year, too. Don Octavio was sitting down and reading what Sylvia had written with a vague smile.
The nurse confronted her grandfather when she saw them coming back down the hall. You are irresponsible, taking her out without permission, we’ll see what the doctor says when he gets here. But the doctor just smiled and increased the painkiller dose. Then he took Leandro out of the room to talk to him alone. Sylvia remained seated beside Aurora’s bed.
Her breathing began to get erratic. She opened and closed her mouth as if she were drowning. Sylvia got nervous and stuck her head out into the hallway. The doctor entered the room with Leandro. She is dying, he told them. Leandro and Sylvia stayed by the bed, one on each side. Alone with her. Leandro held her hand and Sylvia stroked her face.
It wasn’t long before she was dead. She didn’t take long to die. She did it discreetly. Her breathing became more spaced out, and soon it seemed that each breath was her last, but then another, weaker one would come. And it went on that way for a few minutes. Until her mouth stopped, half open, and Leandro tried to close it for her. In the moment of her death, Sylvia felt something leaving Aurora. It wasn’t her soul or anything like what you might imagine. It was as if the person she had been was leaving her, the essence of what Sylvia loved about her, her presence. And all that was left was a body, like a souvenir, more of an object than anything else. It wasn’t mystical at all. Sylvia looked at Aurora and no longer saw her grandmother in her, or even a woman, just defenseless flesh and blood. She lifted her tear-filled eyes and found her grandfather, who was looking at her, too, but she smiled at him. It was now just something between the two of them, a matter for the living.
Sylvia crosses from her room to the kitchen. Her grandfather and his student stop the exercise. Go on, go on, you want something to drink? Then she leaves a pitcher of water with ice and two glasses on the table for them.
Sylvia thinks the guy has an interesting face, with an unexpected mouth that gives meaning to the rest of his features. He was dressed discreetly, as if he didn’t want to reveal too much with his clothing. As she returns to her room, she notices he is staring at her.
When she hears him get up, at the end of class, she sticks out her head to say, see ya later. Her grandfather remains beside the keyboard arranging the musical scores. Sylvia escorts Luis to the door. Will you be coming all summer? she asks him. Yes, I don’t have vacation until August. Oh, well, then I’ll be seeing you. Luis pushes the elevator button and turns toward Sylvia, who is waiting to close the door. Don’t wait for me, go ahead and close it, he says. No, no, that’s okay. Sylvia waits for him to get into the elevator and they wave good-bye.
Do you want to play a little bit? Sylvia is surprised by her grandfather’s question. She shrugs her shoulders and walks over and sits at the piano.
Her grandfather numbers the notes of a score from one to five with an old pencil. Then he places Sylvia’s hand on the keyboard and tells her which number goes with each finger. Sylvia repeats what he has marked. No, pay close attention, play what’s written there. She starts again. Straighten your back. Keep your wrists in line, don’t force it. Very good. As if you had a ball in your hand. Now we are going to play it one octave higher. He places Sylvia’s hands again. His arthritic fingers brush his granddaughter’s young ones. This is a do, fa, sol, fa, la, ti, do, do. Her grandfather starts to sing the notes with each of her strokes.
Sylvia hangs out with Mai and Dani that afternoon. They talk for a while. Mai makes them go into a clothing store. Then she comes out to talk for almost half an hour on her cell phone while she crosses from one sidewalk to the next. They both end up sitting on the curb waiting for her to finish her conversation.
I realized something about Mai, Dani tells her. Nobody would guess it from the way she looks, but I swear that deep down she’s a housewife, she can dress as modern as she wants, but in ten years she’ll be married, paying off the mortgage on a terraced house, and working the checkout at a Carrefour supermarket, or something like that, you’ll see. With dreadlocks and everything.
I don’t know, maybe we’ll all end up the same way, answers Sylvia.
No fucking way, girl.
Sylvia gets together afterward with some friends from school at a bar in Malasaña. The street is packed with drunk students celebrating the end of the year, gathered on the sidewalks and at the doors to the bars. There are police observing the benches in the plaza and boys pile up in the overflowing bars. Sylvia is surrounded by classmates. Once in a while, someone lifts their voice above the noise, with a laugh or an insult. Her cell phone rings. It’s Ariel. Nice tits, he hears Sylvia say to a guy when she passes in front of a group on her way out of the bar. I’m in the airport, I’m about to board. Sylvia covers her other ear with her hand. I can barely hear you, wait, I’m going outside.
I wanted to say good-bye, I hope you don’t mind. Sylvia listens to him. She has gone out to the street and leans her foot on the edge of the sidewalk. Not at all, I love it, call me whenever you want, I don’t know. I can call you, too, right? Of course. How many classes did you fail? asks Ariel. Just one, I think. Next week I’ll know for sure. So you shined at the last minu
te. Just like you, she replies. And math? I passed it, by the skin of my teeth.
Sylvia raises her hand to greet two friends from her high school. On the other end of the telephone, in the background, she hears the voice of the airport public-address system. Ariel talks to her. Are you wearing the necklace? asks Ariel. Yes. Are you touching it? Sylvia takes it out from beneath her T-shirt and strokes the small golden ball broken in half that hangs from her neck. Yes, I’m touching it. Me, too … says Ariel. I’m gonna be watching you, eh, Sylvia. I’m gonna be watching you. And I’ll be watching you, she says.
The sound as the connection breaks is the most abrupt sound she’s ever heard. Sylvia stays out on the street for a moment. She is somewhat drunk. She had to eat a sandwich a little while ago and slow down on beers. Her clothes and hair stink of smoke. In one of her ears, an uneasy, percussive ringing sounds. The asphalt is still giving off the heat of the day and Sylvia notices her T-shirt is sweaty.
A little while later, she says good-bye to her friends. She decides to walk home. She does it unhurriedly, in the road, beside the cars, avoiding the people on the sidewalk. She passes in front of Ariel’s apartment. I’m going to rent it out, I don’t want to sell it, he had told her. If you need it, all you have to do is ask. She wants to be alone, to walk alone. She feels some sort of pain in her chest, intense but pleasurable. It’s as if there were a wound, but a slight wound, a mark on her skin that you want to stroke, acknowledge, enjoy for everything it means to you. While it’s still there, because it might, soon, disappear.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
In the process of writing this novel, I had the indispensable help of a few people. Most of them are friends, so I won’t name them. This way I’ll avoid pointing fingers. I want to say thank you for the many things that belong to them in this book. Some were essential readers; others brought their inspiration to my perspiration. I am indebted to them for Argentinian and Ecuadorian expressions, reflections on the game of soccer, legal details, medical knowledge, musical notes, corrections to my syntax, squinty looks, erotic experiences, and above all the generosity to share them with me. I also borrowed a logic treatise from Adrián Paenza and his book Matemática … ¿estás ahí? and musical and poetic fragments from some teachers who are quoted or hinted at or camouflaged, like for example behind that life lesson I strive to follow: non piangere, coglione, ridi e vai … But perhaps the most important thing is to recognize the patience and support of those who were close to me during the writing process. I hope to have opportunities to share with them any happiness that this book brings us.
