“Come,” I said, after some minutes of silent weeping, “let’s go downstairs with Marcus and Dad.”
“No!” Jaime said. “I don’t want to see Dad!”
“Why?” I asked.
“I just don’t want to!”
“But he’s your dad! And you’ll have to see him again sometime!”
“I don’t want to!” His shouted, frowning and clenching his fists.
“All right,” I said, “it’s okay. You don’t need to see him today. You can stay here and do your homework and listen to some music. I’ll bring you dinner.”
“Thank you,” he said, his voice calm again.
“But you have to promise something,” I said. “Tomorrow morning, you’ll come downstairs and you’ll say good morning to your father with a beautiful, big smile.”
“Okay,” he said, unconvinced. “Okay, I can do that.”
Mark was preparing dinner. He stopped what he was doing when he saw me come down the stairs and followed me with his eyes. He looked overcurious, but I wasn’t sure I wanted to resume our conversation. Words hurt me. It was as if giving things a name was going to make them more real, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t want my thoughts to become sentences, not to mention Mark’s thoughts. I didn’t even want to start imagining what might’ve been crossing my husband’s mind.
“How was it?” he inevitably said.
“It was all right.” I trusted my brevity would suffice to dissuade him from having this conversation, but I was wrong.
“What did he say? Is he okay?”
“Yes, he’s okay. He’s just upset, and he regrets what he’s done.”
“Does he?” Mark asked.
“Well, he tries, Mark. He wants to be a good boy.”
“Apparently, he’s not trying hard enough.”
“I’m not in the mood for your sarcasm, and to be honest, I don’t want to have this conversation.”
“Sorry. I suppose I’m concerned.”
“Well, so am I.”
“We need to talk, then. Thoroughly.”
He was right. Both of us were concerned and worried. He took advantage of my hesitation and my momentary absence to throw his first statement.
“I don’t want him near Marcus.” I couldn’t even reply, slapped by his words and mute with sadness, so he carried on. “They can’t be together without our supervision.”
Mark’s voice was a poison. It was making me sick.
“I won’t sit here and listen to you implying my boy is a threat!” I said.
“I’m not implying anything!” His nervous voice struggled to come out of his throat. He took a few seconds to make sure he said exactly what he meant. “I’m saying it!”
He was giving shape to the amorphous and disordered mass of thoughts I had kept locked in a hidden corner in my brain. He had said it, and this wasn’t the end of it.
“You saw what he did to our dog!” he carried on, encouraged by my silent face. “Or have you forgotten? He cut his throat open! With a knife! A five-year-old boy!”
I didn’t even know what to say, what kind of justification I could come up with to stand up for Jaime. “He was scared…”
“Scared? Scared, you say? Does a scared boy, a five-year-old scared boy take a knife from a drawer, approach his pet pretending he’s going to caress his head and slice his throat in cold blood?”
“I…”
“Aren’t you scared of what might happen to Marcus? Aren’t you? I don’t believe you.”
“I am scared,” I said, compromising only that much. “But I can’t believe he could do that to…”
“Well, we’re not taking any chances, are we?”
“I guess.” I felt so stupid. All I could do was mumble and hesitate and sound like a little girl who is being told off.
“Laura,” he interrupted, “I need to know you’re with me here.”
“I don’t want him to be close to Marcus either,” I said. “Not without me.”
My sentence was interrupted by the sound of tiny steps fading away and a closing door on the first floor. Mark and I looked in that direction, only to see the empty staircase.
“Jaime!” Mark said.
“Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” I said as I sat up.
The air inside my chest collapsed into itself, barely leaving me space to breathe. It couldn’t be true. Not like this. It couldn’t be that I failed my boy in this insidious way. The last person he could trust had betrayed him. I felt the impulse to rush after him, but I understood it’d be useless. There wasn’t anything I could say to regain his trust. He’d hate me. Maybe forever.
What tormented me the most was the thought of Jaime being alone. Abandoned. Forsaken. I wasn’t any different from his biological family. I was even worse. A selfish being incapable of keeping her mouth shut. Incapable of thinking ahead, of looking for solutions to problems created by myself. Myself and Mark. Jaime. His misery couldn’t be measured in human terms.
“Easy, Laura,” Mark said.
“Easy?” I asked. “You don’t understand! We’re all he had!”
“We’re still here! It’s not like we’re going away and leaving him behind.”
“We have already left him behind! Why can’t you see it? Are you blind?”
“What?”
“This is your fault!” My eyes flooded. “It’s your fault! You have never forgiven him for what happened to you that day, have you?”
“What are you talking about?”
“That day! When you fainted! You blamed him for that!”
“What does that have to do with any of this?”
“Everything!” I shouted. “Everything!” Marcus’s weeping was louder and louder. “You believe he did that to you! You told me!”
“I never told you that!”
“You suggested it, you superstitious bastard!”
“I just said it was weird! I never said it was the boy!”
“You have been trying to convince me Jaime was evil since the day we found him!”
“What? No! Listen to yourself!”
“I do!” I was losing control. “I listen to myself, I listen to you, I listen to every-fucking-body!”
“Laura! You need to calm down! You’re not thinking clearly!”
“Oh, so the neurotic Laura has lost her mind again, huh? Laura and her perturbed brain are an inconvenience to you, huh?”
“I’m not continuing with this conversation unless you calm down.”
“Is that so? You don’t want to talk anymore? Well, I’ve got news for you: I don’t care!”
I took Marcus with me to my bedroom. He was crying so much. My hot blood rushing through my veins was pushing me violently through the hall and up the stairs. It was all messed up. The only thing that mattered to me now was my two boys. Jaime’s sobs could be heard from the corridor. He was devastated. So young and so much pain. It wasn’t fair. I needed to talk to him. Even if useless, I needed to have a conversation with him. I loved him! This wouldn’t ever change. He needed to know. But I couldn’t take poor Marcus with me. I had to soothe him and put him to sleep. The last thing I wanted was to have my baby in my arms while talking to Jaime after what he’d just heard, so I laid him in his cot and waited, rocking him and singing his favourite song.
Jaime was in bed, but he wasn’t sleeping. Although his crying was more serene now, I knew he was being torn apart from the inside. I didn’t even know how to start. My heart sped up. Doubt and fear pushed me back. But I overcame my pain and focused on helping Jaime overcome his own.
“I love you,” I said, but the words sounded hollow as a reed straw, and they only returned their own echo to me. “I love you so much. I want you to know that.” Jaime wouldn’t even look at me. I sat on the bed and carried on. I was going to say all I had to say. Even if it was futile. He needed to know.
“Jaime,” I carried on, “I wanted to make you happy since the day I met you. I know it has been difficult for you, we went through some harsh
moments, but I need you to know how much I’ve always loved you. When I saw you back in Peru, all alone and starving, I thought it was unfair and something had to be done. We’d never talked about it, but all I did, I did for love. I’ve done lots of selfish things in my life, but I promise you that bringing you here, with us, to our home, wasn’t one of them. You were weak, vulnerable, and I knew I had to act or things would get really ugly for you. I’m not saying this for you to be thankful, nor to force you to forgive me for saying such a terrible thing earlier. I’m saying this so you know I love you, with all my heart, and nothing will ever change that.”
“But you’re scared of me!” he said. “You too!” Tears came to my eyes when I heard him.
“I’m not scared of you! I know you’ve got a truly gentle heart. You’re a good boy! It’s just, like many adults, like myself and your dad and most people, we can sometimes be furious and hurt others, even those we love. But that doesn’t mean I don’t trust you or that I think you could wish ill to your brother. Or to your dad.”
“You’re like everybody else. Everybody’s scared of me. They ran away from me. Everybody. And now you too. You’re scared, too. You think I can hurt Marcus.”
“I don’t think you can hurt Marcus, sweetheart. Not on purpose.”
“He’s my little brother,” he stated. “I’d never hurt my little brother. Ever.”
“I know. I know.”
“We’re a team.”
“I know you are, and a very good one, if you ask me.”
His expressionless eyes wandered around the room. He was shocked. He had been alone once, both physically and emotionally, and he had gotten over it. He had been able to move on. But it all was thanks to our help, and he had nobody now to resort to.
I lay down by his side. Stroking his hair. Kissing his forehead. My right arm wrapping him. And I waited there. Still. Quiet. Until he fell asleep.
Chapter 20
Goodbye
Mark lived in a state of contagious paranoia. Any noise, however insignificant, would make him sit up and look around. His eyes were CCTV cameras operating 24/7 to ensure nothing happened to Marcus. He was obsessed, and this constant tension made me feel equally uneasy. We never left Jaime alone with the baby. If they had to be together – regardless of if they were having breakfast, playing or watching TV – one of us had to be present at all times.
Jaime realised. He was young but not stupid. I tried my best to gain him back, to make him believe I trusted him, but my actions didn’t match my words. I was discrediting myself by giving credit to my husband’s fears. I pretended I wasn’t scared. I played the caring mum role, watching over both my kids at all times. Jaime didn’t buy it. He always had a grim look reserved for me.
Our fears became his defiance, and our suspicion his misbehaviour. I saw passive and impotent how our stupidity and mistrust was fuelling Jaime’s anger. It was happening. I was losing him. Sometimes, when everything was quiet, when Mark was working and Jaime at school and I was alone with Marcus at home, I found myself tortured by my own thoughts. What if Jaime was the problem? Sometimes he didn’t look like himself. He was another person. A stranger. He said things a boy his age would never say. What if Mark was right, after all?
The shadow that had accompanied him throughout his life had become darker. He wasn’t a child anymore. He was more like an old man: cynic and grumpy, all trace of excitement taken from him. The curiosity he had for everything and everybody had vanished, and so had his childhood, or at least all the thrill childhood is supposed to have for everybody.
Even the way he walked had changed. He dragged his feet apathetically as if he were forced to walk against his will. It broke my heart to see him like that. What had we done? What was the point of everything? Why live like this? I couldn’t do anything about it. I was impotent. The situation drained me. It drained us all. A cloud of sadness and mistrust was devouring our family from the inside, and Mark and I were the only ones to blame.
Jaime’s apathy brought to my mind the image of our dog lying on the floor with a red slit on his throat. It was terrible. I don’t know why it affected me in such an awful way after so much time. It was like going through everything again. There were details I just couldn’t forget. Happy’s tail still moving as if nothing happened, as if he were waiting for this game of play dead to be over. Jaime’s hands covered in blood. Walking to me. The walls and the furniture and the carpet stained with red. But the stronger image, the one I couldn’t stop thinking of, was my son’s feet leaving a crimson trace on the carpet. One by one. Slow but firm. The whole shape of his trainers stamped on the floor. I couldn’t forget it, and the worst thing, the most disgusting part, is that it reminded me of my own nature. My own past. Pursuing me overseas like a tireless hitman. Finding me everywhere I went. Across countries and continents. Across land and sea and skies. There was no place in the world I could hide from it.
The first Saturday after Jaime overheard our conversation, we decided to spend the evening together at home. The weather was terrible. It was rainy and windy, and everybody in the city seemed to be sheltering. I was trying to be in a good mood, though. I loved staying at home. Particularly with my husband and my boys by my side. It was a warm feeling. Peaceful. I didn’t need to worry about anything. Just stay there, enjoying trivial conversations about songs and cartoons, and the laughter and the sweet atmosphere. That day was different. All joy had been surgically severed. Sombre faces and sombre voices were the only sound I heard. The tension didn’t let me breathe. I felt I couldn’t even move without destroying the weak link keeping all the pieces in balance. It was depressing, and it stifled my initial good mood.
“Shall we order pizza?” Mark said. “And see if we can cheer up a little bit?”
“I think that’s an excellent idea, actually,” I answered. “What do you think, Jaime?”
“Yeah, pizza is okay.”
We let Jaime choose a film while waiting for the food, but he didn’t show the slightest excitement. He just shrugged and stood there, staring at the TV. Bored. I felt powerless. Everything was broken. I was just an observer watching my family being ripped apart. Devoured bite by bite. A globe of burning tar was growing in my stomach and blasting my lungs at every breath. Jets of sweat drenched my hair and my back. I felt wet all over my body. Wet and ill and useless. My voice wouldn’t come out. My breath wouldn’t make any sound but a stupid pant I felt in my temples, along with a myriad of bombs exploding at the same time. I dared not move. Nor look anybody in the eyes.
The pizza came. Mark opened the door, paid, tipped the girl and closed the door again. His face had an outlining grimace of inner agony. The three of us sat at the table and ate. Marcus patiently waited in his pushchair for me to finish my dinner and come back to him. There weren’t any words. There weren’t any looks either. Only evasive eyes avoiding everybody else’s face. We all looked angry without having had an argument. It was as if we had just fought. But I wasn’t angry. I was miserable. I felt I wouldn’t be able to hold my tears for much longer. I stood up to leave the table. I didn’t want to eat any more.
“Are you all right, Laura?” Mark asked. Jaime looked at me too, and I wanted to believe he wasn’t indifferent to my pain.
“Yes,” I answered. “It’s just I’m not hungry.”
I picked up my plate, left it in the sink and came near Marcus. When he looked at me and I saw his smiley eyes scrutinising me, I quietly gave in to my pain and cried. Nobody noticed, except perhaps Marcus himself. I kissed him, left him in the pushchair again and went to the toilet. My hands felt dirty. I washed them, and I refreshed my face afterwards as if I knew I’d need all my senses awake and alert for what was coming.
I looked at the mirror, horrified at the sight of what I had become. It wasn’t me anymore. She was a stranger. Her skin was pale and her hair stripped of all its brightness. There were more wrinkles, everywhere, and a gloomy shade in her expression. Her desperate eyes looked anxiously for any trace of her
past beauty and her sparkle. So many hopes and projects hiding behind her tanned forehead. But it was useless. She wasn’t there. A miserable shadow of her youth was all that was left.
I washed my face again and again, until my cheeks recovered some of their colour and the cold of the water was hard to bear. The tips of my long curly hair were soaked, and a thread of water was falling on to the floor and accompanying me as I moved back to my family. I took a deep breath. Twice. Three times. Until I was ready.
“No!” I heard Mark say as I approached the living room. “Stop! Don’t!”
I ran. My hair hissing as an arrow through the wind. My feet sinking in the carpet at every step. I needed to run faster. Just a little faster. My brain sent me a load of adrenaline I could barely stand. My vision grew sharp. My ears hurt. My body was working with a machined perfection. But my mind was all pain and torment, and it wouldn’t let me think clearly. It wasn’t fair. I didn’t deserve it. We didn’t deserve it. Not even in the worst of my nightmares I dared imagine something so awful. A gruesome fear cut my breath. But my body pushed forward. My body and my instinct and my will. Eager to protect my family. To save all of them.
I crossed the threshold, and I saw the monster. It wasn’t big and ugly and hideous. It wasn’t evil. It was just the monster we all have inside, feeding on our fears and hatred and awaiting its opportunity to take over and finish our life with a single blow. It wasn’t Jaime. I refused to accept that. It was something else, darker, like an amorphous mass of rancour spreading its shadows across the room.
“Jaime!” I shouted.
He looked at me. He smiled. I noticed like a spark the shiny blade of the knife he held. Where had he found it? That wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. It was just a bad dream. The worst dream. Jaime was playing with the knife inches away from Marcus’s face. The poor baby was just a few months old. He wasn’t aware of anything. Only one small cut, and his existence would end like a lightning bolt: quick and blinding and violent. Marcus only smiled. He loved his older brother; only one of Jaime’s whispers was enough to calm him down when he cried. It was magic. They looked like they had been together forever.
The Outcast Son Page 15
