Sergio Y.

by Alexandre Vidal Porto

  This parallelism would be the basis for Sergio’s going to New York. He would have followed Adriana’s example. He would have traveled to find himself. He took Sandra to New York, so that she could be as happy as Angelus was. Like him, he would become a bastion, reinvented in a new country.

  Sergio and Adriana jumped off the diving board trusting that in the pool below—that in America—there was water.

  Metaphorically, America was everything that they already were, but had not yet managed to be. It was in New York that Adriana and Sergio were reborn. Or better said, it was where Sandra and Angelus were born, because, in fact, Adriana and Sergio only went to New York to quietly die.

  I walk the city and feel a little dizzy. I walk block by block. If there are no cars coming, I cross even if the crossing signal flashes red. I want to reach a conclusion.

  How much happiness was there in the life of Sandra Yacoubian, who was killed on Grove Street? On the morning of the day she was murdered did she wake up thinking happy thoughts or sad ones? That day did she experience any joy in living?

  The few times I have been to a sports stadium, I could not avoid thinking that every one of those persons—not to mention the flies, the cockroaches, the ants, the bacteria, everything alive in that stadium—would die. At different times, of course, but each in their own way would disappear.

  It is obvious, but we forget. It must be some sort of defense mechanism we possess without knowing. It is like going to one of those hypermarkets on a Saturday afternoon and, in the checkout line, waiting, surrounded by carts overflowing with grocery, realizing that all that food will soon turn to shit. No one thinks it, but it is so.

  This is more morbid than I would have liked, but that is because I need to remind myself—I have a tendency to feel immortal—that we all die at some point. Some prematurely, as was the case with Sandra. Others, long after their expiration date.

  Death does not necessarily have anything to do with the deceased’s life. Happy and sad people die just the same. Death does not choose based on your mental state or level of happiness. That is the irony. One day you are happily walking along the beach. Feeling fine, walking from Leme to Leblon. And, all of a sudden, you feel a shock in the middle of your chest. The pain paralyzes your neck. Then your heart. And you go blank. You are dead. You were happy but died just the same.

  All my patients will die too. The fact that their death will be tragic, or quick, or heroic is mere and complete happenstance. The death of Sergio Y. was criminal and premature, but was it fated? It is sad that he died murdered and young. But why should it have been any different?

  Even if the body of the deceased were able to retain fond memories of its last day, those memories are final, finished. Not one more letter may be added or deleted. There can be no editing. Nothing more will happen to a man once he is buried—unless they decide to move the bones to make room for someone else.

  Sergio Y. considered himself unhappy. Perhaps it was the same unhappiness which Adriana could not excise from her body.

  For transsexual individuals, the body, its physical appearance, is the greatest source of distress.

  Imagine being a woman, feeling you were a woman, yet being seen by the world as a man. An invisible woman, that is what Sergio Y. was. Doomed to never be seen, to always appear as what he was not. Imagine you, a woman, with hair growing out of control all over your face and breasts, speaking with a man’s voice, hysterctomized, with something hanging between your legs forever.

  Angelus and Sandra were locked in a prison for years, hidden from the view of others, inside bodies that were not their own. One day, after a journey, after an ocean crossing, they finally managed to emerge and acquire a life of their own. The feeling Sergio complained of in his sessions with me consisted simply in his not being able to give life to who he really was, Sandra.

  The role I had in achieving this happiness is hard to assess.

  Considering that my only involvement in the matter was to instruct him to visit Ellis Island—or so I think—then what I did was very little. Just a random comment, without therapeutic intentions any deeper than that. Of course I thought his visit to the museum would trigger mental processes, but that was only because he was an intelligent person, and the museum is educational. I thought he would like Ellis Island because when I went I liked it. And there was also the whole story of his grandfather, who found his America in Belém.

  Sergio might just as easily have decided to go to Ellis Island on his own, not because of my suggestion or anyone else’s. He would have found the book that pointed the way to his happiness and offered him an example to follow just the same. As you can see, my participation in all this was minimal, as my friend Eduardo had already brought to my attention.

  Perhaps I am refusing to take any credit for Sandra’s success for fear I would then also be responsible if her happiness had not been so great after all, in which case she would have died senselessly with her face pressed to the cold stone, merely because I was unable to diagnose her condition.

  People’s defense mechanisms are very complex. Those of psychiatrists are even more so. I feel like I am doing the same thing I did when I deceived Dr. Coutts with regards to my knowledge of Sergio Y.’s transsexuality. I should have learned my lesson in humility. I need to understand that accepting limitations does not make me more vulnerable. I need to seek out the truth, even if cautiously.

  As far as Dr. Coutts was concerned, my role in Sandra’s clinical stabilization was “fundamental.” Tereza herself in the supermarket told me unequivocally of all the good I had done for her son. She even thanked me. She said: “Thank you very much for everything you did for my son.” She seemed happy. And, if she gave that impression, it was because her son was doing well. There is no such thing as a happy mother with an unhappy son.

  Sergio Y. had his sex change operation in a foreign country, but he did not suffer for it. If his search was the same as Angelus’s, his goal had been accomplished. But did Sandra Yacoubian really find happiness?

  I arrived too late to get my answer in person. Cecilia Coutts, however, confirmed that Sandra had been happy. What did the parents who gave her life think? What did Laurie Clay, who wiped her life out, think?

  WHAT SERGIO Y. WOULD HAVE SAID IF

  HE HAD NOT FALLEN FROM A WINDOW

  AND BROKEN HIS NECK

  I would have gone to the restaurant in a pair of nice trousers, a dress shirt, a blazer and no tie. I would have gone alone, on one of those nights when Mariana had plans with her friends from college.

  Sandra would have come out dressed in a chef’s uniform, with a chef’s coat and a net for her long hair. Atop the net she would wear a white chef’s hat, the kind we see on television.

  After saying hello, I would ask: “Where is Sergio? Do you know what happened to Sergio?”

  Sandra would smile and say:

  “Sergio and I traded places, Dr. Armando. I used to be your patient too. You just never saw me. I spoke through Sergio. That deep voice was mine. Now, it’s me, Sandra, who is visible. I’ve been given a reprieve from my life sentence. Sergio still exists, but he is inside me now, hidden in the past.

  “It made me happy when mother told me she’d run into you at the supermarket. I always wanted to see you again. I always wanted to tell you my secret.

  “I never told you I was trans because, to tell you the truth, I never had the opportunity. There were so many other things to talk about . . .

  “At first, I hoped you’d confront me about it. But since you never did, and since I still enjoyed our sessions and learned from them, I continued my treatment with you. I had nothing to lose. Not everything in life is sexual identity. Right?

  “I think I was getting ready to approach the subject with you when I went to New York on vacation. When the Bosnian taxi driver who drove me to Battery Park to catch the ferry explained to me why he’d come to America,
I was reminded of my great-grandfather, Areg. Do you remember that I told you about him?

  “I would have died if I had stayed there. I would have died if I had not moved, as I did.’

  “That was the explanation the Bosnian taxi driver gave for fleeing his homeland. That was part of my epiphany. And on the island, in the museum bookstore, of all those stories, of all those people, it was Angelus’s life I pulled off the shelf. I think God spoke to me at that moment. Angelus’s life inspired me. He showed me what I should do with mine. After reading his story, I thought: ‘All right: that’s what I need to do,’ and then everything changed.

  “Thank you for being my first guide. You might say that you taught me to read. Without ever directly addressing my transsexuality, you led me to the solution. Silently—without embarrassment, without tears.

  “By the time I came to Dr. Coutts, I knew exactly what I had to do with my life. None of this would ever have been possible without you. You spared me from the suffering and the pain.

  “It’s a pleasure to welcome you to my restaurant tonight. I knew you’d come, so I prepared a four-course menu, especially for you. Each dish will be a tribute to one of your qualities. Never will these recipes be used again. They will last only as long as this tasting and the memories it leaves behind. It is a small gesture of thanks.

  “The first course is a mushroom tartar, seasoned with lemon and fleur de sel. I’ve used several types of mushrooms, chopped finely and combined into a homogeneous mixture. The sauce is seasoned with only lemon and salt. This dish uses few ingredients and pays homage to your integrity.

  “The second course is a mascarpone cheese and corn ravioli dish with Parmesan foam. I cut the dough myself and stuffed it by hand. The mascarpone envelops the corn, and the dough envelops the filling. The foam makes everything more comfortable. This dish celebrates the affection you show your patients.

  “The main course is eggplant, on a bed of herbs, stuffed with chestnuts, cinnamon and curry. This dish seems simple but is complicated to make. The base of the seasoning blend is made up of seventeen types of herbs, that must be cooked at different temperatures. It pays homage to your interest in medicine and healing.

  “The last course is the dessert. It is a blackberry pavlova made with blackberry mousse, shredded meringue, macerated raspberries and lemon thyme sorbet. It gives off intense yet light and balanced flavors. This plate celebrates your intelligence.

  “I chose the following wines to go with each dish: Bourgogne Aligoté 2009 for the mushrooms, Riesling ‘Nonnenberg’ 2007 for the ravioli, Arbois Les Bruyères 2008 for the eggplant and a Champagne Brut Nature 2003 for dessert.

  “Please note that there is not a single fiber of meat in this meal I’ve prepared for you. I wanted to keep death at bay. No heart had to stop beating so you could eat in my restaurant. There’s not a drop of blood on the food I prepared for you.

  “I wish you bon appétit.

  “My parents have tried everything on the menu. Ask them if I was happy. If you have any more questions, ask Laurie, she knows.”

  I woke up startled. But I decided to accept the suggestion made by Sandra in the dream.

  LETTER TO THE FATHER

  Dear Salomão,

  My name is Armando and I was your son Sergio’s therapist during his last year in São Paulo, before he moved to New York. I am doing research related to Sergio’s case and I would be very grateful if you would consent to a brief talk. I will make myself available on the date and time that is most convenient for you. My email address is armandoa@xls.org and my telephone number, 999-9734.

  Cordially,

  Armando

  THE FATHER’S RESPONSE TO THE LETTER

  When you asked to talk to me, I found it strange. It’s been almost a year since Sergio’s death. I thought: ‘What could he want with me?’ I was intrigued. Then, you asked me if Sergio was happy. Just like that. Even now I don’t really know how to answer you. There are so many types of happiness, aren’t there?

  “I generated two monstrosities: one anencephalic baby and one transexual.

  “When the doctor told us our other son was anencephalic, I didn’t know what to do. I ran to the dictionary. ‘Monstrosity’: that was the generic definition the dictionary gave.

  “But Roberto died soon after he was born. We still had Sergio. With him I thought we’d got it right. I always thought he was a normal boy. He didn’t have a lot of friends. He was the silent type, but he was a good student, and his teachers liked him. At home, he was also well-behaved. He was a good boy.

  “I have to admit his mother knew him better than I did. You know life in São Paulo can be very hectic. Especially for those who own their own business. I’ve always taken on a lot of responsibility, since I was young. By the time I arrived home Sergio usually had already eaten dinner and was in his pajamas, watching television or playing video games, spellbound, almost ready for bed. But I always thought I had a good relationship with my son.

  “I think he felt lonely because he had no brothers or sisters, but, if you think about it, he was always surrounded by people: at school, in English class, at swimming classes, judo—he always had someone with him. He’d come home practically just to shower, eat and sleep.

  “He was a normal boy. He was in therapy with you, but he was normal. You met him. He told us he wanted to see a therapist because he was having trouble deciding what to do with his life. What were we to do? We said yes. Anyway, therapy is relatively common nowadays. But I confess a warning signal went off inside me.

  “After Christmas, when he talked to me and his mother and told us he wanted to live in New York—and he said ‘live,’ not ‘visit,’ ‘hang out,’ none of that; he said ‘live’—it was a big surprise. I had a suspicion that something might not be going well, but none of us understood the reason he decided to live in New York.

  “A few days later, he told us he wasn’t who we thought he was.

  “It was hard to hear from my only son that he was a woman, that he wanted to go to New York because there he could live as a woman, have a sex change operation, change his name, be who he thought he was.

  “It wasn’t easy to hear. I was shocked by what he was telling us, but I was even more shocked by the calm and poised manner with which he communicated his decision to us.

  “The proposal he made to us was that we would let him live in New York for two years to do the sexual reassignment treatment with a doctor named Coutts. To me it all sounded crazy, but I thought maybe it was just a phase. We all went to New York, Tereza, Sergio and I, to talk to Dr. Coutts, who told us about our son being ‘transgender.’

  “It took me a long time to understand the nature of what Sergio felt, but I never turned my back on him. I gave him all the support I could. I was sorry for him and for myself. I would never have grandchildren. He would never take over the family business.

  “It was awful when I saw him dressed as a woman for the first time. I wanted to rip his clothes off and find my son underneath those clothes, those painted nails, but I did nothing. Nothing. I just avoided eye contact. I kept my head down. I felt love and hate at the same time for what, to me, was a caricature of my son.

  “That first time, I controlled myself. And I continued to control myself afterwards. I couldn’t lose him. I asked God to help me to get used to that. That I learn to accept it, that the sight of my emasculated son, dressed as a woman, become acceptable to me. I thought of that saying: ‘If you love the ugly, beautiful you’ll seem to them.’

  “Sergio didn’t want to stay in São Paulo. He wanted to go somewhere where no one knew him. He wanted to be able to introduce himself as Sandra forever.

  “I understood that. I confess I liked that he did his treatment outside of Brazil. Our company is highly visible. The situation could be exploited by the press, by the public. It wouldn’t be good for him. It wouldn’t be good for anyone. I
n New York, he’d be anonymous and could care for himself in peace. Away from the curiosity seekers.

  “We bought that apartment in the West Village just for him. I sent him a monthly allowance, and he had credit cards to pay for his treatment. His mother would always visit him. He led a balanced life. He interned at the best restaurant in New York. When he graduated, I gave him money to open his own business.

  “The restaurant would have been a success. He was a very good chef. He had the common sense of his great-grandfather, who opened the first Laila store. Nothing can convince me it wouldn’t have been a total success. There was even a New York Times reporter interested in doing a story about the restaurant. It’s too bad none of this can ever happen now.

  “Sergio just wanted to be happy. That’s why my son went to New York. He was looking for a way to be happy. He went there to make lemonade with the great big lemon God had given him. And he succeeded. You asked if he was happy. Yes, after he became Sandra, Sergio was happy. He was in good spirits, he had friends. As a woman, he found happiness.

  “My son was able to turn things around, and he died at twenty-three, murdered by an unstable woman who barely knew him. A crazy woman, a human stray bullet. That’s the irony: dying in such a foolish way after you’ve found happiness.

  “But life isn’t fair for any of us, and I don’t have a monopoly on pain. There are people who’ve suffered a lot more than me. And they still manage to live, work, be productive. That’s what I try to remember. Sergio’s death was a great—the greatest—loss I’ve experienced in my life, but I have to go on living. He was happy, and that reassures me, it gives me peace.”

  ONE MORE MUSHROOM

  I have tried to be as faithful as possible in my translation of what Laurie Clay told me when I visited her in prison. However, I do not know whether it will be enough. First of all, we were separated by thick glass, and the recording I made of our conversation was not clear. Second, she does not speak Portuguese. I could not simply transcribe her words, like I did with Salomão. I will report what she told me in the manner she told me and as I interpreted it, even when it might seem obvious.