A ray of sunlight streamed through the car window, splitting Olga’s face in two—one half shiny, like polished wax, the other faded, concealed in a dark shadow.
“I knew it was a mistake to ask you to paint that portrait. I knew it, and yet I did nothing to stop it,” she said, waving her sunglasses in front of her mouth.
The night before the accident, she’d thought she was going to die. The heat was so sticky and suffocating she couldn’t sleep, even with the windows open. And she’d started hemorrhaging again, the third time in the two weeks following the abortion. Hemorrhaging was too big a word for the blood leaking through her panties onto the mattress. But that blood meant that something was wrong, terribly wrong inside her body. Her abdomen hurt and she was running a fever. She’d lost her appetite and didn’t want to stay for dinner so her mother wouldn’t suspect anything. But it was too late for that; she already did.
They’d had a ridiculous fight that night over something silly—the television. They each wanted to watch different programs and her mother had put a dramatic end to the issue, seriously overreacting. She switched the television off so violently it nearly toppled from its stand. Her mother had called her willful, spoiled, and ungrateful. She shouted from the depths of her being, clenching her fists, eyes wild. And then suddenly, unable to contain her wrath, she slapped Olga in the face.
“She glared at me, and she was so full of rage. At the time, I couldn’t see straight—I was just as livid. I hated her, too. I hated her for having brought Teo home the first time, for not having seen the seduction unfolding before her eyes, the way he was making me fall in love with him. I hated my mother for allowing it to happen, for not stopping me—a spoiled child—from playing a grown-up game and getting caught in the trap.
“I was jealous of her, crazy jealous, and secretly I blamed her for Teo having left me, having walked out on our lives and leaving that empty hole. But more than anything, I hated her for the fact that my womb was now a barren wasteland where nothing would ever grow again. How could it have happened right in front of her eyes? How could she not have done anything? In order not to lose Teo, she’d pretended to be blind and deaf, she’d humiliated herself and opted to share him with me, and share me with him. And in the end, she’d lost us both. When she slapped me, all the hatred she felt for me became just like the hatred I felt for her. And I slapped her right back, and called her a slut, and a bad mother, and a bitch. I wanted her to die, wanted a bolt of lightning to strike her down on the spot.”
“So the man who seduced you and got you pregnant is the man I killed.”
Olga nodded. Thick, fat tears welled in her eyes and then fell, dribbling streaks of mascara onto her nose and mouth. She made no effort to wipe them away, and dug frantically in her bag for her cigarettes and lighter. The filter got soggy as she struggled to light the cigarette.
“You have no idea how much I hated her. Every time I felt that searing pain inside, every time I thought about that basement where I got the abortion, every time I heard my mother crying over him or saw her looking at a picture of the two of them, it made my guts churn.”
She’d imagine what his naked torso looked like that first weekend when he’d taken her virginity; imagine what he looked like after making love, with his pants on but his belt undone and zipper down, his curly chest hair going all the way down to his belly button; see his expression, so full of joy an hour before, but evasive and confused after going to the bathroom and showering. And Olga couldn’t understand. She remembered that she’d feel like an idiot, trying to read his noncommittal expression, wondering if she’d done something wrong, if she’d acted in some way that made it clear she was not yet an adult, not a real woman, an expert lover like her mother.
She still cringed at the humiliation she’d felt when she’d knelt down in front of him, wanting to pleasure him, and he’d rebuffed her with a bored-looking expression. At that precise moment, she realized she’d never be happy. It dawned on her with utter clarity, and she’d wanted to cry, to get dressed and run away. But he held her back, said he was sorry, that he was nervous—came up with a thousand excuses when just one would have been more than enough, because Olga wanted to believe him, wanted to quiet the voice inside her that was telling her to be careful.
There actually were times when the lie had a hint of truth—that night when they danced naked on the beach with the whisper of the waves, the moon, the bottle of wine half-buried in the sand, giggling over the candles because they couldn’t keep them lit. Romance was a cheap dress, easy to sew, and she liked to wear it, even though Teo hardly spoke and never once mentioned having a future together. She accepted it all impatiently.
Until Maribel, his wife, turned up. That was when she stopped believing.
“I’ll never be able to erase that scene from my mind: the happy house, our own bliss; the two of us naked, play-fighting in bed; and I was so unbelievably happy that day, waiting for the right moment to tell him I was pregnant. And then she showed up, right in the bedroom, in a white gauzy dress with straps, which I thought was beautiful. You could see the silhouette of her legs and hips in the light streaming in from the window. She was wearing these earrings with unopened flowers on them—gold, like the necklace quivering around her neck—and holding a brown overnight bag with both hands. The zipper was open and there was a book sticking out, I don’t remember what book it was. She stood there all silent, unemotional, resolute, in her high heels. She didn’t say a word until we realized she was standing there. It was Teo who saw her first. I was on top of him, tickling him, thinking, I’m going to tell him now and he’s going to wrap his arms around me.
Olga was still hurt by how naive she’d been, and blamed herself. When he saw his wife, Teo hurled her off him, literally threw her to the side the way people throw off the sheets when they suddenly realize they’re late for something. And all her happiness instantly vanished, sucked up by that woman, who was like a black hole in her universe. Their universe, the universe that belonged to the two of them. It was pitiful, the way he begged, practically on his knees, babbling excuses, clinging to the legs at the bottom of that beautiful strappy dress—she remembered, now, that it had mother-of-pearl buttons where the straps attached to the bodice—ignoring Olga as though she didn’t even exist, as though she’d never existed, as though he regretted her existence. Cursing her.
Olga wrapped herself in the sheet, huddled in one corner of the bed that still smelled like the fresh, hot semen of the man who had just cast her aside. But there was no protecting herself from that woman—she had such a compact, beautiful body that Olga felt cheap and insignificant by comparison. You’re nothing but a little whore who made him think he could pretend he was still young, her eyes said. That’s all you are, a tiny speck, an affront that he’ll beg forgiveness for. And I’ll forgive him even though I don’t forgive him, because I love him and he’s my man and I’m his wife. Because you’re nothing; you’re no one. You don’t even exist.
Maribel told Teo to get his clothes. She didn’t want to spend another second in that bedroom. And he obeyed like a little lap dog, eager and embarrassed at the same time. He dressed awkwardly, rummaging among the wrinkled sheets and Olga’s underwear for his shirt, and when she tried to say something, to assert her presence, he shot daggers at her.
I’m pregnant. First she said it very quietly, struggling to find the words, to get enough air to say it. He didn’t hear her and continued to dress hurriedly, buttoning his shirt wrong. And then Olga shouted it, howled it in fact. I’m pregnant! That time neither of them could ignore her words: Teo didn’t know where to look, his eyes darting around erratically. Maribel let out a low moan, dropping the bag in her hands, and the book fell out, spine up, its pages splayed. A noxious silence coiled around them.
Maribel was the first to regain her composure. She bent down demurely—legs to one side so as not to flash her panties when she crouched—and gingerly picked
the book up, wiping the dust off the cover, the invisible, bothersome dust that the wind had brought in from the beach. Then she straightened back up with the same dignity, tugging gently at the hem of her dress to smooth out a nonexistent wrinkle. “I’ll wait outside,” she said blandly to Teo, who was gazing forlornly at a shoe not knowing which foot it went on.
I’ll wait outside meant that she’d wait on the other side of the whole incident, that she’d chosen to turn back the hands of the clock so as to relive those minutes without that scene. It was her way of saying, This never happened. This has nothing to do with us. We’re not responsible. You’re nothing but a little whore, a fool who didn’t take the necessary precautions—and now you’ll have to handle it on your own. We’re not part of this.
“I didn’t see Teo again. He stopped answering my calls, and one day I got a recording that said the number was no longer in service. I didn’t know where he lived—he’d never told me—but I remembered his license plate number. You saw for yourself how easy it is to get someone’s records from the traffic department. So I started hanging around his neighborhood like a crazy. I’d watch him work in his coin shop, right below his wife’s dance academy. I’d spend all afternoon watching through the giant windows from the sidewalk, staring at her in her black leotard, with all those disciplined little ballerinas obeying her. She looked like an elegant swan being followed around by her little chicks—so ethereal.
“I wondered how it was possible for them to just carry on with their lives, pretending I didn’t exist. I’d take pleasure in imagining them fighting at night, shouting and insulting one another about me, about our baby, who would never be born. I dreamed that Maribel refused to let him sleep on his side of the bed, that she made him sleep like a dog at the foot of the bed, threw his food down and made him eat off the floor. I imagined Teo tormented by his punishment and guilt, wondering what had happened to me, missing me.
“Thinking about those things didn’t bring me peace, but it consoled me in the same way alcohol consoles people—by killing them slowly. Fantasizing about their troubles helped me feel a tiny bit less troubled. But I wasn’t even granted that consolation. Day after day, I’d see them leave their building with that kid between them—the boy they’d adopted who wasn’t even Teo’s real son, who he didn’t love. And yet that little boy, holding both their hands, was the bridge that united them.”
Eduardo had been silent for quite some time, hadn’t even moved. He was so still that it was as if he’d gone someplace else, leaving his body behind. But his eyes were still staring straight ahead, at the stream. His eyelids fluttered, blinking back the tears in his eyes.
“So you decided to take revenge.” His voice sounded like it was coming from inside a hollow wall.
Olga shook her head. It wasn’t that easy, though in a sense it was. Revenge required the kind of effort and planning that she wasn’t capable of at that time. It was chance that had given her the opportunity.
“I saw you in the emergency room one day. I’d gone there because the pain and hemorrhaging were killing me. I was alone, because my mother had refused to come with me. As I was waiting on a cot, I heard a couple of nurses talking about what had happened to you, how your wife and daughter were dead and if you kept on the way you were, you might die, too. I spent one horrible night out in the hallway—but for some reason I couldn’t stop thinking about you and your family. I understood why you were refusing to eat, to take your medication. You were as miserable as me—your tragedy had been as unexpected as mine. I figured that your hatred for whoever had caused the accident must be as immense as my hatred for everyone, especially Teo and his wife. As if we had no right to anything at all. In the morning, I was released, and as I was getting ready to leave, I passed your room. The door was ajar and I didn’t dare open it, but I could see you. You were in bed with an IV in your arm, staring out the window, your face still all swollen from the accident. Your father was talking to you, sitting in an uncomfortable-looking chair at your side, but you weren’t paying any attention. You were a mess, and as awful as it might sound, that comforted me, made me feel less alone. I went down to the florist in the lobby and bought a bouquet and asked them to send it up to your room.”
She paused for air and to gather her thoughts. Eduardo didn’t hurry her.
“Months later, I had to go down to the police station for some paperwork. I was in Madrid, so I went to the Puerta del Sol station. I hadn’t forgotten about you, but I had thought about you less. It was all slowly fading, as my physical pain subsided. I was learning to tolerate my life, put up with the arguments with my mother and her stubborn, accusatory silences. I’d even started fooling around with a boy from a nearby town.
“I stopped hanging out around Teo’s house and assumed that in time it would all just become part of a past that I’d keep under wraps, in the deepest part of me. Anyway, while waiting to be seen by the police, I passed the time reading all the notices on the bulletin board. There were photos of missing people, criminals on the run, that kind of thing. And then I got to this one notice. The police were asking for help solving a double-homicide. It was manslaughter. I remember the word because I didn’t know what it meant. It was about your wife and daughter, about the accident. They gave a general description of the vehicle that might have caused the accident, a few possible letters of the license plate, the SUV’s make. Then a cop walked in and asked if I was okay. I guess I must have been pale. I debated, I wanted to say something. But I couldn’t get the words out.”
As though willpower were enough, Olga had actually believed she was going to be able to put her life back together—until she saw that poster. She thought she’d start over, go to school in Madrid, fall in love with someone who wouldn’t care that she couldn’t have children. But willpower isn’t always enough to twist the hands of fate. She left the police station still choked up by that sudden stumbling block that had been thrown in her path, her plans to forget. She started wondering if life sometimes gave you signs, signs you didn’t always know how to interpret. And the answer came in the form of a greeting: “How are you, Olga?”
“It took me a second to recognize him. His face was rounder, more tanned, sort of puffy, and he’d grown a scruffy beard, speckled with gray. But it was him. Teo. He was carrying a bunch of shopping bags in his right hand—it was almost Christmas—and holding his son’s hand with his left. He was a good-looking kid, whose face I couldn’t see entirely because he was wearing a scarf and wool cap. The boy was looking into shop windows not paying any attention to us, and Teo smiled. ‘What a surprise; you look good.’ ”
“I am good,” Olga had replied, though it came out in a hoarse whisper.
She couldn’t breathe and had to order her heart to start beating again. Teo looked her over, looking carefree and flirty. He couldn’t stop smiling, and Olga didn’t know why. He talked nonstop without letting her speak, as though he didn’t want to give her a chance to ruin his pre-planned script. He told her things were going well—relatively, he added with fake nostalgia. And then he reached out his right hand, the one holding all the Christmas presents, and tucked back a lock of her hair. Things were going well, but he missed her. If you know what I mean, he’d added pointedly.
Olga didn’t know, didn’t want to know. And as if she were still the silly naive girl she’d been a few months earlier, Teo whispered, leaning close, that they could start things back up again, see each other from time to time, have a little fun—though, he’d added with a faux reproach, they’d have to be more discreet, take measures to avoid accidents.
Olga had stared at him like he was a two-headed monster, one grotesque and the other hideous. She called him a son of a bitch. And Teo had gotten a ridiculous look on his face, like a little boy whose toy had been snatched away just when he thought it was all his.
“I spent all night tossing and turning, reliving the scene, his words, his expression, the feel of his fingers on
my hair, the smell of his breath on my cheek. I threw up several times, cried more than I can say, cursed him, insulted him, and then slowly the idea of hurting him started to take form. Hurting him as horribly as he’d hurt me, causing him some kind of definitive, humiliating pain. I knew Teo had a dark-colored SUV, and at least one of the numbers coincided with the one that had caused the accident that killed your family. It wasn’t something premeditated, it just came into my head all of a sudden, like when someone solves a problem they’ve been studying for a long time and then all the pieces just fall into place effortlessly. And the next morning, I went to see you.”
Olga gazed at the stream, the hilly meadow, the reedbed on the other side of the shore.
“I didn’t know you were going to kill him.”
Eduardo gave her a hard stare. He’d started to perspire, as if the struggle raging inside him were being sweated out through his skin, through a searing heat.
“Seriously? And what exactly did you think I was going to do?”
“I didn’t think anything. I wasn’t thinking at all, I didn’t even see Teo’s death as an option. I just wanted to fuck him over, show the whole world what kind of pig he was, destroy the facade of his perfect life. I didn’t consider the consequences it would have for you.”
Breathing Through the Wound Page 38
