Daniel Alarcón - At Night We Walk in Circles

Noelia reports that her mother woke that morning refreshed, that she greeted Jaime as if it were no surprise at all to find him there, and asked him about his schoolwork. He told her he was out of school now, had been for many years, and was living in San Jacinto. To which Mrs. Anabel responded, “I was just telling your father I never liked that town.”

She hadn’t been to the provincial capital in nearly twenty years.

Jaime sighed.

“Did you marry yet?”

“Yes, Mama. You’ve met my wife.”

“Is she pretty?”

“Yes, Mama.”

Mrs. Anabel frowned. “I remember her now. The pretty one.”

Noelia watched this exchange as she prepared breakfast. The morning chill hadn’t yet receded, and Jaime and her mother sat with heavy blankets draped over their laps. “I enjoyed that moment, in fact. It was good that Jaime see exactly the state our mother was in. He needed to know.”

After breakfast, they settled in the courtyard. Mrs. Anabel held a cup of tea in her hands, and said she’d dreamed of Rogelio the night before. Jaime and Noelia braced themselves, but to their relief, Mrs. Anabel confessed she couldn’t remember any of the details.

“It was very confusing, like all dreams. Sometimes I’m very confused.”

Still, all things considered, Mrs. Anabel seemed at peace, so much so that Jaime considered calling off Henry’s visit. He probably would have, but then his mother’s mood shifted once more. She had something to say, Mrs. Anabel told her children. It had been nagging her all morning. That man from yesterday might be on to something. She’d been unable to shake the feeling that it might be true: that her younger son might be dead.

Jaime began to argue, but Noelia shushed him.

“It just can’t be,” Mrs. Anabel said. “Have you talked to him? When was that? Are you sure? We’ll have to tell your father, but I’m afraid it will kill him.”

This is the world Nelson walked into.

“I was just a step behind him when the old woman called him Rogelio,” Patalarga told me later. “And I saw him freeze. Just for a moment. We froze too, in the dark still, in the hallway that led into the courtyard. I guess they do these kinds of improvisation exercises all the time at the Conservatory, and maybe that explains why he responded the way he did. I don’t think you could even call it a decision , because it wasn’t. He just reacted. He went with it.”

The sun in Nelson’s eyes was like stage lights, I imagine.

“Yes, Mama,” he said. “I’m here.”

And then something else happened, which tilted the scene once more. At the sound of Nelson’s voice, Mrs. Anabel’s certainty began to fade, as if she were suddenly frightened by what she had conjured. Henry and Patalarga had stepped into the daylight, and perhaps this too gave her doubts. She squinted at this young man before her, the one she’d just called Rogelio, and couldn’t recognize him. “Is that you?” she said, and no one uttered another word until Nelson spoke again.

“Mama, it’s me,” he said — he purred — repeating the words once and again, such that their sound and meaning began to soothe Mrs. Anabel. Mama, it’s me. Nelson stood in the courtyard, chest out, face full of love.

Jaime, Noelia told me later, wore a look of utter bewilderment.

“I’d never seen anything like it,” Patalarga said, with pride evident in his voice.

I can picture it: down to the unsteady posture of Mrs. Anabel, suddenly frightened, suddenly curious. Heartbroken, but in some very deep place inside her, lonely enough to want to believe. It’s the drama of any family separated by space and time. I can see the way she stood with the help of her son, Jaime; the way she shuffled her feet toward Nelson, then paused, then shuffled some more. Mama, it’s me. According to Noelia, “It was like trying to coax a kitten from under the bed. He was very patient.” When Mrs. Anabel finally approached, Nelson held her very tightly against his chest. She was so very small, it was like holding a child.

They must have stood there for three or four minutes, while the rest of them watched, awed by this scene they could hardly explain. “No one spoke,” Henry told me. “We couldn’t. Something special was happening, and we all knew that, even Jaime.”

When the old woman had gathered herself, the questioning began. These questions were random, and for the moment, contained no skepticism at all. The skepticism would return later, flaring up unexpectedly, once or twice a day — but not just yet. It was as if a circuit had been suddenly connected.

Did you go to school today, boy?

Is your brother treating you nicely?

Will you be going out to the fields with your father this afternoon?

Are there big buildings where you live?

How old are you now?

Fortunately, there was no wrong answer to this final query, since Mrs. Anabel drew from all the periods of her life in conversation with her son, the stranger. He was a boy, an adolescent, a young man — all at once. Through it all, Nelson remained composed, good-humored, and generous. According to Noelia, “He performed marvelously. You almost wanted to applaud.”

Mama, it’s me.

Of course, one applauds at the end of a performance, not at the beginning.

EVENTUALLY IT WAS TIMEfor Mrs. Anabel’s nap. It had been a satisfying performance; everyone could agree on that, and Mrs. Anabel’s joy at being reunited with Rogelio was undeniable. She’d given out a round of hugs before heading to bed, even to Henry, whose earlier visit she seemed to have either forgotten or forgiven altogether. Before Noelia took her to her bedroom, the elderly woman made Rogelio promise that he’d stay for dinner, and Nelson answered with a bright, noncommittal smile. Mrs. Anabel squeezed his hand, and said Noelia was preparing something special. “Your favorite.”

A few minutes later, Noelia returned from her mother’s room to announce that the old woman was asleep. Henry, Patalarga, and Nelson stood to go. The daily bus back to San Jacinto left at two, and they were still in time to make it. The previous night’s tension seemed to have dissipated, and if the mood was not exactly friendly, there was something new: a sense of shared accomplishment. Even Jaime seemed pleased. They’d managed it, the five of them together, and now a previously troubled elderly woman was sleeping peacefully.

“I’m glad we could help,” Henry said. He turned to Nelson. “You were wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Nelson said.

Noelia nodded her agreement. “I almost wish you could stay!”

Everyone laughed but Jaime, who raised a hand, teasing the air rather vaguely. He had a pensive look. “Would you?”

Nelson grinned. Patalarga too.

“It’s not a bad idea,” Jaime said.

Henry objected: “It’s a terrible idea.”

“I’m not talking to you,” Jaime said. Then to Nelson: “Is it something you’d consider?”

“Jaime.”

He frowned. “Sister, let the boy talk.”

Nelson cast anxious glances at Henry and Patalarga. “No. I wouldn’t consider it.”

“That’s a shame. My mother likes you. You could do an old woman a lot of good.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t.”

“I think you can.” He paused. “And I think you could, if you wanted. I can pay you. I can make it worth your while. Why don’t you give her a week. Think of it as a performance. You’ll do quite nicely. What’s the problem?”

Henry saw in Jaime’s smile the seriousness of the proposal. This wasn’t a suggestion at all, but a command.

“You’re serious?” Nelson asked.

“He is,” Henry mumbled.

“You can’t be.”

“I am,” Jaime said.