Andres Neuman - Talking to Ourselves

As I kept driving, I realized that deep down I was trying to delegate the choice. To delegate it to anything that was beyond my will: chance, magic, the road, the urn. So I stopped the car.

I looked at the sea, including myself in it. And I thought of Mario. Not in sickness, not as the father of my son, not even as the youth I fell in love with at university. Not in the random coming together of a name, a body, a memory. I thought of him, or rethought him without me. As someone who might not have met me. Who might have lived a parallel life, and, although it sounds naïve, who might be born in a different place. At that moment I looked at the time and thought: Now. It didn’t matter where. This was it, it was now. The ritual wasn’t in a place, it was in the time spent searching for the ritual.

I took the first turning I came to. It was an ordinary beach, neither pretty nor ugly. It evoked no particular memories. I understood, I thought I understood, that places invaded by the past don’t let anything else in. I stopped the car. I got out with the urn. I walked toward the seashore. I took off my shoes. I looked around. I saw a few joggers in the distance. I wasn’t sure (this seems frivolous to me now, it seemed logical then) whether to keep undressing. One of the joggers started getting bigger. I preferred to wait until he had gone by. And in the meantime I, I did what? Tried to look natural? Gazing at the view with an urn in my arms? I guess this looked more conspicuous than getting naked. The jogger went by. I took off my skirt. I realized I hadn’t waxed my legs. I stepped forward, I wet my feet. The sea was cold. The sky was burning hot. I glanced around me. On one side of the beach another jogger was approaching. I stepped back quickly, I walked away from the water, sat on the sand, and hid the urn between my legs. The jogger ran behind me. I turned to look at him, he looked at me, and disappeared into the distance. I stood up. I ran into the sea. This time I went in up to my waist, raising the urn above my head. I couldn’t see the horizon very clearly, the sun was setting level with my eyes. I waded in further. The waves lapped at my breasts. The light was floating. Everything was haloed. I opened the urn. Only then did I notice the wind, plastering my hair to my face. How was I going to scatter the ashes? But it was too late for misgivings. I was where I should be: in a random place, at the precise moment. I dug my hand into the ashes. I touched them for the first time. They felt rougher and denser than I had expected. In short, they didn’t look like ashes. Although I did feel they could contain Mario, or that Mario could fly away with them. I grasped a handful. I raised my arm. And I started.

I threw them into the air, they came back.

As they flew into my face, there was some kind of fulfilment. A, does this make sense? funereal joy. I felt the current encircling me, and at the same time warning me of a boundary. The sun dipped to the edge. The light fell like a towel. Like the sky was sliding: that was the impression I had. I carried on emptying the urn. I imagined I was sowing the sea.

It wasn’t sad. I scattered his ashes and pieced myself together.

Now he can swim, I thought as I left the water.

… in Puerto del Este, I remember the esplanade, I remember the yachts, how they caught your attention, rich people always catch the attention, right? whenever I see a yacht I think about who cleans the bathroom, and I remember the sun, the bicycles, I remember the people strolling in their swimming costumes, surrounded by light, happy, happy, like they weren’t going to die, you ran through them, I remember.

For me the last day of our trip was, how can I explain, sad and at the same time a relief, do you understand? we’d done it, no one could take that away from us, or could they, you’ll think I’m crazy, but I got so nervous while you were swimming, I was watching you from the beach and thinking: what if he gets a cramp? what if suddenly we lose this memory? I swear, each time you put your head under the water, I swear, I stopped breathing, I looked at the men closest to me, I saw which ones were strongest, the ones I’d ask for help, because, you see, son, I can’t swim, I was always too ashamed to tell you, and then your head bobbed up once more and I could breathe again, of course nothing happened to you, nothing could’ve happened, you were fearless.

The rest of the journey was more or less okay, we were late, your mother started calling and then there was that storm, what a downpour, right? I was worried we’d miss dinner, and that dinner was important, in the end, I admit, I drove too fast, and, to make matters worse, on a wet road, risk is a strange thing, you think you’re being careful, that you’re protecting the things you most care about, and then you accelerate knowing you shouldn’t, and then you regret it, and the next time you accelerate again, I was soaked when we arrived, out of breath, my head was pounding, but I made it, we made it, I think your Mum had had her doubts, she almost looked surprised, her face as she greeted us, she was crying, laughing, she kept hugging us, and yes, she had to heat up the joint, and the three of us made a toast, do you remember? you even had some wine, and we told your Mum lots of stories, you elaborated everything, it was great, and you gobbled down a superhuman helping of ice cream, what’s in your stomach, shark-in-a-cap? and you went to bed, and we stayed up talking, and I smoked for the first time in months, and Mum didn’t say anything, and then I just fell asleep, like I’d passed out, and as far as I know I didn’t dream.

And what else? well, nothing, I got sicker and here I am, it was very soon after you left, do you remember how we said goodbye? the two of us were in the garage, what a place for a ceremony, huh? Mum was taking you to your grandparents, she sat in the car, she didn’t get out, she preferred to leave us on our own, the drive would take three hours, and I asked you the time, and you looked at your watch proudly, and then I gave you a hug, a long hug, and I told you not to forget to fasten your seatbelt, that was it, that was all, all I was capable of saying was fasten your seatbelt, I’d even thought up an animal for you, a sea animal I guess, but I totally forgot, I’d imagined this scene so many times, I suppose this is what real goodbyes are like, right? out of place, clumsy.

What I haven’t forgotten, you see, is hugging you, I don’t know what you felt, bah, I mean, whether you felt anything, I’m not sure I did right then either, what I know is what I feel now, when I look back, I remember so clearly the heat from your head, the smell of shampoo, the downy hair on the nape of your neck, that vertebra that sticks out more than the others, your pointy shoulders, and remembering these things, experiencing them all over again, is like untying myself, you understand? and all of a sudden I stop envying healthy people, well, I’m lying, I still envy them, but I also pity them, do you know what the mother of a sick girl told me the other day? that everyone had, what was it she said? four dimensions, that we were born whole, and that — come in, yes, come in.

What was I going to? oh yes, the four-dimensional thing, so this woman was telling me that we were already whole, that from the beginning our lives contained our birth and death, and that we only saw ourselves grow up or grow old because we perceived ourselves bit by bit, can you believe it? but that actually the child and the old person exist simultaneously, or something like that, it sounded crazy to me, her daughter is dying and she tries to, to resign herself, you know? to experience it as something natural, I’d understand much better, I don’t know, if she went round kicking in monitors, pulling out cables, punching the doctors, I think it’s, my forehead’s a bit, I’m going to ask for a thermometer.