Marcos Giralt Torrente - Paris

“How can you say that? Ruin my life? I think I’ve managed pretty well. There may be things I wish I could have done, but basically I’ve lived the life I wanted to live.”

My mother had spoken very curtly, without looking at me, and Delfina — who, for a moment, seemed about to sit down again in the same armchair she had left just before discovering me in my hiding place — remained standing and merely rested one hand on the back of the chair, slightly surprised, perhaps, that my mother was still fighting.

“Don’t talk nonsense,” she said firmly, turning to look at me. “How can you possibly have wanted the insecurity, the fear, the loneliness, and the anxiety you’ve had to live with? Are you going to tell me that you foresaw all that?”

“No, I didn’t. But it happened, and that’s all there is to it. Besides, it ended ages ago.”

“You say that now, but what will happen next month?”

Delfina’s question was like a whiplash cutting through the air and leaving me feeling simultaneously frozen, afraid, and grateful for what I was witnessing. My mother was speaking more slowly now, more emphatically, and my aunt had tried to compensate for this with a speedy response.

“You know very well that nothing will happen. I’ve never deceived you. I’ve never told you that I was going to do something I had no intention of doing. It’s over. There will be nothing more. Why can’t you accept that?”

“Yes, but meanwhile, you’re going to sell your apartment to give him some money, and who knows how long that will last him. A week, maybe two at most.”

Delfina glanced at me again, while my mother, who hadn’t looked at me since my forced entrance into the room, raised her head and studied me long and hard. For the first time, a silence fell, and I knew then that nothing would stop her. I saw concern on her face, but not anxiety or doubt. Sitting across from me, she gave a long sigh, as if summoning up all her patience, then turned back to my aunt, “I’m giving him the money because that is the best possible proof that this is the end. Now that it’s over, it’s only fair that we go back to the beginning, him with his money and me with mine. It’s the only thing we bought together. He needs the money, and I’m not going to leave him in the lurch. If he asks for more, I won’t be able to help him. What’s left will be mine, and I’ll look after it, don’t worry. But since half of this apartment is still his, I’m not going to deny it to him if he’s in trouble.”

“Don’t be so naïve,” Delfina said quickly, still looking at me out of the corner of her eye, unable to disguise her discomfort at my mother’s unwonted rebellion. “You know as well as I do that he’ll always be in trouble, that the money you’re so happily proposing to give him is very little in comparison to everything you’ve had to put up with. The problem is that you’re as irresponsible as you always were, the same adolescent girl ready to go wherever your first impulse takes you, without thinking about the pain you might cause. You never learn. .”

“Don’t go any further, Delfina. Don’t lecture me. It’s so easy to do that. Besides, when have I caused pain? When have I allowed myself to act on impulse?”

“You know very well what I mean.”

“No, I don’t, I really don’t. Tell me.”

Delfina fixed her eyes on my mother, and my mother, who was sitting bent forward in a position of false submissiveness, legs crossed and hands clasped, suddenly leaned back in her chair like a creature bracing itself to face some unexpected danger.

“I can’t believe it’s what I think it is. Is it, Delfina? Is it what I think it is?”

“It doesn’t matter. It was just a manner of speaking. .”

“All right, don’t say it. I will. You were referring to my big mistake. No, not to my big mistake, because it would seem that my whole life has been one long mistake. You were referring to my first mistake, to the origin of all the insecurity, fear, and loneliness I’ve lived my life in. .”

“Oh, please, don’t get sarcastic. I wasn’t speaking of anything in particular, but yes, now that you mention it, you’re right. That’s how it was. Bad beginnings breed bad endings.”

I noticed that Delfina had drawn back now and was struggling to control herself.

“I can’t believe it. It’s just incredible that after sixteen years, and after Dad’s death, that idea is still going around in your head.”

“It’s not going around in my head. It’s just further proof of the irresponsible way you behave sometimes. Once you’re set on doing something, you won’t listen to anyone, there’s no way of making you change your mind.”

“I had to leave, Delfina. I can’t believe you’re still saying this. I had to leave. I had no alternative. Believe me.”

My mother had altered her tone of voice again, and it sounded dull now, almost doleful. Her outward show of aggression had disappeared, and it was as if she were talking to herself. Then, however, she changed. She remained silent for a few seconds, as if she needed time to climb the walls of the imaginary hole into which she had fallen, then, fixing her eyes determinedly on my aunt, she recovered her composure. At no point did she look at me, at no point did she seem to stop to consider what I might be thinking.

“That’s rich, you reproaching me for leaving home, Delfina. Have you never thought that you might have played some role in that, that it might have been your fault in a way? No, you’ve obviously never even considered the possibility. You’ve always been so clear about everything. First this one thing happens and then this other one, first this, then that, but you probably had some influence — how could you not? I’m your sister. I lived with you. We were together when Mom died.”

“That’s ridiculous! Don’t be so unfair. I’ve always respected your decisions, even that one. I’m only saying that you could have done things differently and not just left home the way you did. Your life might have been different, and besides, it’s not true that I made you do it. You did it because you wanted to. You were an adult by then.”

Delfina, who had grown quieter since our surprise meeting in the doorway, had spoken in a weary but cutting voice, as if she weren’t sure how appropriate it was to continue this argument, but at the same time unwilling to give anything up. She wasn’t gesticulating now.

“Yes, I was eighteen. But speaking of feelings, do you have any idea how alone I was? Do you have any idea how alien I felt living in that house that used to be ours, living under the rules imposed by Dad’s new wife? You can’t know, because you weren’t there. You had already left.”

“Oh come on, don’t exaggerate. It wasn’t that bad. That kind of thing happens in all families and people get over it, so don’t use it as an excuse for your future misfortunes.”

“Of course these things happen,” answered my mother. “I’m not using it as an excuse. It hasn’t marked my life. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a time when it did matter to me, when I felt really vulnerable. Do you understand? Maybe older sisters don’t feel vulnerable. Since you don’t have anyone above you, you haven’t grown up thinking that there’ll always be someone to replace your parents when they die.”

“Oh, really. Do you honestly think it didn’t affect me, as well? Look, don’t go on, there’s no point.”

“OK, you’re right. I agree. You probably do know what it feels like to be vulnerable, and maybe it’s worse being the older sister. But I was the younger sister. When I was born, you were already there, you were my reference point, my second line of defense. I couldn’t help feeling that I had two walls around me. You were one and they were the other. I’m sure that your world collapsed, too, when Mom died and Dad began to betray us, as if he had never shed a single tear and never sworn that the three of us would always stick together. I’m sure that’s true. I don’t doubt it. But you felt that only once, and I felt it twice. Once, at the same time as you did, and again, when you went to live in La Coruña.”