Story of a Sociopath

by Julia Navarro

We dined together peacefully. I even made her laugh by telling her how scared the maid was every time she came into my apartment and found me lying on the floor with whiskey spilled all over the carpet.

  “You shouldn’t drink so much. Alcohol is not the cure for loneliness. You should make some friends.”

  “It’s not easy. Or at least for me it’s not easy.”

  “Ask Cooper to invite you out with his friends,” she suggested.

  “Cooper’s gay and I think that most of his friends are too, so I don’t think I’d have all that much fun going out with them,” I said.

  “The important thing is getting to know people. Who cares what they do in bed? I’m sure you’d end up becoming friends with some of them at least.”

  She was serious. Esther did not have any prejudices. That was one of the things I liked about her. We went over the people I knew in London and she decided that I should have an informal dinner at my apartment and invite some of them.

  “Invite your boss as well, Leopold Lerman. You might even be able to invite the mysterious Mr. Schmidt,” she said, enthusiastically.

  “Things don’t work like that in London. The English are very formal, especially people of a certain social class.”

  “Yes, but you don’t rub shoulders with that elite social class, you work with people from the PR world. I’m sure they go out over the weekend and drink at those pubs they like so much. And what about girls? Aren’t there any you like?”

  “I haven’t even noticed the ones who work in the office.”

  “Well, maybe it’s time you did.” She was like a schoolteacher giving her student instructions.

  “Let’s do something. Come to London with me and help me organize this dinner.”

  “I can’t, Thomas. I have to work, my life is here.”

  “You were going to leave it to marry me and move to London,” I reminded her.

  “Yes, things were going to be like that and now they’re not. I’ve gone back to my reality. You know, the agency, the classes at Paul Hard’s school, my family’s restaurant…I’m fine like this. I don’t want to change my situation.”

  “And Jaime, right? You’ve got Jaime now as well.”

  “Your brother is charming. If I hadn’t been close to marrying you then I would think about going out with him. But neither he nor I would feel comfortable about it; you would always be there, standing between us. We haven’t spoken about it, there’s no need, both of us know it. And although there might be a certain degree of attraction between us we’re not going to get carried away by it. Happy?”

  “So you admit you like my brother.” I wanted to hit her.

  “Yes, I like him. But you knew that already. Any girl could be interested in Jaime, including me. But there’s you, and I’ve said it already, that means things will never go further than playing tennis or going out for a meal every now and then.”

  “What sacrifices you make!”

  “It may be difficult for you to understand, but there are certain codes of behavior in the world. And loyalty is a part of it. Jaime wouldn’t take a step beyond simply offering me his friendship. He loves you very much and he knows that you would never forgive him if he made a play for me.”

  “So I have to be grateful to him now. That’s icing on the cake!”

  “No, no one is asking you to be grateful for anything. All I’m doing is explaining how things are.”

  “I’ll do whatever you want, but marry me. Don’t leave me again.”

  “You’ll remember that it wasn’t really me who left you…But in any event, I think it was the right thing to do. I want a kind of life that isn’t the one you’ve opted for.”

  “In that case, fine. Let’s do what you want.”

  “Are you really prepared to spend weekends in Newport with your father, your aunt, your brother, your grandparents? To share Thanksgiving dinner with them? To lend a hand washing dishes at my parents’ restaurant? To have children, bring them up with love and affection? I don’t think so, Thomas, I really don’t think so.”

  “My real family is just my mother’s parents, and her brother, my horrible uncle Oswaldo. I can’t stand them. As for John and Jaime…I can’t feel anything for them. My life with the Spencers has been a sham.”

  “You see? You’re stating precisely why things can’t be as you want them to be. Our realities are different. I think your father is charming and your aunt Emma is a wonderful lady. I like them. A lot. To me they are your family. They are the family your mother chose for you. You should be happy; she couldn’t have made a better choice. And as for your mother’s parents…poor things! Your grandfather Ramón had to make his way in a society as classist and racist as ours, in which only the people with the most money are respected. If he had been a millionaire…But he’s an immigrant, a worthy person who has earned the right to be here through his work. You should be proud of him. His hands are the hands that have fought to make a place in the world for you.”

  “That’s a fine speech. Come on, Esther, don’t pull my leg. You’re not going to make me believe that if I promise to go and visit my family then you’d rethink the idea of marrying me. I am offering you a life together. Just you and me. Everyone else is superfluous.”

  “Not to me. I love my parents, my brother, my nephews and nieces…And I might even have come to love yours. Let’s not argue and let’s leave it at that. I will always be a good friend to you. You can call me; I’ll come be with you if you need me, but nothing more. That’s what you really want.”

  “You’re being vindictive! You haven’t forgiven me for going back to London. You knew how much was riding on that meeting with Schmidt…I couldn’t back out just because we had planned to spend the weekend in Newport. If you like it so much, we’ll buy a house there.”

  “Yes, I like Newport, but above all I like the atmosphere at your aunt’s house. Warm, familial. I would really have enjoyed spending weekends at that house with you and with them.”

  “It’s as if you like the Spencers more than you like me,” I said angrily.

  “No, Thomas. I loved you. I believed that I loved you. And after dreaming of you for so long, you finally looked at me for a moment, and even decided you wanted to marry me. I was not convinced, because I saw that for you love is not the same as it is for me. I’m a romantic. I felt a knot in my stomach every time you looked at me, but it was clear that you felt nothing of the kind. You don’t love me, Thomas. You just think that you need me, that you need my loyalty, my love for you, but in fact I don’t do anything for you. And if I can’t provoke any emotions in you, then obviously you can’t feel love for me.”

  “Answer me. Do you love me?”

  “I’m not going to answer that.”

  I did not know how to convince her that any emotion I felt for her was far stronger than any fleeting attraction would be. But neither could I understand how a woman who was so intelligent and rational could have this infantile romantic streak.

  I promised her that I would not leave New York without her and that if things had to be that way, then I would stay there forever. She laughed at me. She knew me too well. She knew that when my phone rang and they asked for me in London I would be off to the airport like a shot.

  Sometimes it’s the hardest thing in the world to find an empty taxi in New York, so we walked for quite some way before we found one to take her home.

  I decided to try to win Esther back. So, first thing next morning, I called Maggie, my secretary, to tell her that I would be spending several days in New York on family business. She could call me or forward my mail. I also spoke to Jim Cooper and Evelyn Robinson, who were in Spain laying the groundwork. I even called Leopold Lerman, my boss, whom I imagined frowning when I told him I was in New York and wouldn’t be back for nine or ten days.

  Lerman scolded me for leaving without giving him any explanation, reminding me that there was work waiting for me and that I was the one who should be in Spain, not Cooper and Evelyn. I didn’t bother
arguing with him. Things were what they were and I warned him not to waste time calling Bernard Schmidt and asking him to call me in his place. I had resolved the course of action I would take. And I decided as I spoke that I was going to stay in New York, at least until Esther agreed to come back with me to London, and that was not going to be an easy task.

  I had breakfast with John. The previous day I hadn’t paid any attention to his pallor, the bags under his eyes, his tired movements. Neither of us referred to the conversation of the day before. John was too well-mannered and loved me too much to bring up subjects that might alter the tricky balance we maintained in our relationship. It was difficult for him to understand why I would address him by his name and refuse to call him Dad. He was hurt by this cold treatment, as though it were a punishment for his not being my real father.

  He was surprised when I asked him to call his sister Emma and arrange for us to be invited to spend the weekend in Newport.

  “You want to go to Newport? You don’t need me to arrange it. Call your aunt, she’ll be pleased that you’re going.”

  “I don’t want to go alone. I’d like you and Jaime to come as well. I’ll be coming with Esther.”

  “Right.”

  “She likes Aunt Emma’s house. She still would like to enjoy a weekend there,” I explained reluctantly.

  “You want to pick things up where you left off?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, prepared to get angry.

  “I suppose you want to go back to the day when you took her away in a hurry because you’d gotten the call to go back to London. Are you sure that this is what she wants?”

  “How about you don’t meddle in my business? All I asked was for you to arrange a weekend in Newport. Is it too much trouble for you to do that one thing?” There was such annoyance in my voice that John swallowed my words with a bitter grin.

  “Of course I’ll do it, if that’s what you want,” he said as he got up. And with a nod goodbye he left the dining room.

  María looked at me with hatred. She had the coffeepot in her hand and was preparing to pour me a cup, but she paused. I could see in her eyes the desire to pour the coffee over my head or strike me. She was breathing heavily. But she was unable to hold herself back when it came to defending the Spencers.

  “Do you want to kill him? I told you he had a heart attack. Can’t you see what he looks like? How come you can’t feel any pity for him?”

  “Leave me alone. Don’t tell me what I can or can’t do.”

  “Poor woman, to have had a son like you…You’re the shame of everyone who knows you,” she said, as she put the coffeepot back on the burner and left the dining room, slamming the door.

  Esther refused to come to Newport and I got mad at her. I thought that she would like it, that she would understand that my intention was to start again from where we had left off, and that this trip would be like a new declaration of love.

  We had an argument. I said that she didn’t give my gesture the respect it deserved, and I accused her of trying to make a play for Jaime. She hung up on me.

  I unloaded all my anger onto John that evening when he said that Emma would be delighted for us to go and stay in her house that weekend.

  “Well, you can call her again and tell her I’m not coming.”

  I didn’t give him any further explanation, and he didn’t ask. There was no need. It was clear that the cause was Esther. He didn’t even suggest that we eat together. He said that he was tired and was going to bed. María would bring a glass of milk to his room.

  I didn’t reply. We were in the living room and I had the television on and pretended to be deeply absorbed in the news. Before he left the room he seemed to want to say something, or at least he tried.

  “I know that lots of things aren’t how you want them to be. I’d do anything to make you happy,” he murmured.

  I sat in front of the television for a long time without even thinking about what I should do. Esther had hung up on me again and I realized that I had no friends in New York. I had no friends anywhere at all, for that matter. No one I could call for a drink. For my two years at the Paul Hard School, I had stayed on the margins. I had made friends only with Esther, and that was simply because Lisa had thought we could use her for our benefit. Lisa had been my whole world then.

  I felt a stab of discontent. Was I the only person in the world who had no friends? Why did no one invite me to dinner, or to spend a weekend with them? People make friends with the people they work with. Everyone did except me. No one seemed to think of me.

  This realization was like a kick in the gut. I was alone. Completely alone. The only two people who had ever accompanied me for any part of the way through life were Lisa and Esther. And I had let go of Lisa without a second thought. I didn’t even feel compassion when I saw her destroying herself with drugs. I let her do it. Now I realized that in my own way I had loved her. Not like I thought I loved Esther, but at least with Lisa I had not felt alone. She had filled some aspect of my life.

  And as for Esther, I was aware that I wanted her in some egotistical fashion. She was right: more than love, what I wanted was the security of knowing that I could count on her, unconditionally. She did not blame people for things.

  I felt impotent in the face of the knowledge that I could not convince her to give our relationship another chance. I had been stupid to go back to London without realizing that if I really wanted her by my side, I would have to confirm our relationship by getting married. But I had been impatient, and curious to meet Bernard Schmidt. Now I knew him, but on the way I had lost Esther.

  I was at a dead end and didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to overcome her resistance.

  My cell rang and pulled me out of my thoughts. It was Evelyn.

  “Hello, boss. Are you still in New York?”

  “Yes, for the time being.”

  “Here’s what we’ve got. The Spanish government would like the prospecting for oil to go ahead. They want to increase their tax revenue and reduce unemployment, and if they strike oil then they’re not going to be skittish about killing a few fish. The problem is where it always is, with the locals. The environmental groups have been mobilized. All the coastal villages are filled with posters calling for the defense of the ecosystem. Of course, there are people in favor of the prospecting—they think that if there’s oil, they’ll get some kind of benefit out of it. But it won’t be easy to carry out a campaign in favor of the oil business, especially because all the prospecting is to be paid for by the Spanish government, or rather the taxpayer. You know, the rich never lose.”

  “Don’t come to me with speeches, Evelyn. They’ve hired us to do a job and you have to tell me if it’s possible or not,” I replied.

  “We’ll do it. But we need firsthand information, or else we’ll lose a lot of time. I’m not an expert on Spanish politics. We need to know who’s who and who’s against whom before we spring into action.”

  “Read the newspapers,” I said curtly.

  Evelyn said nothing for a few seconds. I suppose she was trying to work out whether to tell me where I could stick it and hang up, or if it was better for her to carry on earning two thousand pounds a month plus expenses. She opted for the second choice.

  “I don’t know if you’re in a bad mood or if you’ve got problems, but if you think about it you’ll see that I’m right. Call me when you can. We’ll continue working here, we’ll get what information we can, but we need someone to lay out the situation for us. I think we’ll need to find a Spanish agency and work with them on this one. We should call Neil as well; perhaps he’s got a Spanish colleague who can give us some lessons on Spanish politics over a good dinner.”

  “Call Neil. I pay you too well for you not to be able to deal with this yourselves.”

  I hung up. I wasn’t in the mood to spend time on a bunch of long-haired Spanish environmentalists.

  I went back to thinking about myself. About my loneliness. I felt a f
lash of rage. I was in New York, it was my city, and I couldn’t call anyone to go out for a drink because I had no friends or even acquaintances. I had to ask myself why, had to analyze why I was alone. But I have never been the kind of person to blame myself for anything. If I were to be sincere, and not fool myself, then I really should have realized that the fault lay somewhere in my personality, as the rest of the world didn’t seem to have any problems making friends.

  I dialed Esther’s number again. I needed to speak to her, for her to explain what I knew but did not want to admit. She picked up, but there was a note of weariness in her voice. She didn’t want to talk to me. I bored her.

  “What’s wrong with me? Tell me the truth. I need you to tell me why I’m alone, why I don’t have any friends. I want to know why, if you said you loved me a month ago, you don’t love me now. Is it my fault?”

  She replied quickly and bluntly. So quickly and so bluntly that I jumped.

  “Yes. You are your own worst problem. But there’s no solution,” she said coldly.

  “What about other people? Is it really just me who’s the guilty party?”

  “Yes. Everyone else sees you for what you are. And you aren’t trustworthy. You’d sell out your own mother. You show no emotion. You don’t give any signs that you have feelings. You make people feel repulsed, Thomas. People spend time with you because of work, because they don’t have better options, but they don’t love you because they know that you’d never love them back, and that if you had to sacrifice them then you’d do so without pity.”

  “I’m a bad person? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “You’re not a good person. No one knows that better than you.”

  “But I love you.”

  “Not really, although I would have been happy if you had loved me. I wanted to love you and wanted you to respond.”

  “Do you think that if I didn’t love you I’d want you to marry me?”

  “Yes, because it’s in your interest. I’ve told you already: being with me makes you feel calm. You don’t feel any more passion for me than you might feel for someone you meet one night and take to your bed and whose name you don’t remember in the morning. Everything you do, even making love, you do with immense coldness, as if nothing gives you any pleasure. Do you know why? You have no emotions. And that’s why I don’t want to get back together with you.”