The Outcast Son

by Jacobo Priegue

  Something humid was touching my skin, a cold liquid spreading all over my face. Wake up. My sleep was sweet. My mind vaguely remembered why I was lying there. Unconscious. Wake up. I didn’t want to face reality. I’d rather be there. Motionless. Pretending nothing happened. Pretending I hadn’t passed out. Pretending I didn’t see them. The image of those four came to my mind again. I needed to take it easy. Relax. You’re safe now. Wake up. I felt the touch of Mark’s rough fingers on my cheek. I knew it was him. Strong, wide fingers stroking my temples, my eyelids, my chin and the space between my ears and my neck. They were wet. He had shed cold water on my head to try and revive me.

  When I opened my eyes, I could only see shades. Then Mark’s blurry face. It took me about a minute to fully gain consciousness, and the first thing my eyes looked for was Jaime. He was there. At the other side of the room. Standing still. Looking at me. Worried. I stood up and ran to hug him, and he hugged me as well.

  “It’s all right, sweetie,” I said, trying to comfort him. “Mum was very tired and fell asleep.” Jaime wasn't dumb, and I knew it, but I didn’t have anything else to say. Perhaps, if I pretended everything was all right, he’d follow and pretend I was telling the truth.

  “Okay, Mum,” he said, his eyes wandering through the room. “I understand.” He did understand. He understood something was going on and I wanted to protect him.

  “Tomorrow we’ll go to the place where I found you,” I told him with a less grave expression in an attempt to divert our thoughts to more cheerful matters. But he didn’t say anything. He just stared at me for a moment and smiled.

  “Patrick, could you please take Jaime to your room with you? I need to speak to Laura.”

  I frowned. Jaime was in my arms. I wanted to hold him longer, and I definitely didn’t want him to be alone with Patrick. Who knew what sort of stupid ideas he could embed in my boy’s vulnerable head? The sole thought of our improbable friend talking about women with Jaime made me sick, but I needed to talk to Mark, so I let my son go.

  “Behave yourself,” I said, although my eyes weren’t looking at Jaime, but at Patrick. He completely transformed the expression on his face, but he wouldn’t dare say anything. He couldn’t. I’d play the I-was-talking-to-Jaime card, and I knew he didn’t want to argue with me. For some strange reason, he equally respected and hated me.

  “What was that about?” Mark said when we were alone.

  “What?” I answered, half-pretending I didn’t know what he meant, half-warning him to leave me alone and not to make me speak.

  “Never mind.” He gave up. Good man.

  “So, what do you want to ask me?”

  “Look, Laura, I get why you’re upset. I really do. But I need to believe you trust me.”

  “And I do! I know you want to do what’s best for us! But I feel you are closer to that twat than you are to me! You bring this asshole with us, that’s fine, but I need to feel supported by you! Why is he travelling with us anyway? Does he owe you a favour? Have you offered him money? Doesn’t he have any girl to screw and add to his list?”

  “You’re right. You’re absolutely right. I tried too hard to be nice to him, and I realise I neglected you a little. I’m sorry.”

  “You better be!” I said with a more compassionate look. “Come here, you idiot!” And I hugged him. I noticed a drop was falling down my cheek, and I rushed to clear it so he didn’t notice.

  “I saw them,” I said. He raised his head and looked at my face. “The four of them.”

  “What? What are you talking about?” It genuinely looked like he had forgotten about them.

  “The family we saw at the airport, in Lima.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked. A grimace was my answer. It’d suffice. “But where? When?” he continued.

  “At the bloody square! And I swear, if you look at me like that again, I’ll kick your butt!”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just confused. They had to take the same flight as us!”

  “Well, they didn’t,” I replied. “They weren’t on our plane, and I didn’t see them at either of the airports.”

  “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, Laura, but I believe we must consider all the possibilities here.” He was right. It didn’t add up. Was it my imagination? It did feel real. The same people, the same clothes. The same clothes. Yes, why not? They could wear the same clothes, all four of them, for the second day in a row. It wasn’t that strange. However, I failed to mention this detail to Mark. My goal was to get him to believe me, not to tell me I was being delusional.

  “I didn’t imagine it, Mark. I saw them. And I felt dizzy and I fainted. What the hell is going on?”

  “I don’t know, honey, but I promise I won’t let anybody hurt you.”

  “I know,” I said, trying to calm myself down. “I’m scared. They may be after Jaime. Perhaps they work for the people who kidnapped Patrick.” Like a flash, the memory of Patrick asking me to leave the room to tell Mark the message he had for him interrupted my thoughts.

  “What did he tell you?” I asked. “Patrick, what did he tell you when you were alone?”

  “Laura, you know I would’ve told you right away if I could.”

  “I need to know!” I felt my head flaring up like a match. “You must tell me! How can you trust him more than you trust me?”

  “It’s not that, you need to believe me. You’re safe. Patrick is a friend and has asked for help. It’d do more harm than good if you knew.”

  It was outrageous. I felt my fists clenching tight. My nails hurting the palm of my hands. I had to breathe. I understood it’d be useless to insist. He was obstinate, and I was tired. I had just woken up from my faint, and I felt sick and dizzy and too weak to do anything or to argue or to have a fight. Maybe later.

  I hadn’t given up, though. It was important. I thought I should know. I trusted Mark, but I trusted myself as well. I needed to know. The more details I had, the sooner I could figure out what was going on for myself. Why Jaime? Why pursue him? Why make this much effort to get to him? He was just a kid! Seven years old! And he hadn’t set foot in this land for the past five years!

  “What do you think about all this anyway? You haven’t told me anything! You haven’t shown the slightest trace concern!”

  “That’s not true!” he said. “I’ve been looking after Jaime! And after you! You’re my family! Of course I’m worried! Of course I want to go back home and be calm and quiet! But if we let our fears take over, what will we have accomplished? Haven’t you thought that maybe, just maybe, those people want us to go back home? For some reason?” Was that it? Were they there to scare us?

  “I don’t know, Mark. I don’t like it.”

  “I know, sweetie. I don’t like it either.”

  “Why would anybody want to scare us?”

  “Who knows? Maybe they found out Jaime was visiting. Maybe they still think he’s a wizard and they don’t want him to be any closer to the place where he was born. Or maybe they’re ashamed of what they’ve done to him and don’t want to air the whole business again. I’d be ashamed, too, to be honest.”

  “Maybe.” That was as good an explanation as any, but it seemed they had gone through a lot of trouble to just scare us. “Yeah, maybe.” I nodded, unconvinced.

  I didn’t do much for the rest of the day. I refused to abandon my room. I ate very little and had a long nap and kept Jaime by my side, playing with our old tablet or watching videos to fight boredom. Mark and Patrick, however, went out for a walk and had some beer in the streets near the hotel, although Mark came back soon, and at 11 pm the three of us were already in bed.

  Chapter 16

  Rebirth

  A chill woke me up before sunrise. The night had grown cold, but I had put aside sheets and blankets, and I wasn’t able to find them without completely awakening. It was 6 am. Mark and Jaime were still sleeping. I covered them and went to the toilet. The mirror sent back the reflection of a terrible face: my hair was knotted and my
eyes tired. I was neither awake nor asleep, feeling an awful pain in the back of my head. I inspected the area with my right hand and noticed I had a bump. It wasn’t huge, but it hurt quite a lot. I had hit the floor or the table next to the window when I fell down. I hadn’t realised until that moment, but it was radiating a lovely headache now and threatening to ruin my day if I didn’t take a painkiller.

  I went to find my purse. It wasn’t in the same place I had left it – or I thought I had left it. Maybe my mind was betraying me, but it was on a chair now. Next to my clothes. I made sure everything was still there, my hands moving faster than my thoughts. There wasn’t anything important, though, just travelling stuff, and nothing was missing.

  I then washed down my ibuprofen with a sip of still water from the bottle I had on the table. The window was right in front of me. The blackout curtains were blocking the moonlight and my view of the street. I dragged my feet on the floor. I’d suffer another panic attack if I saw those people again, but my curiosity was greater than my fear. I moved the curtain with two fingers, just enough to let my face through. A sweat drop ran down my forehead.

  The street was a desert. The road and the pavement reflected the dim light of the moon, impregnating the city in an agonising colour. The flags at the square were now made of shadows of navy blue, very different from the lively rainbow I had seen in daylight. No trace of those four. Only a missing pedestrian waiting for his bus. I heard my own sigh, although I didn’t feel any contentment. I scrutinised the street in all its length again: left, right, and further away at Plaza de Armas. At the end of the road, the headlights of a vehicle illuminated its way. As it approached, the shape of a bus edged in the penumbra.

  The man who was waiting near the hotel put his hand forwards. The vehicle carried several passengers. I sensed my heart rate speeding up. Was anyone getting off the bus? I held on there. Watching. A few people had stood up. I tried to count them. One, two, three. But their shapes were confusing behind the windows and the seats. They could be four. Four people getting off the bus? The vehicle pulled over and all the doors opened. The man in the street got on, and the doors closed after him. Nobody got off.

  I stared at the bus as it went away, its rare lights shining in the half-light of the aurora. I followed it with my eyes until it turned right at the end of the street. I didn’t know for how long I had been focused on the bus and its movements, too absorbed to think about time. Two? Five minutes? But when I looked right again, the scene had changed. I wasn’t expecting that many people appearing so suddenly, gathering at the square and coming down the street. A few cars had also started their commutes, still with their lights on and moving steadily amongst buildings and pedestrians.

  However, I wouldn’t be at ease until I checked every face. I couldn’t. I was paranoid. The day had begun in Cusco, and the sky was clear. More and more people sprouted at the heart of the ancient capital like uneven flowers seeking for their daily sunrays. All of them strangers, unknown, mysterious and scary.

  A reflection made me draw the curtains. I didn’t want to see any more. Jaime’s steps tapping on the wooden floor caught my attention and freed me from my troubled thoughts. His eyes were struggling to stay open, and his clumsy feet moved towards me, hesitant, still weakened and uncertain.

  “Mum!”

  “Good morning, Jaime. Have you slept well?”

  “Yes! Are we going to the market?”

  “We are indeed,” I answered, scared at the thought of the dangers of being out in the degraded slum where I first saw my boy. But I had to pretend everything was under control. I couldn’t let my worries out in front of him. “Are you excited?”

  “Yes! I want to see the market and the people and my dog!”

  His puzzling sentence made me stop to think. His dog. His voice echoed in my head, resounding again and again. I thought I had an idea of what he was talking about. It was already a faint memory, blurry and confused deep inside my brain. His dog. He did have a dog. Another dog. Before Happy. Long ago. The fact he could remember surprised me and made me frown. It was the first time he had spoken about it, the first time he told me that dog was his. But when I discovered it, sunk in a pool of his own blood, I hadn’t perceived any trace of sadness or disappointment in Jaime. He was traumatised, that much was clear to me. Who knows what he had gone through the days before I found him?

  “Your dog?” I regretted the question the moment it escaped my mouth. It would’ve been better to pretend I hadn’t heard it.

  “Yes! I bet he’s still there! I showed you! Remember?”

  “I do. I’m just surprised you remember as well. You were just two.”

  “I remember my dog,” he said, bowing his head and looking down to the floor.

  “What was his name?” I asked. Did he even know he was dead? Did he even know what “dead” meant?

  “He didn’t have a name. He didn’t need a name. He was my friend.”

  “Jaime, I’m sorry, but the dog you showed me was dead. Do you know what that means?”

  “He was dead. They killed him.” A breeze of shadow darkened his eyes. He remembered, and he was telling me for the first time. Perhaps the visit reminded him of the horrors he had witnessed. Perhaps he couldn’t subdue his memories anymore. Or perhaps he just hadn’t felt like having this conversation with me up until now. But that day, by the window of our room in the hotel, in the Peruvian city of Cusco, he decided to open himself to me.

  “They?”

  “The elders. They were ugly and wanted to hurt me too, but I ran.”

  “Who were they? Did you know them? Were they your family?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember. But you came and saved me. Will you save me from Dad, as well?”

  “What did you say?” Jaime lowered his eyes and remained silent. It took me a few seconds to react. “Jaime! What are you talking about? I don’t need to save you from your father! He loves you!”

  He didn’t answer, and that made me feel uncomfortable. The conversation hadn’t finished, though. I needed him to know Mark wanted the best for him. He had grown superstitious and distant, particularly after what had happened to our baby, and sometimes we argued because I wanted him to be closer to Jaime, but I believed he loved our boy. After all we had gone through, after all the adversities we had overcome, I was completely sure our bond with our son was stronger than ever and that trip to Peru had strengthened it even more.

  I was about to prompt him to speak his mind, but Mark’s voice interrupted our conversation. I didn’t want him to know about Jaime’s worries. I had to keep it secret if I wanted my child to trust me.

  “You’re both awake,” Mark said.

  “We are,” I replied.

  “Have I overslept?”

  “Oh, no. It’s still early. Actually, Jaime just got up, too, and I was entertained looking out the window to the people in the streets.”

  “It sounds fun.”

  “Oh, shut up! I wish I could sleep as easily as you!”

  “Well, it’s 8 am now. But I guess we can go and use some extra time to walk around the city,” he said while grabbing his watch. “I’ll check on Patrick and see if we can pick up the car earlier.”

  “It sounds good to me.”

  Mark put on his jeans, his short sleeved shirt and his hiking boots. I noticed he was staring at me.

  “What?” I said. My expression might’ve looked unusual.

  “Nothing,” he said, tilting his head and half-closing his eyes as if he were trying to see through me, but then he turned his head and his body language lost all its tension.

  “Sometimes I don’t know what you’re thinking.”

  “Is that a problem?” I asked with a mocking look.

  “No. Actually, I kind of like it. It’s exciting to think you can surprise me even after all these years together.”

  He always knew what to answer to evade a direct confrontation with me. It was his gentleman’s move, something which had kept our relation
ship undamaged and rather healthy, although sometimes it was annoying. Sometimes you want to argue, to make your point. It’s almost like a sport. You play to win, but you can show your virtue by acknowledging the other person’s victory. You can be honourable in defeat and considerate in triumph. Not with Mark. Mark wouldn’t play, and by not playing, he was always the winner. Sometimes it felt he didn’t find it worth arguing with me. He’d look down to me, shut up and move on. It was almost as if he didn’t consider me as an equal, somebody worth the effort or the hardship of elaborating proper arguments.

  He left, anyway, and came back half an hour later with Patrick and the keys of an off-road car. I tried to use that lapse to investigate a little about Jaime, his feelings and why he was resentful, but his only responses were smiles and incoherent sentences. He didn’t look worried either, so I assumed it had been a childish moment.

  We left the hotel at 9 am. One morning would probably suffice to explore and relive those first years in Jaime’s life, but I wanted to be there for as long as necessary. It was a once-in-a-lifetime trip, and our son needed to confront his fears and bad memories. He needed to defeat the awe that had been haunting him from the day we rescued him from that waste place.

  “Good morning,” Patrick said, still unable to look me in the eyes.

  “Good morning,” I said, studying his face, subduing him with a glance he must’ve felt heavy on his head. What was wrong with that guy? Was he afraid of me falling in love with him and stealing his friend’s girl? Was he plain stupid? Or just rude? Or a bit of everything? I decided to ignore his affronts and carry on with our excursion. He wouldn’t ruin our special trip. He wouldn’t take up more of my thoughts than strictly necessary. It wasn’t that I held any grudge against him; it was just I didn’t like him or the way he spoke about everything – particularly women, and particularly in front of my son.