~~~
“I have great news,” says my aunt excitedly a few days later when I see her for lunch. “Your father phoned. He’s relocating to Uyuni in a few weeks as scheduled, and wants you to join him there within a month. He’s going to take responsibility for you from now on. He needs time to get settled and prepare his family for your arrival, but it’s a done deal, you’re going, isn’t that wonderful? Do you realize what this means to you? You will meet a different class of people, and will have a better chance at a good marriage.”
I feel faint, confused, this is not the solution I had hoped for. I thought I would get a good allowance, something that would perhaps allow me to live with my aunt while still being able to see my mother.
“What’s the matter,” snaps my aunt. “You’re not pleased? This is the solution to your problems.”
“Of course I am; it just took me by surprise, that’s all.”
“This is so great I couldn’t be happier. He gets free transportation throughout Bolivia with the railroad, and you will see a lot of places, probably even the whole country. I want us to go to your house right after lunch to collect your things right away. We have to hit your mother quickly before she makes one of her usual scandals. You will live here with us until your father calls for you.”
“Let her stay with her mother till it’s time for her to go,” says my uncle, noticing my discomfort. “It’s going to be hard enough to separate them as it is.”
“Stay out of this, Roberto. I’m doing this for her own good, and she can always see her mother later, once she’s permanently out of her clutches.”
“Have you asked her what she wants, or are you making decisions for her again?” asks Uncle Berto, unwilling to let the matter drop.
“She’s not sentimental and foolish like her mother or I wouldn’t lift a finger to help her. She’ll do whatever it takes to overcome her situation, that’s the big difference between her and my sister.”
“I see - María was sentimental and foolish because she wouldn’t give up her children to rich people like you wanted her to. Her maternal instincts were always stronger than yours and for that she has to be punished, yet you never forgave your own mother for not fighting for you, you’re really a walking contradiction, Sonia.”
“Oh, go to work, “Viejo” and stop interfering on things you know nothing about,” says my aunt with disgust. “You have a backwards mentality and think parents belong with their children no matter what, even if they are living in squalor.”
His face turns red and motions me to walk him to his office.
“Don’t try to influence her,” snaps my aunt. “She has already made up her mind, and you won’t be able to change it no matter what you say to her.”
We start walking quietly and I feel like weeping, things are moving too quickly and I feel my life spinning out of control. I had wanted a change, but not this kind of a change.
“Think about it, Vicky,” says my uncle, hugging his jacket against the afternoon chill. “This is your life and you should be guided by your heart and not your aunt.”
I don’t answer him, there is a lump in my throat and I can’t swallow.
“Your aunt wasn’t always so hard, I don’t know what’s happened to her through the years,” he says wistfully. “She was once such a beautiful person, not just physically but spiritually. I remember our honeymoon in Rio when she jumped with the waves at Ipanema beach with the abandon of a child, and wonder where that vibrant, delightful woman went.”
“Have you ever gone back to Rio?”
“Several times but it was never the same,” he says with sadness. “We never recaptured the magic of that moment which was brief and fluid like a dream, that’s why I want you to get in touch with your feelings now and make your own decisions. Your mother won’t be around forever, you have a lot of time ahead of you to change your future. You don’t have to do a desperate thing now just because your aunt thinks it’s a good idea.”
My heart is beating wildly and the only who understands my inner turmoil as usual is my uncle. I feel my tears falling and I lower my face to hide them from him. I want to thank him but no words will come, and he pats me on the head and walks into his building with a smile.
My aunt has cancelled one of her card games this afternoon and calls for a cab so we can go to my house right away. The cab is crawling, climbing through the clogged streets of “Calle Comercio” where the era of television first made its appearance a few years ago, and Oscar and I had returned to view these “magic boxes” transmitting all kinds of exciting images time and time again, dreaming of the day we may be able to purchase one.
We had stood outside the stores fascinated, unable to believe the small screen had finally come to our country. Now we see the sets all over the place, especially at the Black Market where they sell them as contraband, but we have never been able to experience that sense of wonder and discovery again.
I feel horrible about the recent fight with mother for it couldn’t have come at a worse time, and hope she won’t associate my decision to leave with that unfortunate incident. At last we pass the Black Market and turn down a few blocks down to the street where I live. The cab parks in front of my house and we get out, but the way is muddy because of the recent rains, and my aunt’s heels sink down. She tells the cabbie to wait, and holding onto to my arm gets into the four family building. At the sight of the courtyard full of mud and broken bricks she cringes, and when I tell her she has to navigate the stairs to our two rooms, she is horrified.
“Oh, my God, it’s worst than I thought.”
“Let me go by myself and get my things and you wait for me here, you might fall like my brother.”
“No, you go up first and pull me. I’m not taking a chance on her screwing up everything at the last moment because I couldn’t climb up the damn stairs.”
We manage to reach the rooms and push open the door where Oscar is knitting with Manuela while mother is napping in the next room.
“Aunt Sonia, what a surprise” exclaims my brother, and mother comes out of the room quickly and offers my aunt a seat which she declines.
“I didn’t sleep very well last night,” says mother straightening her skirt and hair. “Sorry you caught me resting. Can I offer you a cup of coffee? It’s so nice to see you, Sonia.”
“I came to collect Vicky’s things,” she says looking around the room with apprehension. Mother hasn’t made the beds or swept the rooms and there is dust and wool all over the place.
“I hope you’re going to be reasonable about this, María, but your daughter is becoming a young lady now, and she can no longer live like this…under these conditions. I made arrangements with her father to take her to Uyuni and that’s going to happen real soon. She’s going to finish high school there, and will be well provided for. It’s going to be good for you too, one less thing to worry about. Surely you realize she needs a different environment now that she’s getting older? She’ll be interested in boys soon, and boys will be interested in her, but what can she find here, in this dump?”
“What?” yells mother, blindsided. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“You’ve got to think of her welfare and stop being selfish for a change. She can not go on this way, living in such object poverty in the middle of these people. It’s not safe and in fact, it’s downright dangerous. You have to let her go, you have to sacrifice yourself for her welfare, stop holding her under your skirts and let her grow up.”
“Is that why you paid me the honor of your visit?” exclaims mother, starting to pick at her face nervously. “When did all this happen? When did that bum who never gave me a cent for her upbringing re-entered the picture?”
“Never mind all that. I went to see him, asked him to help her, and didn’t harp on the past because that’s irrelevant. The fact is, he is going to help her now, and you have to let her go.”
“How can you be so cruel,” says mother tearing up. “He’s never been a father t
o her and now he realizes she exists? After I killed myself raising her alone? She’s my child and I won’t be separated from her. I know you never forgave me for keeping her, for not handing her out to you like a puppy, but you’ve never been a mother to your own children, how can you possibly know what this feels like? You believe money is the answer for everything but I don’t, there’s such a thing as the soul, you know.”
“Oh, spare me the dramatics,” scoffs my aunt. “Don’t turn this into a Greek tragedy, families separate all the time, you don’t live and die in the same spot with your parents anymore. You have to let her go, and she wants to go, don’t you, Vicky?”
Unable to bear the scene I look away and mother takes it as a yes.
“Quien calla otorga” [“Silence speaks louder than words”] she says tearfully. “After all I did for you, the way I sacrificed myself since you were a baby, now you’re going with the person who denied you, who didn’t want you to be born, who begged me to abort you. I fought for you with every ounce of my being because I loved you from the moment you were conceived. Someday, if you ever have the glory of becoming a mother, you will understand. But you never loved me that way; you pushed my breast in favor of the bottle when you were a baby – you had an indolent heart even then.”
“You could legally stop her from going because she’s a minor, but what would be the point of that? She doesn’t belong to you anymore; she has her own mind and wants to break free.”
“Did she ever really belong to me or anyone?” says mother with a sardonic laugh. “She doesn’t belong to you either, she’s just using you to get ahead, so don’t fool yourself into thinking she loves you, because she’s smarter than you and I put together.”
“Is that so? And if it is, so what, I don’t care, more power to her if she’s that smart. I’m not doing this so she’ll adore me for the rest of her life. I’m doing it because in this life you have to do something for somebody, you can’t just take up space. If I can change her life, I won’t have lived in vain. I don’t care if she never speaks to me again, if she spits at me in the street, I will never be sorry I helped her.”
“What can he give her that I can’t?”
“A future, a nice house and a better life, don’t you want that for her?”
“It won’t always be like this for us…. I’ve got an assistant now; I’m selling my knits to more places. Things will improve for us some day.”
“How long have you been saying that? Be realistic. It’s too late for you but it’s not too late for her.”
She lowers her head and begins to sob.
“I know it’s hard,” says my aunt softly. “But she’s suffered enough. You can show her the depth of your love by giving her up, it’s time, María.”
Mother walks to the dresser and opens it wide. “Take her things,” she says tearfully. “She doesn’t have much but I did the best I could.”
I glance at her briefly and the look of pain I see registered there makes my heart sink, but I manage to whisper I love you to her before gathering my things. Oscar is crying in a corner of the room and Manuela, stunned by the drama, stares at us numbly.
“You will sign your consent, María?” asks my aunt gently, touching her on the shoulder. “If you don’t, she won’t be able to go, you know.”
“I’ll sign,” says mother in a queer voice. “No sense keeping her here against her will.”
I leave the room with my eyes blurred by tears, and get into the cab wishing I wasn’t deserting the only real family I have ever known. Riding back I keep biting my lips not to break down and openly sob, but curtains and curtains of water keep falling from my eyes giving me away. My aunt is silent, and I’m grateful for it because I keep seeing my brother’s hurt face and the accusation of betrayal in his eyes. I’m quiet the rest of the day, but at night, in the privacy of my room, I cry in till I’m exhausted.
~~~
Two days later I see a great bouquet of flowers on the table for my aunt, and realize with horror that it’s Mother’s Day. Because of the changes in my life I have completely forgotten the occasion, and I feel doubly guilty and sad. I steal some cuttings when nobody is looking, and take them home to mother. She looks wan and pitiful, and her eyes are red and swollen.
“I didn’t sleep all night worrying about you but maybe you’re doing the right thing and your aunt is right. She’s always had vision in life, you know? I couldn’t leave my mother no matter what happened to me in life, and look how that turned out - out of desperation I got involved with your father when I was barely seventeen and was forced to get married. Had I done what your aunt did coming to La Paz when she was a teenager, things could have been different for me too, but I didn’t have her courage, I was always afraid. You are not like that, you are brave like your aunt, and life is forcing you to make painful choices at a very tender age. I can only offer you more of the same, perhaps even worse, but with him…. with him, you might have a chance.”
I hug her and cry on her shoulder. “I’m only doing it to help you too. I always felt I ruined your life; that if you hadn’t gotten me so young, you wouldn’t have had to struggle so much, and you would have been able to get married again.”
“Oh, dear child,” she says filling my face with kisses. “You didn’t ruin my life, you were the reason I didn’t kill myself a long time ago. You gave me something to live for. My children are the only happiness I ever had in my life. I’m only sorry you had to go through so much since you were little.”
We cling to each other and cry, with Oscar hugging the two of us with tears in his eyes. I know at this moment that this is where I will always belong no matter what else happens in my life.
“I accepted the situation making a tremendous sacrifice for your own good,” says mother drying her tears. “Now I want you to do something for me. I want you to arrange a meeting with your father. I’m not going to just hand you over to him without learning what plans he has in store for you, can you arrange it?”
“I think he’s in Uyuni now but he goes back and forth, ma. If he comes back to La Paz before I have to leave, I’ll arrange it, sure.”
~~~
“I knew it was too good to be true,” says my aunt during lunch. “But we could say he left for Uyuni permanently, we don’t have to let her know he’s here now.”
“Why do that? She has a perfect right to see him, to find out what his plans are,” says my uncle.
“I guess we have no choice,” says my aunt with resignation. “You would think she would have more pride, more vanity not to let him see what she’s become, but no, she has to flaunt her poverty to the world.”
“Honestly, Sonia, sometimes I think you should hear yourself talk, you might realize the nonsense that comes out of your mouth,” says my uncle with a smirk.
“And you, since when you have become Einstein? The last time I looked, you wouldn’t even pick up a book, much less read it.”
“At least I know my limitations, Sonia. I don’t pretend to know everything the way you do.”
“I know more than you do, that’s for sure, because you’re still living in the Stone Age.”
“Perhaps, but I don’t like to hurt people the way you do.”
“Hurt people? I want to help people, always. Who have I hurt? Name one person.”
“That’s your misfortune,” he says heading for his bedroom to take a nap. “That you don’t even see it and never will.”
My aunt scoffs and ignores him. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s a crazy old man who doesn’t realize what we’re trying to do here.”
I’m wounded to the core by her words, but I hide my feelings. I want to grab her by the shoulders and scream “what exactly has mother become?” but I say nothing. I look at her cheerfully, and she never senses my feelings.
C hapter Six
I pick up mother at the house two days later as planned, and I’m very pleased to see how attractive she looks. She has put on lipstick, washed and combed her hair with a ban
d, exposing her enormous forehead which is usually hidden behind thick bangs. The anguished expression that follows her like a dark cloud seems softer, gentler and she looks serene. We talk a lot during the long bus ride to the railroad station, and I notice she has resigned herself to my leaving, but is resolute about talking to my father.
At last we reach our destination and enter his office. My aunt has called beforehand, so he is expecting us. Mother says my father has always been fastidious about his appearance, and she never saw him without a suit and a tie. He is now wearing a black suit with a white shirt and looks particularly handsome.
He offers to take us for a bite to eat and mom shyly accepts since it’s already past noon. We go to the same place we went with my aunt and take the same table. He tells her I’ll have my own room, will get to finish high school, and probably come back to La Paz to take a secretarial course which, of course, he’ll pay.
He tells her I will write to her often, and he will keep her posted on every new development or complication that arises in my life. Their conversation is cordial, perhaps even warm, and for a brief, fleeting second I can’t help but wonder what might have been had they never gotten divorced.
He orders steaks for all of us and we eat them with potatoes and rice. “I remember you were always carnivorous,” says mother with amusement. “And your brother only wanted to eat eggs.”
“That hasn’t changed,” he says smiling. “And you were partial to chicken.”
“I still am,” she says reddening.
He fills her glass with wine. “Salud, María.” [“Cheers, María”]
“To Vicky,” she says sadly. “To her new life.”
She takes advantage of the pause to continue. “I’m handing you a gem, a very special, sensitive child, and I want to make sure she stays that way, Ernesto. It will be very hard for her, and she will need a lot of love and support from you. We’ve never been apart, and this will be a difficult test for both of us. This is your chance to make it up to her, you owe her at least that much, don’t you think?”
Beyond the Snows of the Andes Page 24