Beyond the Snows of the Andes

by Beatrice Brusic

  “You’re not telling me anything I didn’t already tell myself, but why is it so hard?”

  “Because you’re emotionally involved, and that’s very difficult to break, but there are healthy relationships and unhealthy relationships, and I think you’re caught up in an unhealthy one. He can’t be very happy either because you are not what he expects in a wife. He wanted a simple little woman who would be glad to be a wife and a mother, and he got a complicated one who has to go into therapy to resolve her problems. For that kind of a man, that’s very hard to understand. People like him are more primitive in their approach to life, they want a roof over their heads, food on the table, sex, children and the rest is gravy. You are different, you had a tragic, dramatic life, you want to know yourself; for people like him knowing yourself does not exist, they just are.”

  “But isn’t that living only half a life?”

  “Not from their perspective, because from their perspective that’s all there is to life, nothing else exists.”

  The hour ends and I meet Nick outside. He has braved traffic, circled around the block for a long time and looks tense and miserable. Seeing his stressed face I feel guilty. I wish he would stop coming to the city to pick me up, but he won’t hear of it. At least since I changed my appointments to Friday, we go out to dinner afterwards, and after a few drinks he relaxes and loses some of his irascibility. How can I tell him he is not the man for me after all he does for me?

  He doesn’t know my heart was full of doubts from the beginning and keeps showing me his love in lots of ways. He makes dinner for me when he gets off early, and I find everything ready when I walk in from the cold. If I have as much as a headache, he insists I rest and takes care of the food shopping and cleaning, all this after working six days a week.

  Dr. Bergman is wrong, I can not leave him. He is not the partner I dreamed of but perhaps we never find the perfect partner, maybe that’s a myth and this is all there is to marriage and relationships. I think of mother and how much she yearned for a Nick in her life, and here I am feeling dissatisfied, thinking I missed out on the great love of my life by getting married so soon. What am I looking for? The passion and excitement, I never found in this marriage? He bores me, he bores me stiff but maybe settling into a routine is the culprit.

  I’m going to plan different things with him and that may spice up our life together. I’m also going to work on accepting him as he is and maybe then I’ll be happy. He is very quiet and shy with people he doesn’t know, and that’s why he prefers to hang out with his family.

  Tomorrow is his birthday and we are going to Tavern on the Green to celebrate. Sergio and his wife will come along and I’m already anticipating a great time. I bought him a beautiful ring with his birthstone and I can’t wait to see his face when he tries it on. I told him Ana had nothing to do and he insisted she come with us, that’s the kind of person he is, open and generous to a fault.

  ~~~

  “We have done a lot of work and it’s time to go back home,” says Dr. Bergman lighting his pipe. “It’s time to face your past.”

  I feel panicky. “Are you saying we’re finished? I still need help. I want to keep on coming.”

  “I’m not saying anything of the sort. I’m saying you need to go back home and come back to me with your impressions. We have established that first you didn’t mourn your mother properly and that caused you a period of maladjustment that could have had dire consequences, now you’re facing the fact that you are in mourning and will probably be in mourning for a very long time, but in order to resolve your feelings you need to confront them. I don’t consider our work finished but I think you need time to evaluate your marriage, to come to terms with your mother’s tragedy. You may come back and decide you don’t need me anymore, and that’s fine. You may decide to leave your husband, you may decide to stay, you may decide to go it along with no man by your side for a while, but all these things will be in limbo if you don’t take this break, do you understand what I’m saying?”

  “Yes, but why am I so afraid? What’s the matter with me?”

  “Think about it, don’t do it tomorrow but prepare for it, it’s necessary.”

  I leave his office with my mind in turmoil. I have been coming here for a year, but it seems only yesterday I rang his doorbell for the first time with a sickening feeling in my stomach. Now I look forward to my appointments all the time. I view him as the best friend I ever had, how can I give that up even temporarily? Yet I know he is right. I need to go back and confront my past because I can not put it off indefinitely.

  I know that the longer I take, the harder it will be to go back. I have some savings of my own now so money won’t be a problem. I think of a gentle way to tell Nick and finally just blurt out the truth. He looks at me tensely and sneers.

  “That’s the craziest thing I ever heard yet. He is telling you what to do and what trips to take now? I’m not due for vacation till next year. I’ve used up all my time, I can’t just leave my job whenever I feel like it the way you do, they need me in there.”

  “You don’t have to come along, Nick, I’ll only be gone for a couple of weeks anyway.”

  “I see, what about your job?”

  “I’ll tell them I have an emergency, it will be fine.”

  “It won’t be fine; I’m not letting you go.”

  “Nick, I’m an adult. You can’t stop me from going.”

  “I let you see this crazy doctor, and this is the thanks I get?”

  “You let me, what do you mean you let me? You’re not my father; you are my husband, stop trying to control my life.”

  He pins me to the bed and his face is distorted with rage. “You’re not going without me, do you hear me? Wait till next year when we both can go.”

  I slip away and scream at him. “Go to hell and stop treating me like a child. I’m not asking for your permission, I’m going.”

  “We’ll see about that,” he says clenching his teeth.

  I grab my purse and leave the house. I’m so upset I’m crying and when Ana sees me at her door, she gives me a drink to calm me down. He has made up my mind. I call the airline and reserve a ticket for the following week. I call Aunt Sonia and she is delighted with the news.

  “You’ll stay with me,” she says. “I’ll put Carlos and Oscar in the living room and you’ll get the spare bedroom.”

  I stay with Ana overnight and Nick comes around the following day. He is contrite and says he’ll abide with my decision. “I’ll take you to the airport,” he says. “But never leave the house like that again. I was going crazy looking for you.”

  ~~~

  I tell Dr. Bergman what happened and after a thoughtful pause, he says. “It’s hard for him, he just doesn’t understand. It’s not his fault really, people like him only view things in terms of black and white, there are no grays, no obscure areas, you’re either happy or unhappy, an adult or a child, there are no in betweens. He must be very frustrated with you and with me.”

  “He hates you with a passion but I love you, Jay. You have no idea all the good that came out of my therapy. And you’re absolutely right; I do need to take this trip for several reasons.”

  “I’m glad you understand I wasn’t trying to get rid of you.”

  “I do and I’m extremely grateful.”

  “Don’t be, you did most of the work,” he says taking a whiff of his pipe. “I look forward to resuming our work when you’re back.”

  ~~~

  A week later I board the plane with trepidation. Nick is standing on the tarmac waving at me with a sad, strained expression and I want to run back and hug him. I wish my feelings towards him were clearer, I wish I wasn’t so confused and conflicted all the time. I know I cheated him by getting married and I’m already paying a big price for that in terms of guilt, confusion and loneliness. This lapse of time away from him should help to make up my mind once and for all. Not having a permanent visa has robbed me of so many things for so long, but at
last I’m returning to confront it all.

  The thought of seeing my brother again fills me with a mixture of joy and fear. He has been through so much, how has it all affected him? It has been five long years, and so many things have changed. The flight is as turbulent as my thoughts due to many air pockets that rock the plane like a toy, before we finally land at the airport. I get out slowly and look around me, and there, behind the same glass partition where I said goodbye to mother for the last time, are standing my aunt and Oscar smiling at me. They wave and my heart accelerates at the sight of my brother. We hug and kiss and I feel the old, familiar ache of the past. He has gotten taller and thinner but the same heart shaped face and tender brown eyes smile back at me.

  My aunt looks good, her light blonde hair enhancing her soft, ethereal features. The descent from the airport is steep and foggy and I can see the lights of the city flickering down below like lanterns, as if trying to ward off the nightly chill. I had forgotten how low and cavernous the city was and the old sense of oppression and entrapment seizes me, and I squeeze my brother’s hand tremulously. Understanding without words, he gives me a hug reassuringly. I feel light headed and out of breath, and at home they give me “Mate de Coca” and send me to bed.

  “The altitude is not to be messed with,” says my aunt taking charge as usual. “You two can catch up with the family tomorrow.”

  I’m struck by how small everything looks. In my mind’s eye, the house was big, my aunt’s apartment enormous, but nothing looks the same, and even the stairs leading to her place seem smaller. I wake up late and join them in the dining room for breakfast. Carlos, who had been out the night before, is seated next to my brother and we hug affectionately. At six feet two, he towers over us but I’m struck by his long hair and frailty. He seems incredibly slim for his frame and that makes his head look larger and his deep, cavernous eyes hollower.

  “Have you been ill?” I ask, noticing how different he looks.

  “No,” he says laconically. “I just can’t seem to gain any weight.”

  “He eats like a horse,” says my aunt. “But he takes these weird trips; God only knows what he does with his time.”

  “Don’t start that up again, ma. I’m in no mood for it.”

  “He is also very disrespectful as you can see.”

  “Leave me the hell alone, will you? I’m in no mood to take your shit right now.”

  “See what I mean? In case you can’t tell by his looks, he’s been a real mess since his father died. He quit the university and has been living like a bum.”

  “Andate a comer mierda, vieja estúpida,” [“Go eat shit, stupid old lady”] he snaps, kicking the table and leaving the room. I’m amazed by the level of violence and animosity between them and want to say something but Oscar kicks me under the table to keep quiet. My aunt’s face is red and she is very upset, but she forces herself to smile.

  “Tell me about that handsome husband of yours, how is he?”

  “He is great, Aunt Sonia. He sent you a present. I have it in my luggage.”

  She screams with delight and claps her hands like a child. “I knew it, from the first moment I saw him I knew he was a real catch. You’ve been very lucky.”

  “He thinks you’re wonderful too.”

  “Thank your lucky stars, young lady,” she says looking at the pair of gold earrings he sent her. “I hope you appreciate what you got in that man.”

  We finish breakfast and she asks me what I want for lunch, which reminds me of mother and makes me very sad.

  “Don’t go through any trouble, Aunt Sonia, whatever you want to make is fine with me.”

  She introduces me to her new maid called Angela, and the small, slim young woman comes into the room and acknowledges me with a smile, but won’t look me in the eye.

  “She is wonderful, so clean and neat, I’ve been really lucky to find her,” says my aunt. “After Josefa left I went through hell. You don’t know how servants have changed nowadays, they are very uppity now, but Angela is still humble and shy and doesn’t put on airs.”

  We settle on “Arroz con Pollo” [“Rice and chicken”] and I go out with Oscar, promising to return in time for lunch.

  “What do you want to do,” asks, Oscar. “I’m entirely at your disposal.”

  “Now that we are in Miraflores, I want to see the hospital.”

  “Of course, we’ll go anywhere you want to go.”

  The terrace of my aunt’s house brings endless memories, but that’s only the beginning in terms of the emotional journey that’s ahead of me. I hold Oscar’s hand and we walk down to the general hospital. He’s a little taller than me now but he’s still very thin.

  “I see you still got those skinny legs you were famous for in the neighborhood,” I tease him. “When will they fill up?”

  “Never,” he says smiling. “But you lost your red cheeks permanently, I see.”

  He still has freckles and those thick eyelashes I was once very jealous of. I muss his curly hair the way I did when we were young and he beams at me. September is the best month to come to Bolivia because the days are lighter, warmer and it doesn’t rain so much, but walking down with him in the caressing sun; I feel a chill going through me. I’m afraid to see and I’m afraid not to see.

  “The only way to make peace with the past is to confront it,” said my therapist, but this is very hard, and as we approach the hospital I’m afraid my courage will falter.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” asks Oscar, noticing my hesitancy.

  “Yes, let’s go.”

  We enter the old building and he takes me to the public ward where mother has spent her last months. It is a big, gloomy room with high, dilapidated ceilings, no windows and row after row of flimsy beds where the doomed and destitute wait to die.

  “We are looking for a patient, please forgive the intrusion,” says my brother, as we pass bed after bed. Some of the patients answer and give a little wave and others ignore us; they are pale, bald and devoid of vanity. Their eyes are sad and haunted and their emaciated forms seem suspended in a limbo of faint hope and resignation. These are the faces and bodies of the dying; this was the face and body of my mother. There is a tremendous loneliness in the room as they each must face the extinction of their bodies alone. They have seen death up close, and the smell of fear and anguish permeates the room. We get to the corner by the wall and he points to it.

  “This is where she spent her last moments,” he says in a shaky voice. “This is where they found her when they took her to the morgue.”

  My eyes fill with tears and I keep staring at the spot, imagining her lying alone and helpless there, waiting for the end to come.

  “She had a little table over here,” says my brother. “And that’s where they found the soup Aunt Sonia brought her untouched.”

  We get out and I break down by the stairs. He puts his arm around me and lets me cry. People go in and out of the hospital but I’m vaguely aware of them, I’m in my own dark, regretful world.

  “There was nothing you could do,” says Oscar, gently. “Don’t torture yourself thinking you could have changed anything.”

  “You were there, Oscar, you don’t know what that means.”

  “It was hell either way,” he says lighting a cigarette. “I came to see her almost every day but the last time I saw her was a few days before she died, and she told me “ya te diste de alta, no?” [“You have already discharged yourself from duty, right?”]- the way she always used to say, and I left the ward only to get lost and came right back face to face with her again, and she waved at me and I noticed her hair had fallen over her eye. I pushed it back and put it behind her ear, and that was the last time I saw her. When she died, I blamed myself for leaving her alone those last few days, for not being there till the last minute, so you see? I have my own guilt to deal with; you’re not the only one.”

  “Nobody could have done more than you did, Oscar, you have absolutely nothing to reproach yourself
for.”

  “She died alone; I wasn’t there to close her eyes, and I promised her that.”

  “But you were there all the time, whereas I wasn’t there at all.”

  “You were there in spirit, Vicky, you never really left.”

  A lump forms in my throat. “You said she had hair? She wasn’t bald like the others?”

  “No, she never lost her hair, that would have come later because of the drugs but she went very fast, the doctor thought she still had time. The cancer didn’t kill her; she died of a heart attack.”

  “Then she didn’t suffer too much, did she?”

  “She suffered, Vicky, she suffered, but I don’t want to talk about it. It’s enough for today, don’t you think? This is very, very hard for me too.”

  I press his hand and we continue walking. His face is somber and I know he is remembering. I look around me and notice the country has become more crowded and there is a more traffic and buildings, yet the sky is still blue, clear, and free from pollution. The weather is beautiful this morning so Mountain Illimani is resplendent against the midday sun as if welcoming me back into the country, and seems more mythical and magical than ever. My country is wild, unique and beautiful, and the mountains I had once hated so much now glisten like jewels against the morning sun.

  “Do you still hate Bolivia?” asks Oscar, reading my mind.

  “Yes and no, but it still haunts me, you know, yet I’m also now in a position to fully appreciate its raw beauty. I guess it was our circumstances I hated and that translated to the country.”

  “And who can blame you?” respond Oscar with a deep sigh. “It was a real crucible.”

  “Yes,” I say with pain. “It was.”

  “Here, I have something for you,” he says getting an old, crinkled paper out of his wallet. “It’s the only thing that has survived from mother because Aunt Sonia got rid of everything, she wanted no reminders, nothing to make her sad, and as usual she didn’t think of us. I think you should read it though, I think she would want you to have it.”