Story of a Sociopath

  “Thomas…” She found it difficult to speak. She was exhausted.

  “Yes.”

  “Thank you for coming from London. I had to talk to you before…before leaving. I couldn’t die in peace without telling you something.”

  I wanted to leave the room. Right then I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear whatever it was she was about to say. But I said nothing and waited. I didn’t take her hand, nor did she move to give it to me like she had done with the others, fearing I might reject her.

  “You’ve been my biggest nightmare…I assume I’ve been yours too.”

  Her statement left me speechless. My mother had just put what we’d been to each other into words.

  “You’ve paid for a mistake…My mistake…Yes, you’re the one who’s paid for it. Without bearing any responsibility. And I understand if you can’t forgive me for that.” She closed her eyes for a few seconds.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I replied curtly.

  “It was during my first year at college. The Hispanic students had a party. You know what those college parties are like…Alcohol and drugs…I drank too much. I won’t give you the details, but…well, I was a virgin before that night. I was drunk and…there was a moment when the alcohol meant I didn’t know what I was doing or what others were doing to me…Several boys…well, they raped me. I resisted but I couldn’t do anything, I was so drunk…When I came to I found myself in the hospital. Someone had taken me, given my state…an alcoholic coma…The next month my period didn’t come. I was worried but my friends told me that nobody gets pregnant the first time. They and I both knew that wasn’t really the case, that it could happen. It happened to me. I didn’t know whose it was. I didn’t know how many boys had…I didn’t know. My friends didn’t know either; they’d had as much to drink as I had. I couldn’t identify anyone. Yes, they might have been some of the boys who laughed when they saw me, but I didn’t have any proof. I wondered whether to have an abortion. My mother realized what was going on. She’s always been a good Catholic, so she made it clear that she would not let me go through with it. My father…well, I can still feel the sting of the slap he gave me when he found out. But I continued with the pregnancy and you don’t know what it cost me. I wasn’t sure, I hadn’t chosen to become a mother and, furthermore, I didn’t know who your father might be. But all this changed the day you were born and the nurse put you in my arms. My parents loved you from the very first, and although I hadn’t chosen to be a mother, I was proud of you and thought you were the most beautiful baby in the world. You and I were irreversibly linked and I no longer felt you were a burden I couldn’t bear.

  “My mother told me I should continue my studies and become a nurse as I had always wanted; she would take care of you. And so it was during the first year of your life. I studied, worked whatever jobs I could get, and even had a few nights out with my friends since my parents were looking after you.”

  She closed her eyes again. Each word she said cut her life shorter. She could barely speak.

  “Sometimes I spent ages looking at you, trying to work out which of the boys on campus could be your father. But I couldn’t see anything that marked you out. You could have been anyone’s son.

  “Then I met John…We fell in love. I think he’s always loved me more. I didn’t tell him I had a son until he asked me to marry him. Then I told him no, I couldn’t, I had a son. I told him the whole truth. I thought he would leave once he found out what happened to me, that he wouldn’t be interested in a girl who drank so much she passed out and was passed around…But John, my Juan, isn’t like other people, he’s a special man. He insisted on marrying me and told me he wanted to adopt you. ‘Thomas will be my son too. From now on I don’t want anyone to be able to think otherwise. He’s our son, Carmela, ours,’ he told me.”

  She started to cough. I knew she couldn’t carry on. I put the oxygen mask on her like the doctor had told me to and wondered whether to call him or to wait. I wanted to know, I needed to know. After a few seconds my mother gestured to me to take the mask off and continued talking, although her voice was fainter and fainter.

  “John has always treated you like a son. He’s never treated you any differently from Jaime, who is his true son, or if he has, it’s been to favor you. And he loves you, Thomas; your father, the only father you’ve ever had, truly loves you. When you started to grow up, I don’t know why, but I seemed to irritate you…You wouldn’t let me be close to you…I became depressed; I didn’t understand your rejection. John insisted on sending me to a psychiatrist who specialized in these things; he said it was a way for us to understand what was happening. I went to therapy for two years, but it was a failure. I blamed myself for being unable to make you love me, for dreaming that you would be waiting to play with me when I got home, or for me to help you with your homework, but none of that ever happened.

  “So, you see, I loved you but you didn’t love me. I’m still surprised by your father’s immense love in trying to understand, to help me. Another man would have been unable to live with my emotional highs and lows. I have to acknowledge that I improved for a while when Jaime was born. That was when I felt the maternal instinct that you had never let me show explode inside of me. I couldn’t stop smiling at my little one, couldn’t stop wanting to hold him in my arms day and night. Nothing and no one were more important to me than him.

  “I guess you realized my happiness at having Jaime right from the get-go…I didn’t know what to do to get you to let me love you and you were determined to gain my attention. You needed me to pay attention to you, but when I tried, you would reject me.

  “Yes, you can criticize me for throwing in the towel for a while, because I was spending hours with Jaime but almost didn’t dare kiss you or try to hug you. I carry the lack of love you’ve shown me like an unbearable weight on my conscience, because I feel responsible. It’s as though you somehow knew that…deep down, you were not a wanted child. I don’t want your forgiveness because I know you can’t forgive me. But I owe you an explanation and I beg one thing of you: I need to know the cause of the distance between us. I don’t know if I’m doing you any good by telling you all this…Your father…Juan thinks I shouldn’t be telling you, but you have the right to know. I don’t want to die a coward for having been unable to tell you the truth.”

  My mother closed her eyes, I don’t know whether it was because her effort had exhausted her or because she couldn’t hold my gaze. I was so quiet that I could hear my breathing. I was trying to process everything my mother had told me. I had entered that room with one life and identity and I was going to leave with another.

  I was unable to move. I could only contemplate my mother’s agony. I asked myself what she was expecting me to do right then: to move closer and take her hand? Tell her I forgave her? I couldn’t do it, so I stood motionless for some time. Then she opened her eyes and I thought I saw a tear run down her cheek.

  “I’m sorry. It wasn’t your fault but I made you pay the price for that damned night. If God exists, He’ll send me to hell for that night.”

  She was finding it difficult to breathe and her voice was different. I remained in a state of shock, without speaking or moving, and I watched her, trying to find an answer inside myself.

  I don’t know how long we remained silent. I know I didn’t do what I should have done. I should have reached out to her, given her a kiss, taken her hand, and said:

  “Don’t worry, Mama, I’m the one who should apologize for everything I’ve put you through. My behavior toward you has been appalling. You’ve been the best mother anyone could ever dream of; I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else but you. Will you forgive me? I know I’ve made life very difficult for you, but you don’t have anything to reproach yourself for. This is just the way I am. I’d like to be a better person, but…The only thing I regret is making you unhappy. I must thank you for giving me John as a father. I couldn’t have had any better. I can’t and I don’t want to im
agine any other father who isn’t him.

  “You’ve given me a good life, Mama; you’ve given me a family. It pains me so much that I wasn’t able to show you how much I love you! Please don’t worry; I’ll take care of Dad and Jaime, but that won’t be soon, because you have to get better. You have to fight to come out of this. I’ll be here. I’ll stay with you. I’ll help you with your battle…You’ll be able to get up soon…You’ll see.”

  Then I would have embraced her and covered her face with kisses, trying to make up for lost time.

  —

  But I didn’t do or say any of this. I won’t say I wasn’t tempted to. I hesitated. But it seemed as if I’d been nailed to the floor, there, at the foot of her bed. I felt sorry for her and for myself, but at the same time I didn’t want to change direction, I couldn’t, I didn’t know how. I listened to her agitated breath and watched as she suffered. If she’d hoped for a word of comfort, she didn’t hear it from me.

  After a few minutes she opened her eyes and her gaze was filled with desolation. Once again she had failed in her attempt to be closer to me. Even on her deathbed, she had failed.

  “Call the doctor. I can’t take it anymore…Thank you, Thomas. Thank you for coming, for listening to me. I hope what I’ve said helps you find yourself, find the peace I’ve never had.”

  I walked out of the room and nearly collided with my father, who was glued to the door. He didn’t even look at me but pushed me aside, went in and stood at the head of my mother’s bed. The others followed.

  “Carmela, darling, look at me,” my father begged her.

  “I can’t take it anymore, Juan…I can’t take it anymore. I need to sleep. Tell the doctor to give me the morphine.”

  “No, no, no! You’ve got to hold on. Carmela, for God’s sake, don’t do this to me!”

  Jaime wrapped his arm around my father’s shoulders, trying to lead him away from the bed.

  “Dad, let Mama sleep…It’ll be all right. She’ll wake up in a little while. Let’s not make her suffer, please.”

  Grandpa Ramón was crying like a baby in the arms of Uncle Oswaldo, and Grandma Stella was kissing my mother’s face, soaking her in tears while putting a picture card of Saint Patrick on her pillow. Meanwhile, Grandpa James, Grandma Dorothy, and Aunt Emma waited in silence at the doorway.

  It was Jaime who took care of everything.

  “Please, could you step outside for a moment? Dad, give Mama a kiss and wait outside. Come on, Grandma, let her breathe…Uncle Oswaldo, would you mind taking Grandma and Grandpa out? As soon as Mama gets her injection and oxygen mask you can come back in. Thomas, can you stay here with me?”

  My mother looked at Jaime gratefully. Her dear son was there by her side, watching over the last minutes of her life as gently as if he were handing her a bouquet. They smiled at each other. There was so much love and understanding between them. I felt an envy so violent it made me want to go up to the bed, grab my mother, and shake her. I didn’t move. Grandpa James and Grandma Dorothy were the first to step out of the room while Uncle Oswaldo clung to his mother and tugged at her, and Aunt Emma looked after Grandpa Ramón.

  My father was hugging my mother and she was stroking his hair. I didn’t catch what she whispered in his ear, but whatever it was, it brought tears to my father’s eyes.

  The doctor glanced impatiently at Jaime and my brother approached my father, gently forcing him to let go of my mother’s embrace.

  “Juan…stay…Give me your hand…” my mother asked.

  “Don’t worry, Carmela,” the doctor, who was an old friend, reassured her. “The pain will go away. You’ll be better soon,” he added, giving her a smile.

  “Well, I hope it’s true, no one has come back to say whether the afterlife is better than this one.”

  “You’re not going anywhere, Mama. Just try to rest. You don’t need to withstand this pain,” Jaime intervened.

  “It’s the best thing, I know…But…it’s hard, you know? It’s hard knowing that…Give me your hand too, Jaime.”

  The doctor injected the morphine into the IV bag and the liquid started to flow along the transparent tube until it reached the vein and entered my mother’s body.

  My brother caressed her face and my father her hair, both squeezing her hands. I was there but I was like a ghost. They seemed not to notice my presence. But my mother’s last glance was for me. Her eyes were closing when, suddenly, she opened them again and with her clouded gaze she looked for me. Then she closed her eyes forever.

  My father and Jaime remained by her side for at least a couple of hours. They didn’t talk, just stroked her and held her hands tight. The rest of the family came in one by one, but Jaime gestured for them to keep quiet. When at last my brother decided we should do so, we all stepped out into the hallway.

  “The doctor said Mama has a strong heart. She is asleep and…it could be a few hours, a day, two…We don’t know. But at least she’s not suffering. You can be in the room but be silent, like you’ve been until now. No crying, Grandma,” he said to Grandma Stella. “She probably can’t hear anything, but just in case. We have to allow her to go in peace. Dad, you’re wiped out, you should rest for a while.”

  “No. I’m not moving from her side.”

  “All right, me neither, but at least we need to eat something. Let’s go to the kitchen. We’ll ask María to make us some coffee. Aunt Emma, make sure nobody says a word in there until I’m back.”

  Grandpa James and Grandma Dorothy joined my father and brother while Aunt Emma looked after Grandpa Ramón, Grandma Stella, and Uncle Oswaldo. I was still at the foot of my mother’s bed, but nobody seemed to worry about me. It was as if I’d become transparent.

  After a long time, Aunt Emma came to tell me, “You should go with your father and your brother. You don’t look too good. Some coffee will make you feel better.”

  I went out of the room, not because my aunt had said so, but because my bladder was about to burst. I lay on the bed in my room for a while. María knocked once on the door.

  “What do you want?” I asked, in a bad mood.

  “Your brother says you should come to the kitchen.”

  “Tell them to leave me alone.”

  I listened to María’s footsteps as she walked away mumbling that I hadn’t changed and was as insufferable as I’d been before I left.

  I needed to gather my thoughts. I didn’t want to accept it, but I was stunned by my mother’s confession.

  I suddenly had to assume I didn’t have a father, that the man who had performed that role bore no relation to me. The Spencers were not my grandparents and Aunt Emma wasn’t my aunt. Jaime was my half brother.

  I should have realized a long time ago that I was not a Spencer, that my father could not have been anything other than a short Hispanic man with olive skin. I’m a mutt, I thought, trying to think of it as funny.

  Now my mother was about to die and I had no place in that house. There was nothing of mine there. Not that I had planned on staying, but suddenly everything that had once been certain in my life had vanished. Despite how badly I had gotten along with my mother, I’d always thought I could count on my father, that he’d lend a hand, that he’d get me out of any kind of trouble, and that Grandpa James could always pull strings to get me a good job.

  But I’d been living a lie. Everyone had lied to me. My mother, my father, my grandparents on both sides…No, I had to stop thinking of the Spencers as my grandparents and John as my father. They were not. They had patronized me. I was about to feel sorry for myself but caught myself in time. I wasn’t going to carry my mother’s guilt, much less beg forgiveness for existing. Nor was I planning to fawn gratefully over this family of white, blond, liberal, wealthy lawyers. Let them deal with it. What they’d done was only for my mother: they’d never done anything for me. I wondered if Jaime knew we were only half brothers. I didn’t care anymore, but I wasn’t going to tolerate any sympathy.

  I don’t know how long I st
ayed in my room. Maybe three or four hours. Evening had fallen when Aunt Emma opened the door and came in, oblivious to how angry I was.

  “Your mother is sleeping peacefully, although she’s still on the oxygen. The doctor just went in to see how she’s doing. He says he doesn’t know how long she’ll hold on…that in these cases we never know…He offered to take her to the hospital, but your father said no. She would want to die here.”

  “My father? You know I don’t have a father. Not even my mother knew who he was.”

  “So, she told you…and now you’re licking your wounds. What’s important is for you to know that…you don’t have anything to lament, Thomas. Your father—yes, your father, the only one you’ve known and had—loves you, like we all do. And God knows you’ve been difficult, but even so, we’ve all loved you.”

  “How kind! How hypocritical! What a sacrifice you’ve had to make for the Hispanic bastard! Did you have to explain to your friends why you had a nephew with olive skin? Of course it was enough to see my mother…I guess people might have said behind my back how unlucky it was to have a child who, instead of looking like the father, inherited the mother’s genes. They’d look at Jaime and think: At least he took after the Spencers.”

  “I don’t know what your mother told you, Thomas, nor do I want to know. What matters now is that you remain by your father’s side, that you help him when the moment comes. I’m not as worried about Jaime, he’s strong and well-adjusted, but John…He loved your mother madly, he won’t know what to do without her.”

  “He has Jaime, he has you. He’s a prestigious lawyer…He knows everyone. Don’t worry, he’ll survive without her,” I replied, with more bitterness than I’d meant to reveal.

  “I haven’t come here to argue with you. I understand that today you’ve suffered a shock. Your mother was very brave to tell you the truth despite your father not wanting you to know.”

  “Stop saying ‘your father’…Whoever my father is, it’s clear he’s not John Spencer. You also have nothing to do with me.”