“How can you say that? Of course I’ve got something to do with you. I changed your diapers, I taught you to sail, I covered up for your mischief when you came to Newport…I spent afternoons reading you stories, taking you to the movies…Come on, stop feeling sorry for yourself! I thought you were stronger than that.”
“I am, Emma. It’s not every day that your mother tells you that she doesn’t know who your father is, that any dark-skinned guy from her college campus could be your dad…Minor details! Nothing I didn’t already know, except for the part about me not having a known father.”
“Carmela has always been sincere. She wasn’t capable of hiding the tremendous suffering it caused her to get pregnant after what happened to her.”
“You women flatter yourselves. My mother was drunk out of her mind and it was all the same to her if she spread her legs for one or for twenty-seven. She wasn’t sorry until she found out she was pregnant. She herself told me so: ‘You know what those college parties are like…Alcohol and drugs…’ That’s what she said.”
“If you don’t forgive her you will be lost to yourself.”
“So I should forgive, should I? Did you ever ask her to forgive herself? Why do I have to pay for her wild drinking spree? No, I won’t forgive her, Emma.”
“I see, now you’re going to call me Emma instead of Aunt Emma…”
“Don’t you think we should stop pretending now? My mother is no longer here.”
“She’s not dead yet.”
“How long will it take? One hour, two days? Her beloved son has decided that it’s best if she dies. Yes, he’s arranged for a peaceful death for our mother. Grandma Stella is right, someone here has behaved like God, deciding the moment when my mother should die.”
“Your mother is terminally ill. The doctors were very clear: a matter of days. The only options were to let her die in pain, or to make sure the last hours are peaceful. Carmela chose this. She has seen many people suffering because their relatives refused to give them morphine. And she didn’t want to go through that.
“Don’t blame Jaime. Your mother asked the doctor to bring her home, to allow her to say goodbye to all of us and then take morphine so she could be asleep when she met her death, which is already at her door. So stop blaming your brother. One thing is true, though—she insisted on not taking the morphine until she spoke to you.”
“She needed to confess, so that I would absolve her.”
“Knowing you, I doubt very much that she was expecting your absolution. I suppose she believed that she owed you the truth,” my aunt replied, upset.
“She could have told me years ago.”
“Your father, John, never allowed her to. And I always advised her against it. You have too much anger inside of you.”
“Tell me, Emma, do you think I have any reason to be angry?”
She looked at me directly as she weighed her answer.
“No, you don’t have any reason to be angry. I understand that this rift between your mother and you has done you a lot of harm, but you caused it. She was never able to understand why you rejected her. But now it’s about avoiding more damage. You need to help your father face the loss of your mother. It’s the least you can do.”
“You mean I owe him? And you’re calling in the debt?”
Emma went out at that, slamming the door. I could call a taxi to the airport and take any flight to London. The other option was to stay and continue to endure this drama. If I hadn’t been so tired, I would have left—or was there a reason to stay that I didn’t comprehend? My father used to quote Pascal, the French philosopher: “The heart has its reasons which reason knows nothing of.” Perhaps that’s precisely what was happening to me. I washed my face with cold water before returning to the room where the family was waiting for my mother’s heart to stop.
Emma didn’t even look at me when I went in. My father and Jaime were sitting next to each other by the bed, while Grandpa Ramón and Grandma Stella were at the foot of the bed, sobbing quietly.
Grandpa James came and patted me on the back. This gesture annoyed me. Until that day he, along with my father, had been the family member I had loved the most, but now I had to accept that this man had nothing to do with me.
“Shall we go to the kitchen and have some coffee?”
I followed him. I couldn’t stand the ritual of waiting in my mother’s room.
María was making some sandwiches and barely noticed us.
“Who are those sandwiches for? Are we throwing a party?” I asked sarcastically.
“You can’t go all day without eating. Your brother asked me to prepare some sandwiches and coffee for everyone.”
“My brother, always so thoughtful,” I replied, sarcastically.
“Well, you’re right, he is,” María said, with her usual curtness.
Grandpa James sat at the table and María served him a cup of coffee.
“Thomas, we’re all having a very hard time. Carmela…your mother…We all love her very much.”
“Sure.”
“Your father is devastated. He’s going to need you and Jaime by his side. I don’t want to think what it would mean to him for your mother not to be here…His whole world will collapse.”
“My mother told me that John is not my father.”
I spoke without regard for María’s presence, and when she heard these words, she dropped one of the trays she was carrying to the table. She looked at me as if I had gone crazy. She looked as though she were about to scold me for saying that I was not my father’s son.
“María, if you could leave me alone with my grandson…As you can see he is very upset,” Grandpa James apologized on my behalf.
“Yes…I’m going to the ironing room. I have things to do, but before I do…I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I dropped the tray…”
We had to wait a few minutes as she picked up the sandwiches from the floor. After she left my grandfather looked at me resentfully.
“I never want to hear you say that John is not your father ever again. He has been your father since the day he met you and that was many years ago. You can never accuse him of not treating you with the same affection he showed Jaime. He never played favorites.”
“You’re right, neither my mother nor John played favorites. The problem is that I was different. I used to have trouble accepting the fact that I didn’t look like you or John, did you know?”
“Can’t you try to be a bit more understanding? She always tried to do the best for you. And things weren’t easy. You have to take into account what it was like for her to become pregnant without knowing who the father was. Without intending it, you were a reminder of a fact that…well, she was ashamed of, but even so, she always loved you and tried to show it. She was very young when that tragic incident happened. She never got over it. You have to try to understand her.”
“What about me? Does anyone care about how much I’ve suffered?”
“I told you already that occasionally I suggested to your father that we should do more to try to make you not behave with that…with that disregard for your mother. She went to therapy.”
“Unsuccessfully.”
“The problem lay in you, not in her. Thomas, nothing needs to change. We are your family, we love you. Don’t torture yourself.”
“I’m sorry, but things have changed. I don’t see you as my grandfather anymore, but as John’s father, and I can no longer see him as my father.”
“That’s ridiculous. You can’t erase the love, neither the love we feel toward you nor the love you feel toward us.”
“You said it, ‘us.’ ”
“I don’t understand…”
“Yes, that ‘us’ contains the difference. You accepted me but I am not part of that ‘us.’ ”
“If anyone claimed you weren’t my grandson they’d get a good punch in the face.”
“Come on! Look, it’s better if we let it be. Things are what they are. I’ve always wondered why I looked so differ
ent from you and John. I’m only five foot seven, I have dark skin and black eyes, and my features reflect who I am. It’s obvious—it always has been.”
“I understand that you’re hurting right now, but don’t punish yourself for long. That would be foolish. Nothing will change except what you want to change.”
Grandpa James stood up and left the kitchen without looking at me. I poured myself another cup of coffee and ate four sandwiches. They were very good and I was hungry.
The doctor returned around nine and, after examining my mother, recommended that we get some rest.
“It could take some time. You never know…Don’t expend all your energy the first day. Take turns. But make sure you get some rest.”
Everyone protested. It seemed nobody was willing to leave, not until my mother’s heart failed.
Jaime again made a decision. Nobody, not even my brother, consulted me on anything.
“Dad, I know it will be hard to sleep, but at least lie down on the bed and stretch your legs. Grandpa Ramón and Grandma Stella can rest in my room. Uncle Oswaldo, take the couch in the living room. And you,” he said, addressing the Spencers and Aunt Emma, “I think it’s best if you go home. If anything happens we’ll give you a call.”
They were reluctant. Nobody wanted to leave that room and it seemed to me like they were vultures, eager to see my mother’s body turn into a cadaver. But Jaime was unyielding and practically kicked everyone out of the room except for me and the night nurse, who was there to monitor my mother’s vital signs.
“Thanks for staying here with me,” said Jaime.
“With you? Interesting that you’d thank me for staying with her. Remember, she’s my mother. So thank you for staying.”
“I’m sorry, you misunderstood me,” Jaime whispered, alarmed at how the rage began to surface on my face.
“I understood you perfectly. Here I am, little more than a guest at this spectacle that you’ve organized around my mother’s death. I would never have imagined you asking to expedite her death. I thought you were the sort who’d beg people to fight till the end.”
“As you know, it was she who asked to be put to sleep. I only carried out her wishes.”
“Aren’t you a good Catholic? As far as I know, Catholics are against euthanasia.”
“And what does this have to do with euthanasia? Nobody’s given Mama an injection for her to die.”
“They’ve given her an injection to put her to sleep, supposedly to keep her from suffering, the end result of which is that she will never wake up again and it’s now a matter of hours until her heart stops. Can you tell me what the difference is?”
“Thomas, I understand what you’re going through. I…I didn’t know anything. I had no idea what Mama wanted to tell you.”
“And how do you know now?”
“Dad told me. He’s sorry that Mama…well, that she revealed some things to you. He asked her not to, but she needed to explain herself to you.”
“She needed to clear her conscience.”
“Don’t be so miserable! You’re a man. You can handle what Mama told you.”
“Easy, just like that?”
“No, I’m not saying it’s easy for you. It wouldn’t be for me. But you’re not a child anymore, so there are certain things you can understand.”
“Well, you see, the only thing I understand is that when she was at college she went on a drinking binge so bad that she let any passerby do what he wanted with her and she got knocked up. She must have been disgusted with herself for putting herself in a position where she could be abused. She should have shot herself if she couldn’t handle it, and not brought an innocent child into the world, because I was innocent.”
“I’m sorry, Thomas. I really am sorry about all of this. But she has always loved you. She’s your mother.”
“Maybe.”
“She always tried to show it, but you wouldn’t let her.”
“I can’t stand clichéd phrases, much less getting little pats on the back. You’re the one who received what little good there could have been in her.”
My mother stirred despite being sunk in deep sleep. She seemed unable to breathe even with the oxygen mask.
The nurse took her pulse and checked the machine monitoring her heartbeat.
“She’s getting weaker,” she whispered.
“Is she suffering?” asked Jaime, alarmed.
“No…no…The morphine prevents her from feeling any pain. You shouldn’t worry about that. But she’s agitated…I don’t know why. I’ll call the doctor.”
We listened to the brief conversation with the doctor, who recommended another injection.
“You’ll finish her off at that rate,” I said.
“Don’t say that!” Jaime reproached me.
“She should face death with her eyes open,” I fumed.
“We all deserve to die in the best way possible. I’ve never agreed that a human should have to die suffering. Drowning…in a huge amount of pain…”
“Ask your God why He delights in watching us suffer.”
“That’s something I’ve asked Him many times.”
“And has He responded?”
“No, I’ve never found the answer.” Jaime glanced at me, devastated.
—
My mother died a little before dawn. At five in the morning her heart stopped. My father was holding one of her hands while Jaime caressed the other. I was at the foot of the bed. There we were, the four of us and the nurse.
Half an hour before, she had stirred again. The nurse said she thought the end was near. Jaime didn’t want to tell our grandparents or Uncle Oswaldo, who were still resting. He preferred for our mother to go when it was just us.
When my mother passed, Jaime continued caressing her hand for a long time. He made a gesture at my father to indicate what was almost an order: he was not to cry, at least not there, at that moment.
I don’t know how John was able to control himself but he did. He didn’t let out one whimper of emotion but the tears were falling silently.
I wondered what he felt; I searched within myself for some emotion, but I couldn’t feel a thing and for a moment I thought the dead person was me. I was surprised at not being able to feel while the pain was so visible in the eyes of my brother and John.
I didn’t even feel able to say anything, or move. I wondered whether I was really there. But I must have been, because one hour later, my brother gently let go of my mother’s hand. He kissed her and hugged her and whispered something into her ear. I wondered what could be said to a dead woman.
My father kissed her several times. What did he feel as he put his lips on that pale, lifeless face?
Jaime looked at me as though inviting me to do the same. But I didn’t move from my spot. I only put my hand on the blanket and felt her cold legs.
“Come on, they have to prepare her.” Jaime signaled for John and me to step out of the room.
“You go ahead,” said John. “Arrange everything, I’ll stay with her. I need to be alone with her, please…” A plea and an order were mixed in his voice.
My brother nodded and, putting his hand on my arm, nudged me gently out of the room. The nurse also left.
“In an hour I’ll call the funeral director. Mama wanted her body to be prepared here too. She was horrified at the thought of them taking her anywhere else. So the wake will take place at home.”
“You’re not crying?” I asked, surprised at how calm he was keeping, knowing how close he and our mother had been.
“Not yet. Mama needs me to do all the things I’ve promised. And they must be done properly. She’ll have the best funeral. A Mass at Saint Patrick’s. If you want to help me, there’s a lot to do.”
“Aren’t you going to wake our grandparents up?”
“Not yet. Dad needs to be alone with Mama. If we wake them you know what will happen. I’m going to have another coffee, will you come with me?”
María was just getting up. S
he’d slept barely a few hours. She was tired and moved clumsily.
“Call Fanny,” said Jaime after saying that our mother had died.
María started crying. My brother again insisted that she should phone Fanny.
“Why? I can manage by myself.”
“Please, call her. There’ll be a lot of people and lots to do,” Jaime urged.
“My brother’s right,” I chimed in, seeing that María was inconsolable.
Fanny used to come two or three times a week to help María with the more difficult household chores. She was a young woman of Chinese descent who barely ever spoke.
We drank the coffee in silence. It felt strange to sit next to my brother, each of us lost in his own thoughts, not even looking at each other. I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and noticed the tension in his face. He was making an effort not to fall apart. He knew it was up to him to assume the responsibility of organizing our mother’s funeral. John was worn out and couldn’t help with anything. As for me—Jaime knew exactly what to expect from me.
Then everything happened quite fast. Two men from the funeral home came and took a couple of hours to prepare my mother’s body, aided by María.
My father shut himself up in his room while my maternal grandparents cried in the study with Uncle Oswaldo. Grandma and Grandpa Spencer and Aunt Emma didn’t take long to come. They looked better than us; you could tell that at least they had gotten some rest.
Friends of the family and my mother’s work colleagues started arriving midmorning. Her nurse friends said it had been a miracle that she had held on for so long, considering how aggressive the lung cancer had been.
Jaime had arranged for the coffin to be placed in the study, and my father received condolences there from all the people who arrived.
For a few hours, I received condolences from people I didn’t at all care about, who patted me on the back with one hand while holding a canapé or a cup of tea in the other. Man is a social being when faced with death.
It was already four when María told me that a “young lady” was asking for me, but she hadn’t wanted to come in.
I was surprised to see Esther. Yes, that Italian girl who had been my classmate at Paul Hard’s School of Advertising, and whom Lisa had hated so much.