Story of a Sociopath

  “You don’t love me?”

  “I don’t know, Thomas, I don’t know anymore. But I do know for sure that what I think of as love is something I will never experience with you, and that this is an experience I don’t want to renounce. Sooner or later I’ll meet someone…And as for you, well, I’m already reconciled to the idea that with you nothing’s going to happen.”

  “You don’t even want to give me a chance. Let me show you how important you are to me.”

  “I know I’m important, that you need me. But I’m talking about love, Thomas, not need.”

  “You’re so stubborn! Why won’t you believe me? I love you, Esther. I’ve never loved anyone else. No one. I swear it.”

  I heard her sigh over the telephone. I thought that I might have managed to move her and waited impatiently for her reply.

  “You love me, yes, but not how I need to be loved. That’s the problem, Thomas. You can’t give any more and I need a lot more; I need a type of love that you will never be able to feel, a love that even if you wanted to you would not be able to give me. I would feel unsatisfied. I would never be able to stop thinking that I was missing something. I don’t want to resign myself to that kind of life, Thomas, not yet. Maybe I will never find what I’m looking for, what I think love must be, but at least I want to be prepared for it when it comes. If I’m with you, then I will be giving up on that possibility. This conversation is over. Let it go.”

  “No one will ever love you like I love you.” I spoke sincerely; this was how I felt.

  “But maybe someone will love me like I want to be loved. Or at least, that’s my hope.”

  “No, Esther, I can’t stand here with my hands in my pockets and let you go. Tell me what I can do, anything, that will show you that it might be worth the trouble to give me another chance. Don’t deny me this, please, let me try to show you that I can give you what you want. Maybe I haven’t yet managed to express the intensity with which I love you, but if you just give me a chance, you’ll realize that this love, this love filled with emotion, is something that you and I can find together. I don’t think that there’s a man on earth who will ask for your love as I’m asking for it now.”

  “Please, don’t talk about asking for love.”

  “Esther, let me try. If I fail, then I understand if you close the door on me forever. But not now, not like this. Don’t ask me to give in. If I’m fated to lose, let me at least die fighting.”

  Her silence made me think that she was vacillating. I was nervous. I felt something like despair.

  “We’ll talk, Thomas. I’m tired now. I’ve had a difficult day. I presented a campaign for a diaper account and I’m not sure if they liked it or not. They won’t tell me until tomorrow.”

  “I’m sorry. They’re idiots, and you’re the best,” I replied, sincerely.

  “Thank you, but not even I am certain that it was my best campaign,” she said with a laugh.

  “I won’t bother you anymore. I’ll call you tomorrow and maybe we can have lunch or dinner together. I don’t want to pressure you.”

  “When are you going back to London?”

  “I’m not going until I get an answer from you. Work can wait. If I lose my job, what can I do? I’ll start again from the beginning.”

  “Talk to you tomorrow, Thomas.”

  I noted that my last words had flattered her, even though she surely didn’t believe me. But I was sincere, on this occasion at least. My boss, Leopold Lerman, could call me, or Bernard Schmidt himself, or the impassive lawyers, but I had no intention of leaving New York. Not this time.

  I looked at the television again. A river had burst its banks somewhere in Asia, I don’t remember where; famine in Africa was leaving a trail of death; the defense ministers of all the NATO countries were meeting in Brussels; the U.S. president was on a trip to the Middle East…Same old, same old. The news kept repeating itself. There was nothing that particularly caught my attention.

  I poured myself a glass of whiskey. I didn’t have anything better to do. Alcohol helped me forget myself, and that was an invaluable achievement.

  I don’t know when I fell onto the floor, but I woke up at dawn with the cold running through my bones. The last embers had died out in the fireplace. The television was still on. CNN was like a dragon that instead of fire threw out news items one after another.

  I was cold but my body refused to respond to me; it took a huge effort to sit up and my headache was unbearable. I retched, and the taste of whiskey was disgusting. I sat myself on the floor as best I could and my eyes adjusted to the half-light. The sun was coming up and dawn was about to break.

  I stayed sitting on the floor for a few minutes, with my back against an armchair. If it hadn’t been there I would have fallen over. I said to myself that I should go to my room and sleep until the effects of the alcohol had worn off. It had hit me particularly hard this time. I was dizzier than usual. I felt a pressure in my chest and my gut was turbulent. It crossed my mind that I would hate to die drunk and not in control of my faculties.

  The silence was ominous. John would be asleep, and so would María, although she usually got up early to prepare our breakfast. What time was it? I couldn’t focus on the hands of my wristwatch.

  It annoyed me to think that María might find me in this state. I didn’t care if my maid in London had found me drunk on the floor on several occasions, but I did not want to see disdain appear again in María’s eyes. I didn’t care, I told myself, what she might think, but I didn’t want to leave myself open to attack.

  It took forever, but in the end, holding on to the edge of the chair, I managed to gradually pull myself up until I was standing upright. And then I fell over again. I tried once more, although my back hurt terribly, as did one knee, which I had hit on the way down. I had twisted my wrist as well.

  When I finally left the living room I walked along leaning against the walls. It was getting lighter and that helped me find the way to my room. I threw myself down on my bed and although the room spun I ended up falling asleep.

  I was woken by María’s screams. It took me a while to understand what she was saying. I could barely see her through my drunken haze.

  “Your father! Your father is sick! He can’t speak! Help me!” she shouted as she shook me to get me up.

  I don’t know how I did it, but I followed her to John’s room. He was laid out on the floor of the bathroom, trembling, with his eyes rolled back. María helped me to stretch him out on the bed.

  “Call an ambulance,” I said in a thick voice. It was hard for me to talk.

  María ran out of my father’s room. When she came back I was sitting on the bed, looking at John, not knowing what to do or how to help. I couldn’t pull myself together. The damn whiskey had done its job, though I was sure I hadn’t drunk more than on other occasions.

  “I’ll stay with him. You go and…at least wash your face, you stink.” María ordered me around as though I were still a little boy.

  She didn’t bother to hide her disdain. Making an effort to keep myself upright, I left my father’s room and walked toward mine. I got into the shower just as I was, fully clothed, and when the cold water started to wake me up I took my clothes off. I heard María knocking on the door and came out wrapped in a robe.

  “It’s the ambulance, they’re taking him. They’re asking for you. You have to give them the insurance details.”

  “I’ll go right away, tell them to go ahead. I’ll follow them with the papers. Call me a taxi.”

  I was lucky. I reached the hospital only a few minutes after the ambulance did. My father was in a terrible state, they said, he’d suffered a stroke. They hadn’t yet been able to evaluate the damage. The doctor would speak to me as soon as possible. I filled out all the forms they gave me. We were lucky enough to have a policy that covered any possible circumstance.

  I dialed Jaime’s number, although I guessed that María would have called him already. She trusted my brother, especi
ally in moments like this. She didn’t think I was capable or worthy of taking control of the situation.

  My brother answered at once. He was on his way.

  “How’s Dad?” he wanted to know.

  “I still don’t know, I’m waiting for the doctor to come out and tell us. Are you coming by train?”

  “I’m in the car. I wanted to get going as soon as possible. Call me as soon as you hear something. Thomas…I’m glad you’re here. Dad will need us.”

  I hung up. I didn’t have an answer to what he had said because not for a moment did I think that I could be of use to John.

  My head hurt. My hangover had still not disappeared and I hadn’t had time to have coffee. I asked the nurse where I could find a coffee machine and she pointed toward the hallway.

  After two cups of coffee I started to feel better, or at least that’s what I thought, but I suddenly felt the urge to vomit and had to lock myself in the bathroom. When I came out the doctor was waiting for me.

  “I’m Dr. Patterson. Your father is in critical condition, but he will survive because he was brought here in time. Strokes require treatment right away. He may have lost some of his functionality; we still can’t tell. His speech appears to be affected, as does the movement on his left side, but it’s too early to know if this will be permanent. We can hope that he will fully recover. We’ll know in the next few hours. Now you can go in for a couple of minutes to see him if you like. But don’t talk to him too much. He’s agitated, he needs to rest.”

  “What caused the stroke?” I asked out of curiosity.

  The doctor shrugged as though my question were irrelevant.

  “It’s a cardiovascular accident. High blood pressure, high cholesterol, a shock…There are lots of possible causes. We’re trying to work out what might have caused it. We’ll tell you when we find out. Go and see him. Five minutes, I have to get back to work.”

  I followed him to the room where John was being kept under observation. There was another doctor, a black man, who to me looked very young, and there were a couple of nurses standing by the bed, looking at a screen that showed John’s vital signs. I heard Dr. Patterson give his colleague, the young doctor, a few instructions. Then he left without saying anything.

  “You can come closer,” one of the nurses said.

  I did so, with a certain degree of apprehension. I have always avoided being around sick people, then and now. Sickness repels me.

  John opened his eyes and looked at me with such intensity it was as if he were speaking to me. But I could not interpret that silent gaze.

  I didn’t take his hand or kiss him. I stood a couple of paces away from the bed, far enough for me to escape physical contact with him. He closed his eyes and I saw a grimace of pain on his face.

  “You can speak to him,” the nurse suggested.

  She must have thought that I didn’t move or do anything because I was in a state of shock. The truth is I felt nothing. Neither surprise nor pain. No emotion.

  “How are you?” I asked, confronted with the nurse’s expectant gaze.

  John opened his eyes again. He seemed to want to say something. I think he tried, but his voice was unable to convert it into sound. The nurse nudged me closer to the bed. I suppose she must have thought that I was shy, or that I didn’t dare approach him. I bent my head down to John’s and managed to hear a few distinct words. “I’m sorry…I…I want…have…your mother…” Incoherent words that made sense only in his head. I stood up and looked at him for a few seconds, mainly to stop the nurse from telling me what to do.

  The young doctor asked me to leave. I was in the way.

  “I’m Dr. Payne. It’s better if you leave now. I don’t want your father to get agitated trying to talk. As soon as his condition has been completely stabilized we’ll call you again and you can come in.”

  I nodded and didn’t object, because I had no intention of staying there. My stomach was churning, I felt a creeping nausea in my throat, and my head was aching fiercely. I was more worried about myself than about what might happen to John.

  “Stay outside, I don’t think we’ll be long,” Dr. Payne added.

  I went to the nurses’ station and went up to the woman who seemed the friendliest. An elderly, fat woman, who looked like she’d seen it all.

  “Do you think you could give me something? My stomach’s churning and my head’s going to explode.”

  “That’s what happens when you drink too much. Throw up, it’ll help, and drink a lot of water. The best thing is to sleep. In fact, the best remedy is to wait till tomorrow, you’ll see how everything looks better then.”

  I looked daggers at her. I thought that she was laughing at me, although she hadn’t moved a muscle. She did not seem to have any pity for my suffering.

  I didn’t say thank you, and I went away from the counter. It was still only ten o’clock in the morning and it would take Jaime at least another two hours to arrive. I thought about leaving. I needed to sleep. The fat nurse was right. I don’t know why I didn’t. I’m still asking myself that question, even now. I had already abandoned John. I refused to treat him as my father, although sometimes I couldn’t stop myself from thinking of him as such, nor did I think it odd when people referred to him and me as father and son.

  I needed aspirin, urgently, and as I could see that no one here would offer me any, I decided to call Esther. I didn’t even think how ridiculous such a request might sound.

  I explained to her what had happened and I heard a sigh from her end of the telephone. It seemed that Esther had been sighing rather a lot lately, though I didn’t care much about that either.

  “I’ll try to find an excuse. I don’t think I’ll be too long in getting there.”

  She kept her word. I felt relieved when I saw her coming down the hospital corridor, where I was still waiting while the doctors decided what to do with John. She had a bottle of water in one hand and a cup of what turned out to be coffee in the other. She held them out to me at the same time.

  “Drink, and I’ll give you the aspirin.”

  “Thank you, you’re always there for me.”

  “So it seems. What happened?”

  Esther listened to me carefully. She seemed worried.

  “Have you told your aunt Emma?” she asked.

  “No…it didn’t occur to me.”

  “Well, call her, although Jaime might have called already, or María.”

  I saw Dr. Payne coming toward us.

  “Your father is being taken into the ICU. He needs to be under observation for at least another few days.”

  “But why aren’t you taking him to a room?” I protested.

  “It’s not the right time. He might have another stroke, and if that happens then we’ll need to take immediate action. It’s for his safety,” Dr. Payne said, and looked at his watch.

  “What should we do?” I asked, disoriented.

  “Whatever you want. There’s a room here where you can wait, or if you go make sure to leave a phone number so we can call you if anything happens.”

  Dr. Payne seemed to be impatient for us to make a decision, because he kept looking at his watch. In the end Esther decided for me.

  “We’ll stay here,” she said. “The rest of the family will arrive soon, and maybe one of them could be allowed into the ICU,” Esther suggested.

  “Maybe in a while. Not now.”

  Esther took me by the hand and led me toward the waiting room. She had taken control of the situation and I was happy that she had done so. It reaffirmed my belief that I needed her in my life. She always knew the right thing to do.

  We sat down next to each other. I finished the coffee and waited impatiently for the aspirin to take effect.

  “Call your aunt, then you can shut your eyes for a bit. It’s going to be a long day. You look terrible, you know. You’re too young to drink like that. You don’t have any reason to. You should be capable of coping with yourself instead of running away via alcoh
ol. If you can’t bear to be alone with yourself, why should others?” she said.

  “Do you have a whole speech prepared? I’m not in the mood to be scolded,” I complained.

  “No, no scolding. All I want is for you, when you have a moment, to think about how you behave. It’s pathetic for someone your age to become a drunk.”

  “I’ll call Aunt Emma,” I said, so as not to fight with her.

  Emma did not take long to arrive. Jaime and María had already told her, as Esther had guessed. She gave Esther a hug, and didn’t even try to do the same with me.

  “As far as I can tell, you’ve been upsetting your father ever since you got here,” she said, reproachfully.

  I had not a single doubt that María had told her all about the conversations I had had with John. I didn’t reply. I didn’t want to have to face up to her either.

  “I don’t suppose you want to blame me for John’s state. María said he’d been having heart problems lately, and so what happened was more or less inevitable,” I said.

  “There are things that are avoidable. You could stop behaving like an idiot, for example. Don’t call your father John again, I forbid it. Do you hear me? You don’t have any right to hurt him. You should feel thankful for how much he has always loved you, for how much he still loves you, even though you don’t deserve it. He thinks of you as his son and he feels that you’re his son. I will not allow you—listen to me—I will not allow you to call him John one more time, or refuse to treat him with the respect and affection he deserves. I am the executor of his will and I promise you that I will make sure you don’t see even a single dollar of inheritance if you dare cause him any more pain.”

  “Do I have to call you Auntie?” I asked ironically.

  “No. You’re not important to me anymore. I never could have imagined, not even in my worst nightmares, that you would turn out to be such a despicable person.”