The living room lay big
and dim, half-lit by the lamp standing in one of its corners. Ice was forming
on the edges of the windows. One could only guess at the bleakness of the
winter night, through the thick frost covering the windowpanes.
His little brother was sleeping, and his
mother was working the night shift. We were sitting on the sofa, watching one
of his favorite programs on television; side by side, close to each other, as
if to make solitude less immense. The large living room always made me aware of
that solitude, which, somehow, seemed more overwhelming when his mother was
absent.
“How come kids have fun all day long?” he
asked all of a sudden.
“That’s what children do when they are
kids, they have fun all the time,” I replied, a little surprised by the
question, not knowing exactly what he meant. “You don’t have to worry about
anything because your parents take care of you. But, when you are a grownup,
you have to work, get married, and have children of your own,” I added in a
casual way, without withdrawing my attention from the television set.
“How come?” he inquired in a serious tone, as if demanding my full attention.
“How come?” he inquired in a serious tone, as if demanding my full attention.
“Well, all children eventually grow up and
get married, just as you will, one day,” I answered, knowing that my words
didn’t make complete sense.
“How come?” he insisted.
I was at a loss for words, and I knew that I had to come up with a better justification; “because sooner or later everybody gets married. You will meet a girl, you will like her, she will like you, and then you will get married,” I added, still uncertain about that reply.
“How about if she already has a husband?” he fired relentlessly, making me uneasy.
I was at a loss for words, and I knew that I had to come up with a better justification; “because sooner or later everybody gets married. You will meet a girl, you will like her, she will like you, and then you will get married,” I added, still uncertain about that reply.
“How about if she already has a husband?” he fired relentlessly, making me uneasy.
It dawned on me that the time I was afraid
of had come, the time when my children would start asking serious questions
about the big issues of life. I realized I was trying to avoid the pitfalls of
giving the wrong answers, or giving too much information. “You never marry a
girl that already has a husband,” I said, knowing that it was perfectly
possible to fall in love with a girl that was already married to another man.
But, of course, I wasn’t going to fall into the trap of rationalizing that
predicament with him.
“I will never get married,” he said
listlessly.
“Why?” I asked, less anxious, seizing the
opportunity to ask the questions.
“Because I want to stay with you,” he
replied as if the answer was obvious.
I wanted to say something rational about
that, but I did not know what. Before I could come up with anything he
continued with his interrogation.
“How will you look when I am grown up?”
“I will be older; I will probably have
gray hair,” I stated, rather relieved because, in some way, he had changed the
subject. But, the instant I said those words I knew I had taken a slippery road
from which there was no return. The
respite didn’t last.
“How come people get old and die?” he quickly
inquired, as I was afraid he was going to do.
The conversation came to the crossroads
that I was trying to avoid. “I don’t know, but that’s how it is,” I expressed,
unconvincingly.
Without letting up, there came another
query: “If you die, who will take care of me?”
“When
you grow up you won’t need me, you will take care of yourself. Look at me, my
parents live back home, and I live here. I can take care of myself. I don’t
need them to solve my problems anymore. The same thing will happen to you,” I
declared in a more confident tone, as if I had found the right approach to this
tricky and unsolicited dialogue.
“What if you die while I am still a
child?”
“You have your mother.”
“What if mommy dies?”
“There are always the grandparents.”
“Yes, but they are far away. How can I go
there?”
“You go to the airport and buy a plane
ticket.”
“What if the grandparents die, who will
take care of me?”
He
wouldn’t yield. I supposed he was determined to get all the answers then and
there. Restless, without knowing what to do or say, with the intention of
putting an end to the inquiry, rather impatiently, I reiterated: “I already
told you, you will look after yourself.”
He started to sob and then he moved in
closer to hug me. “I don’t want you to die,” he uttered, like a sentence, a
final command, as if he were saying, “don’t you dare die on me,” as if calling
upon the forces that rule the universe and telling them “I forbid you from
taking my father’s life; end of conversation”.
I was feeling cornered and agitated. The long dreaded chat lived up to all my fears. My stomach was shuddering with distress. I was trying at all costs to hide the tears that were clouding my eyes. Hugging him tight, I managed to say, in a low, slow voice, as a last resort, as if I was throwing a lifeline, to him or to me: “It’s going to be all right. Don’t worry about that. That’s not going to happen in a long time. As a matter of fact, I will never die.”
I was feeling cornered and agitated. The long dreaded chat lived up to all my fears. My stomach was shuddering with distress. I was trying at all costs to hide the tears that were clouding my eyes. Hugging him tight, I managed to say, in a low, slow voice, as a last resort, as if I was throwing a lifeline, to him or to me: “It’s going to be all right. Don’t worry about that. That’s not going to happen in a long time. As a matter of fact, I will never die.”
It was getting late, and he had to get up
early in the morning to go to school. It
seemed to me as the perfect excuse to finish our discussion. I told him that it
was time to go to bed. He kissed me
good-night and went to sleep. Then it was my time to go to bed. While I was in
the washroom brushing my teeth, rewinding the tape of our exchange, I noticed
him standing by the door.
“I want to be with you,” he said.
I finished brushing my teeth, took him to
bed, and spread the blanket over his body.
I sat on his bed, stroking his hair until he dozed off. I actually
stayed there until long after he fell
asleep, feeling guilty, wondering how I could explain the mystery of life to a
six-year old boy, without lying. How could I, when I, myself, didn’t have a
reasonable explanation? How could I? when I felt that with all my years of
life’s experiences, I still didn’t know better than he did.
© Text and photograph, William Almonte Jiménez, 2011
