Fever Dream: A Novel(2)

I know. Go on.

She wipes away her tears with her knuckles, and her gold bracelets jangle. I had never seen you, but when I’d mentioned to Mr. Geser, the caretaker of our rental house, that I’d made friends with Carla, he asked right away if I’d met you yet. Then Carla says: “He was mine. Not anymore.”

I look at her, confused.

“He doesn’t belong to me anymore.”

“Carla, children are forever.”

“No, dear,” she says. She has long nails, and she points at me, her finger level with my eyes.

Then I remember my husband’s cigarettes, and I open the glove compartment and hand them to her with a lighter. She practically snatches them from my hand, and the perfume of her sunscreen wafts between us.

“When David was born, he was the light of my life, he was my sun.”

“Of course he was,” I say, and I realize I need to be quiet now.

“The first time they put him in my arms, I was so anxious. I was convinced he was missing a finger.” She holds the cigarette between her lips, smiling at the memory, and she lights it. “The nurse said sometimes that happens with the anesthesia, it can make you a little paranoid. I swear, until I counted all ten of his fingers twice, I wasn’t convinced everything had turned out all right. What I wouldn’t give now for David to simply be missing a finger.”

“What’s wrong with David?”

“But back then he was a delight, Amanda, I’m telling you: my moon and stars. He smiled all day long. His favorite thing was to be outside. He was crazy about the playground, even when he was tiny. You see how around here you can’t go for a walk with a stroller. In town you can, but from here to the playground you have to go between the big estates and the shanties along the train tracks. It’s a mess with all the mud, but he liked going so much that until he was three I’d carry him there, all twelve blocks. When he caught sight of the slide he’d start to shout. Where’s the ashtray in this car?”

It’s under the dashboard. I pull out the base and hand it to her.

“Then David got sick, when he was that age, more or less, about six years ago. It was a difficult time. I’d started working at Sotomayor’s farm. It was the first job I’d worked in my life. I did the accounting, which really wasn’t anything like accounting. I just filed papers and helped him add, but it kept me entertained. I went around town on errands, all dressed up. It’s different for you, coming from the capital, but around here you need an excuse for a little glamour, and the job was the perfect pretext.”

“What about your husband?”

“Omar bred horses. Yes, that’s right. He was a different guy back then, Omar.”

“I think I saw him yesterday when Nina and I were out walking. He drove by in the pickup, but when we waved he didn’t wave back.”

“Yes, that’s Omar these days,” says Carla, shaking her head. “When I met him he still smiled, and he bred racehorses. He kept them on the other side of town, past the lake, but when I got pregnant he moved everything to where we are now. Our house used to be my parents’. Omar said that when he hit it big, we’d be loaded and we could redo everything. I wanted to carpet the floors. Yes, it’s crazy living where I do, but oh, I really wanted it. Omar had two spectacular mares that had given birth to a couple of big winners. They’d been sold and were running races—still do—at Palermo and San Isidro. Later, two more fillies were born, and a colt; I don’t remember any of their names. To do well in that business you have to have a good stallion, and Omar got hold of the best. He fenced in part of the land for the mares, built a corral behind it for the foals, planted alfalfa, and then he could take his time building the stable. The deal was that Omar would borrow the stallion for two or three days, and later, when the foals were sold, a fourth of the money went to the stallion’s owner. That’s a lot of money, because if the stallion is good and the foals are well taken care of, each of them goes for between 200,000 and 250,000 pesos. Anyway, one time we had that precious horse with us. Omar watched him all day long, followed him around like a zombie to keep track of how many times he mounted each mare. He wouldn’t leave the house until I got back from Sotomayor’s, and then it was my turn, though I would just take a look out the kitchen window at him every once in a while, as you can imagine. So one afternoon I’m washing the dishes and I realize I haven’t seen the stallion in a while. I go to the other window, then to another that looks out behind the house, and nothing: the mares are there, but no sign of the stallion. I pick David up, who by then had taken his first steps and had been following me around the house that whole time, and I go outside. There’s only so much searching you can do, either a horse is there or it’s not. Evidently, for some reason he’d jumped the fence. It’s rare, but it happens. I went to the stable praying to God he’d be there, but he wasn’t. Then my eyes fell on the stream and I felt a spark of hope; it’s small but it runs in a hollow, a horse could be drinking water and you wouldn’t even see it from the house. I remember David asking what was happening. I was still carrying him, he was hugging my neck and his voice was clipped by the long strides I was taking, bouncing him side to side. ‘There, Mom!’ said David. And there was the stallion, drinking water from the stream. David doesn’t call me Mom anymore. We went toward it, and David wanted me to put him down. I told him not to go near the horse, and I went toward the animal, taking short little steps. Sometimes he moved away, but I was patient, and after a while he started to trust me. I managed to get hold of the reins. It was such a relief, I remember it perfectly, I sighed and said out loud, ‘If I lost you, I’d lose the house too, you jerk.’ See, Amanda, this is like the finger I’d thought David was missing. You say, ‘Losing the house would be the worst,’ and later there are worse things and you would give the house and even your life just to go back to that moment and let go of the damned animal’s reins.”