How Not to Drown in a Glass of Water (12)

So, like I was saying to you, Hernán never stopped looking for Fernando. And because he works in the hospital he knows everybody. Somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody gave him the address for Fernando in September of 2001.

Remember that time? How old you were? Twenty years? So yes, of course you do. Who could forget? The entire world saw the fire in the sky. I could not sleep thinking that we were in a war and I was going to die without seeing my son in flesh and bone.

Hernán gave me the address thinking I would sleep better if I knew he had a place to live. But it was the opposite. Once I had the address, I could think of nothing else.

What kind of mother would stay away from her children?

Hernán said, Write to him. Tell him he should come home.

Even Lulú was against me going to Fernando. She said if I go after him he will run.

Lulú reads many magazines. According to the magazines if I focus on my life, stop thinking about things I can’t control, maybe like a good ending to a telenovela, Fernando will knock on the door, with flowers. Maybe grandchildren. Maybe a lotto ticket full of money.

I don’t know. Who are the people that write in these magazines? Not people like us.

Between you and me, it’s a mystery that Fernando has not come back in all these years. I don’t understand how he survived without me. When he left he had a job in the place for donuts downtown, but it paid him nothing. Life is expensive.



* * *



So when the city became more calm, I took a taxi to the address Hernán gave me in the Bronx. The lobby door, with no lock. Brown stains on the walls. The stairs, dark. A strange smell—it made me dizzy.

I knocked on the door 4H, checking Hernán’s writing of the address on the paper.

I heard the TV. I knocked again, hard. All I wanted was to take my son with me.

Fernando! I yelled through the door. It was late. People had to work the next day. But this was my chance. Fernando!

Then, a flaco man opened the door. He was wearing a transparent shirt, gold earrings, and makeup in the eyes. My heart fell to the floor. Maybe Hernán gave me the wrong address. This flaco, friends with my son?

I am Fernando’s mother, I said.

Umm … he’s not here? he said.

He lives here, right? I checked the address in my hand. Where is my son?

Look, you should go home, el flaco said. It’s late.

Fernando! I yelled even when he closed the door in my face. I knew he was there, so I was ringing and ringing the bell until some viejo came out of another apartment to yell to me for making noise.

Did I return? Of course. I was very hurt, but a mother does not give up.

The building was less bad than I remembered. The floors were shiny and smelled like Fabuloso, not stinky like before. No ice cream papers pushed into the corners. Maybe the super cleaned it? I knocked again on 4H. No one answered.

Of course, I waited. The trip was not cheap. Eventually, everybody has to come home. I waited more than one hour. I waited even if every bone in my body hurt from working all day in the factory with those machines—up and down, up and down. Clamp. Clamp. Clamp. Look at my leg. This is the price of all those years working with the machines. Look. Look! See the veins? Like mountains. I should’ve sued that factory for what they did to my legs. Back in the day, these legs stopped traffic. When I put on the dress and the heels, ?Ay, papá!

ángela says it’s the inflammation. That I have to stop eating the milk, the pasta, the bread, the sugar, and the pain will go away. This is why ángela looks like un palo. She does not eat. It’s a problem. The doctor said if I lose ten pounds, it will feel like one hundred pounds less for my knees. He told me I should exercise every day. But I don’t have time for that. What’s a little pain?

So yes, I waited a long time in the stairs of Fernando’s building. Every time I heard the elevator go to the fourth floor, my heart stopped. Una vieja thought I was going to rob her when I jumped up to help her with the door. But pobre vieja, her hair was like a nest on the back of her head. Why be alive if you don’t have somebody to brush your hair? Even the viejas locas in Hato Mayor have their people. In this way, New York is very difficult. In Hato Mayor, Fernando would never have left, because where would he go? When you need each other to survive, you forgive. That’s the way it is.



* * *



I was about to give up, but el flaco with the transparent shirt came out of the elevator. This time, he was wearing a furry coat and the hair was blue. Like he belonged in the future.

He dropped the bags he was carrying. The botella de olivas broke and made a big mess on the floor.

What’s wrong with you? he said.

Ay, I’m so sorry, I said and tried to help him.

It’s OK. Don’t worry, he said, and opened the door of the apartment.

Then he recognized me.

Wait a minute. You’re that lady that showed up last week?

I want to see Fernando, I said.

El flaco tried to close the door, but I’m strong. I pushed my body against it to keep it open. I put my foot in the way.

He’s not here, he said.

He pushed one way. I pushed the other.

I don’t believe you, I said.

Fernando doesn’t want to see you, he said.

But the world is going to finish! He has to see his mother one more time before we all die from the terroristas, I said. But then I thought maybe el flaco was saying the truth. I let go of the door. The fountain again. So much crying. So much mocos came out of my nose. I had to use the sleeve of my shirt, like a child.