“I can’t believe it’s what I think it is. Is it, Delfina? Is it what I think it is?”
“It doesn’t matter. It was just a manner of speaking. .”
“All right, don’t say it. I will. You were referring to my big mistake. No, not to my big mistake, because it would seem that my whole life has been one long mistake. You were referring to my first mistake, to the origin of all the insecurity, fear, and loneliness I’ve lived my life in. .”
“Oh, please, don’t get sarcastic. I wasn’t speaking of anything in particular, but yes, now that you mention it, you’re right. That’s how it was. Bad beginnings breed bad endings.”
I noticed that Delfina had drawn back now and was struggling to control herself.
“I can’t believe it. It’s just incredible that after sixteen years, and after Dad’s death, that idea is still going around in your head.”
“It’s not going around in my head. It’s just further proof of the irresponsible way you behave sometimes. Once you’re set on doing something, you won’t listen to anyone, there’s no way of making you change your mind.”
“I had to leave, Delfina. I can’t believe you’re still saying this. I had to leave. I had no alternative. Believe me.”
My mother had altered her tone of voice again, and it sounded dull now, almost doleful. Her outward show of aggression had disappeared, and it was as if she were talking to herself. Then, however, she changed. She remained silent for a few seconds, as if she needed time to climb the walls of the imaginary hole into which she had fallen, then, fixing her eyes determinedly on my aunt, she recovered her composure. At no point did she look at me, at no point did she seem to stop to consider what I might be thinking.
“That’s rich, you reproaching me for leaving home, Delfina. Have you never thought that you might have played some role in that, that it might have been your fault in a way? No, you’ve obviously never even considered the possibility. You’ve always been so clear about everything. First this one thing happens and then this other one, first this, then that, but you probably had some influence — how could you not? I’m your sister. I lived with you. We were together when Mom died.”
“That’s ridiculous! Don’t be so unfair. I’ve always respected your decisions, even that one. I’m only saying that you could have done things differently and not just left home the way you did. Your life might have been different, and besides, it’s not true that I made you do it. You did it because you wanted to. You were an adult by then.”
Delfina, who had grown quieter since our surprise meeting in the doorway, had spoken in a weary but cutting voice, as if she weren’t sure how appropriate it was to continue this argument, but at the same time unwilling to give anything up. She wasn’t gesticulating now.
“Yes, I was eighteen. But speaking of feelings, do you have any idea how alone I was? Do you have any idea how alien I felt living in that house that used to be ours, living under the rules imposed by Dad’s new wife? You can’t know, because you weren’t there. You had already left.”
“Oh come on, don’t exaggerate. It wasn’t that bad. That kind of thing happens in all families and people get over it, so don’t use it as an excuse for your future misfortunes.”
“Of course these things happen,” answered my mother. “I’m not using it as an excuse. It hasn’t marked my life. But that doesn’t mean there wasn’t a time when it did matter to me, when I felt really vulnerable. Do you understand? Maybe older sisters don’t feel vulnerable. Since you don’t have anyone above you, you haven’t grown up thinking that there’ll always be someone to replace your parents when they die.”
“Oh, really. Do you honestly think it didn’t affect me, as well? Look, don’t go on, there’s no point.”
“OK, you’re right. I agree. You probably do know what it feels like to be vulnerable, and maybe it’s worse being the older sister. But I was the younger sister. When I was born, you were already there, you were my reference point, my second line of defense. I couldn’t help feeling that I had two walls around me. You were one and they were the other. I’m sure that your world collapsed, too, when Mom died and Dad began to betray us, as if he had never shed a single tear and never sworn that the three of us would always stick together. I’m sure that’s true. I don’t doubt it. But you felt that only once, and I felt it twice. Once, at the same time as you did, and again, when you went to live in La Coruña.”
My mother still did not look at me, and Delfina, who until then had looked at me every time she spoke, now forgot to do so, temporarily overcome by the urgent need to respond.
“But I didn’t abandon you. It was my life! I had to get out of there. You know I did my best to stand up to her, but I lost the battle. I objected right from the start, as soon as she started demolishing everything that had to do with Mom, as soon as the first photo was taken down and we began to discover that we couldn’t do or say things that we had considered perfectly normal before, as soon as she began to deny Mom’s whole existence, not only at home but in our lives as well, and Dad let her do as she pleased, even things he shouldn’t have let her do. You know how I stood up to her. I’m not to blame for our father’s passivity or for her piling on the pressure all the time. I was young, too. I lost the battle. I couldn’t stand it, and so I escaped. That’s all.”
“That’s exactly my point. That’s what I mean. You escaped.”
“But I didn’t abandon you. After I got married, I was always there for you. For all these years, you’ve always been able to come to me. Who listened to your fears? Who gave you refuge? I was even your accomplice. . You can’t accuse me of having neglected my obligations to you. It’s just that I can’t accept this latest thing, you simply can’t—”
“I know you were always there for me. I know how hard you fought. I know how much you’ve had to keep silent about. I know how much you’ve done to help. And believe me, I’m grateful. Even though I did the opposite of what you advised, even though I’m about to ignore your advice yet again, you’ve always helped me and you still do. I mean, even your coming to Madrid to try and make me change my mind is helpful. . But I’m not talking about how you’ve behaved over the years. I’m not even talking about what I thought about your getting married or about the two years you virtually disappeared. As you say, it was your life. As you say, you had to leave. I’m not talking about what I thought of it at the time. What I’m talking about is how I felt. I’m saying that everything, absolutely everything, affects us. I’m saying that an event, however seemingly trivial, like your sister leaving home, can affect you. That’s what I’m saying, and it just so happens that it did affect me. I’m not saying whether or not I was right to feel abandoned. Who am I to say!”
I noticed a touch of reluctance and artificial coolness in the condescending thoroughness with which my mother had spelled out her motives for complaint. She had uncrossed her legs now and was sitting leaning slightly forward, arms resting casually on her knees in marked contrast with the stern look on her face.
“And yet you talk as if it still affected you. You say you’re not reproaching me, but you are. You’re contradicting yourself. .”
“Of course it affects me. I think about my situation then, and I still feel like crying. My whole world collapsed. Suddenly, almost without being aware of it, I went from feeling safe and secure in a solid family of four to only having a father I could barely recognize. To tell you the truth, it still affects me. But it’s something I can’t control. Thinking and feeling are two different things. Feeling influences thinking and both are part of us, but they’re different.”