“Stop, stop. Please stop. Don’t go on. There’s no need. It’s pointless. .”
“You see how impossible it is for you to understand? You see how much you don’t know and don’t even want to know?”
“You’re not making any sense. You’re hysterical. .”
“No, you’re wrong. I’m not hysterical. I know perfectly well what I’m saying. I know perfectly well that there are three of us here, and I know perfectly well why you’ve come.” My mother paused and looked at me for a moment, as if to emphasize that even though she was talking to Delfina, the conversation was meant for me as well. “I know that by selling the apartment, I am, according to you, committing yet another act of craziness. But I can’t allow you to continue to think so poorly of me. Your irresponsible, impulsive, feather-brained sister who always does the wrong thing, the one who ran away from home, the one who’s always in need of advice. Things happened, Delfina, for which there are no words. Things you cannot even suspect. .”
“But you’re distorting everything,” said Delfina. “It can’t have been the way you describe it. .”
For the first time since my mother had searched in vain for that pack of cigarettes, Delfina gave me a fleeting glance before answering. They had swapped roles, and now she was the one who sounded pained and almost imploring. Clearly undecided as to what to do or think, she had put her hands in the tiny pockets of her jacket so that her elbows stuck out stiffly on either side, making her look a little like a penguin.
“Of course I’m distorting things, but what does that matter now? Acknowledging that in no way diminishes the depth of my feelings then. I had to leave. If you knew, if I could explain, then you would agree that I was right.”
“Stop talking like that. I won’t have it. You’re tired and upset. These are just fantasies, just like the picture you paint of Dad. It wasn’t like that. All right, Dad betrayed us, but what does it matter if he was also a coward or felt remorse? That doesn’t excuse him. He wasn’t a victim, unfortunately, he may have been heartless, but not a victim. Mom would not have approved. Mom would have despised him. .”
“Delfina, it happened. Don’t try to run away from it. It happened. I’m sorry, but what can I do? You’re right, I was distorting the facts, and Dad’s cowardice was no excuse. But it happened. You can deny it if you like, refuse to accept it, but at least give me your vote of confidence and believe me when I say that I had to leave, that I had no alternative, that it was not some silly, gratuitous act, that my life since then has not been, as you say, a continuation of the same thing, that the fear and the loneliness were my choice, my reward, if you like, that I did what I did out of love or conviction or desperation, and that I don’t regret it.”
There was a silence, and Delfina, who had been staring down at the floor for a while, looked up and fixed her gaze somewhere above my mother’s head. I couldn’t see her eyes, but I imagined them to be blank and lost. She kept fidgeting, caught between conflicting impulses. She had removed her hands from their uncomfortable refuge in her pockets and placed them, palms flat, on her thighs. She had changed the position of her feet several times, and they now formed a right angle, with one foot pointing at my mother and the other at me.
“But Mom didn’t. .”
“Leave Mom out of it, Delfina. That’s another lie we created between us. Dad was an egotist who forgot about his guilt by hiding away inside his own cowardice. Grief doesn’t last forever. I soon realized that. But I can tell you that the image we’ve cultivated of Mom over the years is just as false. Another distortion. We’ve always thought of Mom as some kind of storybook heroine and Dad as a bit of a fool, easy to manipulate, and whom she led along the path of righteousness until, alas, she died and that other woman arrived. Mom was the intelligent one, the sensitive one, the high-minded one, the one who had sacrificed herself for her sole weakness, a weakness, moreover, that only increased her stature: our father. The perfect wife. Superior in every way to her husband, but redeemed by the way she so lovingly gave herself to him. It wasn’t like that, Delfina. Mom was just like Dad. She wasn’t the archetype you and I have created between us. Mom was as normal as Dad, as worthy or not of criticism and as foolish or not as him. Oh, she was definitely the nobler of the two, but make no mistake — otherwise, she was as simple and straightforward as we remember. She always did exactly what she wanted and made no sacrifices at all. She lived according to her own idea of happiness. She had everything she could possibly want. As bad luck would have it, though, and as no one could have foreseen, she died far too young, but that’s all. People don’t sacrifice themselves. People usually do what they want to do, what suits them best, what fits their personality or brings in the most money. No one sacrifices themselves. I haven’t, and neither have you. Even if you sometimes think you’re like Mom and have some kind of duty to fulfill, the only duty you have is the one you owe to your own will.”
“But who’s saying I’m self-sacrificial, that I feel what Mom used to feel? Who’s saying I do anything out of duty? Look, let’s just stop this conversation right now. It’s absurd.”
“No one’s saying that, Delfina, no one. It’s just that sometimes I’ve imagined you at night, when you’re lying in bed in the dark, and I’ve wondered if perhaps you ever fall into the temptation of thinking that. And I’ve wondered if, given that you, too, escaped from home, you might think the world you chose and from which you’ve never moved, La Coruña and all that, isn’t really yours, isn’t the world you were made for.”
“But who says that? How can you even think. .?”
Delfina’s voice faltered, and her expression — which had passed through various states, from uncontrolled aggression to alarm tinged with sadness — took on a somber air. She was no longer looking at me and was once again resting one hand on the back of the armchair.
“No one, Delfina, no one. I’m just warning you, because if you ever do succumb to that temptation, you’ll be lying to yourself. It would be a complete lie. You’re not on the right path, you’re on the path you chose and that you want to follow. You are that path. There’s no great purpose behind your life in La Coruña. You haven’t given up anything. You are what you do. Like everyone. Like Mom and Dad. Like me.”
“I know. Of course my life is the way I want it to be. Have I ever said otherwise? Listen, we’re both getting hysterical now. We’ve been talking for ages and we just keep going around and around in circles and all we do is talk nonsense and hurt each other. It’s ridiculous, pointless. After all, we love each other. So let’s just drop it, shall we?”