In the meantime, the association had closed. A number of threats had sown fear among its members. What Noci was now doing was returning my father’s gesture of solidarity.
— Now, make sure you hide this cash from Aproximado, do you hear? This money’s yours, yours alone.
— Only mine, Miss Noci?
— Yes. Like me, at this moment, I’m yours alone.
Her towel fell to the floor. Once again, just like that first time in Jezoosalem, the presence of a woman took the ground away, and the two of us plunged into the abyss together. Afterwards, as we lay, exhausted on the tiled floor, our legs entangled, she passed her fingers over my face and murmured:
— You’re crying. .
I denied it fiercely. Noci seemed moved by my vulnerability and looking deep into my eyes, asked:
— Who taught you to love women?
I should have answered: it was lack of love. But no words occurred to me. Disarmed, I watched Noci buttoning up her dress, preparing to leave. When she got to the last button, she paused and said:
— When he handed us the box of money, your father wasn’t aware that among the notes, there was a bit of paper with instructions on it.
— Instructions? From whom?
— Your mother.
My father had never realized this, but his deceased spouse had left a note explaining the origin and purpose for this money. It was Dordalma’s savings and she was leaving this inheritance so that her sons should lack for nothing.
— It was your mother. It was she who taught you how to love. Dordalma has always been here.
And she placed the palm of her hand on my chest.
Then they came to get Uncle. An incrimination from an unknown source, we were told. Only I knew that the telltale documents had come from his drawer, and that it was his own girlfriend, with my complicity, who had sent the papers. When he came home, having paid his bail, Aproximado was suspicious of everything and of everyone. Above all, he suspected my father’s secret powers. At dinner, taking advantage of Noci’s absence, Aproximado spoke belligerently:
— It was you, Silvestre, I bet it was you.
My father didn’t hear, didn’t look, didn’t speak. He existed in some other dimension and it was only his physical projection that appeared before us. Uncle resumed his menacing discourse:
— Well let me tell you this: just as you arrived here, my dear Silvestre, so you’ll be booted out. I’ll have you exported like some hunting trophy.
I could swear I detected a mocking smile on my father’s face. It’s possible his brother-in-law got the same impression because he asked in a tone of surprise:
— What’s happening? Has your hearing come back?
Well, if that was the case, Silvestre had better listen. Whereupon Uncle launched forth with a litany of mishaps. My father got up from his chair abruptly and slowly poured the contents of his glass on the floor. We all understood: he was giving the dead something to drink, and was apologizing in advance for any ill omen.
— It’s too much, this is just too much! — Aproximado roared.
The provocation meted out by his brother-in-law-widower had gone beyond all acceptable limits. Limping more than usual, Uncle went to the bedroom and brought back a photograph. He shook it in front of my nose and shouted:
— Take a good look at this, nephew.
His spirit suddenly and unexpectedly energized, my old man jumped onto the table and covered the photo with his body. Aproximado pushed him and the two fought for possession of the picture. I realized that it was my mother’s image that was dancing around in Aproximado’s hands, and I decided to join in the tussle. In no time at all, however, the paper was torn and each one of us ended up holding a piece in our fingers. Silvestre took hold of the remaining pieces and ripped them to shreds. I kept the portion I had ended up with. All it showed were Dordalma’s hands. On her entwined fingers, could be seen an engagement ring. Once I was in bed, I kissed my mother’s hands repeatedly. For the first time, I said goodnight to the person who had given me all my nights.
Before I fell asleep I sensed that Noci was coming into my room. This time she was real. Naked, she lay down next to me and I followed the contours of her body while losing the notion of my own substance.
— You’re the one who knows I’m here, you’re the one touching me. .
— Let’s not make any noise, Miss Noci.
— This isn’t noise, Mwanito. It’s music.
Music it may have been, but I was terrified at the thought of my father lying there next to us and, even more so, that Aproximado might hear us. But Noci’s presence was more powerful than my fear. As she bounced up and down on my legs, I was afflicted once again by a doubt: what if women blinded me as they had my brother Ntunzi? I closed my eyes and didn’t open them again until Noci shut the door as she left.
The following day, there was no day. Halfway though the morning, Aproximado was back from his office and his shouts reverberated down the hall.
— Son-of-a-bitch!
I shuddered: Uncle was insulting me after discovering that I, along with Noci, had betrayed him. The unequal echo of his steps approached down the hall and I sat on my bed expecting the worst. But his yells, when he reached the doorway, suggested something very different from my initial fears:
— I’ve been punished! I’ve been transferred! You great sonof-a-bitch, I know it was you who fixed all this. .
The image of a once discreet and affable uncle vanished forever before our eyes. His gesticulations, as he stormed round old Silvestre’s bed, were both grandiloquent and burlesque. He pulled out his cellphone as if he were drawing a pistol and declared:
— I’m going to call your eldest son, he’s the one who’s going to take charge of this mess.
And he went on moaning while he waited for his call to be answered. He’d had to put up with this nutcase all his life. Now he had this deadweight, in fact two deadweights, in his own home. He stopped his grumbling when he realized Ntunzi had answered. Aproximado told us he was going to turn the speaker on so that we could all hear the conversation.
— Who’s that? Is that Ntunzi?
— Ntunzi? No. This is Sergeant Ventura speaking.
Can nostalgia sometimes take the form of a sudden lack of moisture in the mouth, a cold glow in the throat? In the stuffiness of that room, I swallowed drily upon hearing the evocative power of an absent voice. Aproximado repeated his acrimonious list of complaints against his brother-in-law. At the other end of the line, Ntunzi made light of it:
— But old Silvestre is so feeble, so cut off from the world, so remote from it all. .
— That’s where you’re wrong, Ntunzi. Silvestre is more heavy and troublesome than ever.
— My poor father, he’s never been so harmless. .
— Oh! Is that so? Well in that case tell me why he still calls me Aproximado? Eh? Why doesn’t he call me Uncle Orlando, or even Uncle Godmother, like he always did before?
— Don’t tell me you’re thinking of kicking Silvestre out? Because it’s his house.
— It was. I’ve already paid more than I should for it and for all the rest.