She wasn't asking me, she was merely reminding me or confirming my memory. And I did still remember, even when I was in London, when I didn't see the boy and was beginning to fear for him; he was very patient and protective towards his sister and often shared or gave in too much, like someone who knows that the noble, upright thing is for the strong always to give in to the non-tyrannical, non-abusive weak, a rather old-fashioned principle nowadays, since now the strong tend to be heartless and the weak despotic; he was even protective of his mother and, who knows, possibly of me, now that he felt that I was exiled and alone and far away, an orphan in his eyes and understanding; those who act as a shield suffer greatly in life, as do the vigilant, their ears and eyes always alert. And those who want at all costs to play fair, even when they are fighting and what is at risk is their survival or that of their most indispensable loved ones, without whom it is impossible to live, or almost.
'And Guillermo hasn't changed,' I said to Luisa. 'I hope he doesn't, but then again, sometimes I hope he does. He's bound to lose, given the way the world is going. I thought he'd learn to take better care of himself when he went to school and experienced the dangers for himself, but the years have gone by, and that doesn't seem to have happened. Sometimes I wonder if I'm being a bad father by not training him, not teaching him what he needs to know: tricks, cunning arguments, intimidation, caution, complaints; and more egotism. One should, I think, prepare one's children. But it's not easy to instil in them what they need to know, if you don't yourself like it. And he's a better person than I am, for now at any rate.' 'Then again it might have been a waste of time in his case,' answered Luisa. And she got up as if she were in a hurry. 'I'm going out again before they leave,' she said. That was why she hadn't yet taken off her raincoat or unpacked the bags: she knew she hadn't quite come home. 'I usually give her a bit of money when I go in, she's got a box you can throw coins into, and I gave her some today. But on my way out, she asked me for something, it's the first time she's ever asked me for anything, in words I mean, in a very strange, limited Spanish, I couldn't make out the accent, and she used the occasional Italian expression as well. She asked me to buy her some of those baby wipes that are so useful for keeping children clean, you know, the sort you can just pull out of a box. I said no, that she should buy them herself and that I'd already given her some money. And she said: "No, money no, money no." I've been going over and over it in my head and I think I've just understood what she meant. She must be collecting money for her husband or for her brothers or her father, I don't know, for the men in her life. She wouldn't dare touch any of that money without their permission, she wouldn't be able to decide, off her own bat, to spend it on something, she must have to hand it over and then they buy whatever they think should be bought, perhaps attending to their own needs first. They would think baby wipes were superfluous, a luxury, they wouldn't give her money for something like that, and she'd just have to put up with it. But I know they're not a luxury, those children spend hours on end there, and they must get really sore and chafed if she can't clean them up now and then. So I'm going to buy them for her. I hadn't cottoned on until now, she can't do what she likes with what she earns, not a single penny of it, that's why she asked me for the thing itself and why the money was of no use to her. I'll be right back.’
When she returned shortly afterwards, she took off her raincoat. I had unpacked the bags meanwhile, and everything was in its place.
'Did you get there in time?' I asked. She had aroused my curiosity.
'Yes, they obviously stay there until the shop closes. I went in, bought the wipes and gave them to her. You should have seen the look of joy and gratitude on her face. I mean she's always very grateful anyway and always gives me a big smile whenever I give her any money. But this time it was different, it was something for her, for her use and for the children, it wasn't part of the common pot, money, then, is all the same and once it's mixed up you can't tell whose is whose. And the little boy was happy too, just to see her happy. He had such a celebratory look on his face, even though he didn't really know what it was he was celebrating. He's so quick, so bright, he notices everything. If things don't go too badly for him in life, he'll be a great optimist. Let's hope he's lucky.’
I knew that Luisa was already involved by that request for help, which she had answered belatedly and, therefore, after some thought. She wasn't caught or entangled, but she was involved. Whenever she went back to the supermarket and saw the young Hungarian woman and her little optimist, she would wonder if the wipes had run out, for the children's need for them would not, of course – nor would it for a long time. And if the woman wasn't there, she would wonder about her, about them, not in a worried or, far less, an interfering way (Luisa is not one to draw attention to herself, nor does she go poking about in other people's lives), but I knew she was involved because, from then on, without my ever having seen them, I myself would sometimes ask about them and wait for my wife to bring me news, if there was any.
A few weeks later, when people were avidly buying things for the fast-approaching Christmas season, she told me that the Rumanian mother had again specifically asked her for something. 'Hello, carina,' the young woman had said, which made us think that before arriving in Spain she must have spent some time in Italy, from where perhaps she had been unceremoniously expelled by the brutal, xenophobic, pseudo-Lombardic authorities, who are even coarser and more oafish than our own contemptuous, pseudo-madrileno ones. 'If you don't want you tell me no, but I ask you one thing,' had been her polite preamble, for courtesy partly consists in stating the obvious, which is never out of place when employed in its service. 'The boy wants a cake. I cannot buy. Can you buy for him? Only if you want. It is there, detralangolo,' and she pointed around the comer, and Luisa immediately knew which shop she meant, a very good, expensive patisserie which she also frequented. 'If you don't want, then no,' the woman had insisted, as if she knew perfectly well that the request was a mere fancy. Yet because it was her son's fancy it was worth asking.
'This time, the boy understood everything,' Luisa said. 'She was giving expression to something he wanted, and he knew it. Well, the look of suspense on his face left no room for doubt, the poor little thing was waiting with bated breath for my Yes or No, his eyes like saucers.' ('Just like a defendant awaiting the verdict,' I thought, though without interrupting her, 'an optimistic defendant.') 'Anyway, I didn't know what exactly she meant by "a cake", and, besides, they seemed to know precisely which one and it was that and no other that they wanted, and so the four of us had to go over to the patisserie so that they could show me. I went in first so that the people in the shop could see that they were with me, and even then a lot of customers instinctively moved away in disgust, they made way for us as if to avoid contagion, I don't think she noticed, or perhaps she's used to it and it doesn't affect her any more, but it did me. It was the little boy who, very excitedly, pointed out the cake to me in a display case, a birthday cake, not very big, and the young woman nodded. I told her that they should go back to the steps outside the supermarket – the patisserie was packed and even more so with us and the pushchair and everything – while I stood in the queue, bought the cake and had them wrap it up, then I'd bring it over to her. What with one thing and another, it took me a quarter of an hour or thereabouts, and I had to laugh when I came round the corner, carrying the package, and saw the little boy, his eyes fixed on that spot and with a look of such expectation on his face, I'm sure he hadn't taken his eyes off that corner for a second since returning to his place, waiting for me to appear, bearing the treasure: as if he'd been mentally running all that time, out of pure impatience, pure longing. For once, he left his mother's side and ran to meet me, even though she called to him: "No, Emil! Emil, come here!" He ran round and round me like a puppy.' Luisa sat thinking, a smile on her lips, amused by this recent memory. Then she added: 'And that was that.’