––––––––
Mother and daughter, Aurora and Emma, ate in silence. It had been some time since there had been any conversation in that house. Between the two of them, there were no shared celebrations, no shared confidences, or even rebukes.
As soon as they finished eating, Emma retreated back to her bedroom, and locked the door with the bolt, trying to make the least amount of sound possible. It was an old bolt, attached to an old wooden door in one of the many old and damp flats on the street Marqués de Valterra, in the north-west area of Vigo. In this part of the city, the salty sea air filtered in through the cracks, and impregnated everything with its characteristic smell, and its permanent dampness.
When she was sure that nobody was able to enter, she took a large suitcase out of the wardrobe and opened it up on the floor. Then she searched for the note that she had been keeping in the top drawer of her bedside table, and attentively cast her eye over it. On it was a meticulous list of everything that she should bring with her. For months now she had had the list consigned to memory, but she wanted to follow it point by point: enough clothes for a week, an alarm clock, a pair of glasses... Once she had finished fitting everything into the suitcase, she sat on the bed. In the background, she could hear people having a heated discussion on the same old television programme. She looked at the note again, this time with less enthusiasm, and so she gave herself a few minutes to regain her strength, or rather, summon up some courage.
It was not long before she was carefully unlocking the door and stealthily making her way to the bathroom. She still had to gather the rest of her necessities from there: makeup, hair-dye, a toothbrush, a comb, a small hairdryer, some razor blades... The television was still on, and the discussion coming from it had escalated in tone: loud enough for Aurora not to notice the comings and goings of her daughter through the narrow corridor.
But when she went to leave her bedroom for good, just after five o’clock, Emma found herself face to face with her mother in the hall, possibly alerted by the sound of the wheels on the suitcase, or even by pure maternal instinct. Aurora’s eyes immediately widened upon seeing the luggage.
“Are you leaving?” she asked.
Emma looked at her for a moment, and made her way forward, without answering. She then opened the front door and pressed the button for the lift. The wait on the landing seemed to last an eternity. She could feel her mother’s gaze burning into the nape of her neck, imploringly, but not once did she return the look. She just waited. It was the worst of all possible responses.
She entered the lift, awkwardly lugging her suitcase. Just then as she heard the door of the apartment close, and before she was able to start the lift, Aurora came in after her. Emma would have preferred to leave her parents’ home, in which she had been born and raised, and had also been living in recent years, in solitude and without goodbyes; without making that moment any harder than it already was. But, in the back of her mind, she understood her mother.
The door opened and Emma walked out, again pulling the suitcase behind her. Aurora limited herself to merely following her, searching her mind for some question to ask, but she was unable to find one.
The two of them approached the worn edge of the pavement and waited on the curb.
“I have called for a taxi. I don’t believe it will be late.”
When it arrived, the driver had no doubt that the two women must inevitably have been the ones who had called for his services, and he quickly got out and put the suitcase in the car. Meanwhile, Emma sat down in the front seat, lowered the window, and through the aperture she looked at her mother, who stood, paralysed, on the curb, and motioned for her to get in. What would be the harm in her coming along, she thought.
“To the train station,” she told the taxi driver.
“To Guixar?”
“Yes”.
The works going on in the main train station meant that, for months now, all trains had to depart from the old station situated in the Avenida de Guixar. Despite this fact, the driver had the well-mannered custom of always asking his clients which station they wanted. Normally, this simple courtesy served as the ideal means of leading into a conversation, but not in this particular case.
During the drive, Emma tried not to back down and say anything that she might regret, and Aurora simply felt defeated. Sitting in the back seat, she finally found a question she could ask:
“You’re not taking your own car?”
“No, I don’t need it,” Emma replied, brusquely.
She would have to keep thinking for another question now. The taxi driver skirted past the petrol station at Berbés, and then accelerated towards the Beiramar tunnels at top speed. Nobody drives slowly in Vigo, and this driver was no exception. At one point, he felt the desire to talk about the weather, as he would do with any other passengers, but his intuition told him that it would be more appropriate to limit himself to just driving. As for Aurora, she was increasingly conscious of the fact that time was running out.
“Aren’t you even going to give me an explanation?”
“No”.
Aurora registered her daughter’s short response, and did not feel she had the strength to pursue it further. She knew that she could search for a thousand questions but, deep down, she already knew all of the answers. That included the answer to the question she had just asked. To tell the truth, she had spent an entire year expecting this moment to come. But now she had discovered that she was not prepared to face it with any strength.
––––––––
Once in the station, Emma strode confidently towards the ticket office and got in line. Three people, and five more minutes of agonizing goodbye. Aurora waited by her side. When her turn came, she looked at her mother out of the corner of her eye, and then directed attention towards the Renfe employee:
“A single to Barcelona Sants”.
“Would you like a sleeper?”
Emma hesitated.
“No: just a seat”.
“A hundred and five euros fifty, please”.
She took three fifty-euro notes out of a large wad, and gave them to the lady, and waited for the change. Then she turned and looked once more at her mother, but this time head on, and with an interrogative air.
“What...?” she asked.
“Don’t go off to Barcelona...” replied Aurora, defeated.
Emma thought that she would have to take more care over the details of her deception. Although from that point onwards, the only people she would have to concern herself with would be her other victims.
The two women slowly made their way towards the platforms. Somehow, the short walk from the ticket offices to the train substituted any kind of farewell. There were no kisses, or hugs, or even a simple goodbye. Emma got into the first carriage, and walked down the length of the entire train, until sitting down in the zone with seats, on the furthest side from the platform.
Aurora followed her from the outside, and stopped when she was level with her. She stood there, looking at her, with eyes full of tears. In the deepest, darkest corner of her mind, she knew she would never see her again.