25.

I have dinner with your parents, just informally. I didn’t have time to let your sister know, so I said goodbye over the phone; I think it was easier for her to do it that way too. She even got a little bit affectionate, I think she said something along the lines of nice to see you or safe travels or take care or something like that, surprising. I didn’t even call Vanina, I didn’t feel like it, I’ll send her an email from Buenos Aires. I didn’t feel like dealing with her questions, or like evading them, either, I wouldn’t have been able to; and so I simply did not say goodbye. When I got home, to your house, it was already nighttime. It wasn’t too late, but it was dark out already. I arrived with some provisions, a kind of minimal gift for your parents. I got some nice wines and some cold cuts to snack on, some of that prosciutto your dad likes. He still hadn’t gotten there, so I ended up chatting with your mom in the kitchen. She was washing some vegetables, I told her I was leaving first thing in the morning, and she instantly started putting together a farewell dinner. I couldn’t say no. I also wouldn’t have wanted to. She said she’d gotten a couple of good veggies, really fresh, and she wanted to make a stew, so how could I say no? So I stayed with her in the kitchen, I asked if I could help, but she said no; in exchange she had me prepare her some mates and tell her what I’d been up to the past couple of days. So I told her the whole situation, the sequence of run-ins with Julián, the extent to which that had affected me, how unresolved it all was for me, the Manuel thing too, I also talked to her about Manuel, about the phone call, my confusion, the impossibility of knowing, of understanding. We talked about him and his kids, what your mom knew about it all. The overview that she gave was quite a bit less idyllic than I had imagined. She feels really sorry for them: Juli, the girl, the kid. I wanted to know why she’d feel sorry, and she said, well, that she imagined something else when she thought about a family, that Julián barely knew that girl when he got her pregnant, and that that girl was not at all prepared to be a mother, poor thing, she’d barely graduated from high school, and that is quite apparent, the body knows, that why did I think she’d have such troublesome pregnancies otherwise? The body knows, communicates, and if a girl that young can’t have a healthy pregnancy it means something. That, you know, for the man it was different, that she saw Julián coming and going with the kid, when he felt like it, because he kept working, went on with his life, goes out, sees his friends, and meanwhile the poor girl spends her life in bed. That she isn’t saying anything about him, that she thinks it’s good for him to go about his life and all, but that you have to think things through more, that a child ought not to be a caprice, a pastime, or something to fill a void, to have something to do, that you just cannot be that irresponsible, that egotistical. That was it, that in some sense it’s just egotistical because those children, those people, are new people, and you have to have something to give them, something with which to receive them, the best intentions at the very least, and actually not even. That even the best intentions aren’t enough. That it makes her a little bit sad how unaware they are, makes her feel a little helpless. It did me good to hear all that, because in some way it demystified the whole matter and helped me remember what a burden fatherhood would be, all that responsibility and that permanence, what it means for there to be a whole new person. But on the other hand I also think, and I told your mother this, that a certain degree of unawareness is probably necessary in order to conceive, to have children. That, in some sense, it has to be a kind of game, because if you overthink it you’ll never do it. And she said that yes, well, that maybe, but that in any case that young girl certainly was not able to enjoy being a mother, not even the pregnancies, because of being in bed all day, like a convalescent, as though the children or maternity sickened rather than fulfilled her, rather than being a fortunate event, bringing joy, and that she, personally, did not wish that for her daughters. For her daughters, she said, and immediately made a little gesture with her hand as though including me in that comment, including me in the daughters part, I guess, or at least in the maternity part. Then, as she put a lid on the pot where she was making the stew, she told me that as far as Julián went, in terms of what I’d told her about my confusion, my distress, that I try to just take it in stride, that I just enjoy the trip and seeing him after all this time. You two must have lots to talk about, a lot to tell one another, to catch up; she said I should enjoy that and not oblige myself to know, that was the main thing, that one never completely knows anything, that things, that events, ultimately decide for you, and that I ought to just let myself be. That I let myself be. Strangely that phrase always makes me think of letting yourself go, even though I know it’s not really related.

And then your dad came, and we uncorked the wine and ate prosciutto and ate stew, and we still felt like a few rounds of dice. Your dad got out the Chivas and we sipped from our glasses, and the whole time Ali was curled up on my lap, the whole time we sat chatting after dinner. I felt like she could sense my departure. Or at least I liked the idea of feeling missed. Then your mom could barely keep her eyes open, so we said goodbye. They insisted on getting up in the morning to say goodbye, make me a coffee or something, some mates, especially your mom, and I kept saying no, that it wasn’t in the morning, even, it was really first first thing, and that I wouldn’t even want to have a beverage at that hour, that it was getting super late now and that I probably wouldn’t even sleep, that they should just go to bed and not worry about it. They gave me hugs, it was very emotional, but like an exuberant emotion; your mom said take care, looking into my eyes, and immediately added, and have fun; your dad gave his classic little claps on the back, said to say hello to Ramiro, and as he was walking out he added, I’ll be seeing you for a white wine again at Scuzzi. I laughed, said whenever he wanted, and they went to bed. I stayed there with Ali, me standing up in the kitchen, her lying down on the floor, stretching and considering/sniffing out what her next sleeping spot might be.

I decided that I wouldn’t go to sleep. I was already too far gone, and I didn’t feel like sleeping through my last few hours in Esquel.