buenos aires
august 2005
Mat tugged gently at his sister’s wrist, coaxing the blanket from her face. She relinquished her hands, exposed, and opened her eyes to see the stubble on his upper lip, the brown eyes she seemed to have always known. He glanced over his shoulder at the man who stood behind him, hands still in his pockets. She shoved the blanket back in her bag as Claudio approached.
Claudio’s face was familiar, his brow bone strong, his dark hair thick despite its receding hairline. He was medium height with tense shoulders, but there was vitality in his stance. He swayed slightly toward her as though he might move to embrace her, then pulled back sharply as if he didn’t dare.
“Hello, Ana.”
The sound of his voice through the wind made Rachel unexpectedly giddy.
“Hi,” she said.
“You’re very beautiful. You look just like your mother.” He looked back and forth between the two of them, overcome. “My God. Look at you both together.”
Mat blinked back tears, then took a step and turned away from them both. “Let’s go sit somewhere we can talk.” He motioned for them to follow as he led them across a footbridge toward the nature-reserve park.
Rachel’s eyes jumped to inspect Claudio—the shape of his neck, his tanned skin against the collar of his down coat, the sparse curls along his hairline. Her flesh and blood.
Mat stopped at a small metal table near a coffee cart.
“You want anything?” Mat asked her, nodding at the cart.
She shook her head and dropped slowly into a cold chair.
“Cappuccino for me, if you don’t mind,” said Claudio.
Mat walked away stonily.
Claudio stared at Rachel. She smiled back.
“Do you speak English?” she asked.
He nodded. “I moved around Europe for close to ten years. Bilingual, as they say. Do you know what they call a person who speaks only one language?”
Rachel raised her eyebrow. “Monolingual?”
“American.”
She flushed. “I have so many questions for you.”
“I’ll try to answer them,” he replied.
She wanted to stop time, to sit across the table from him for as long as possible.
Mat set two paper cups of coffee and a handful of sugar packets down in front of them, then handed Rachel a bottled water and sat beside her.
“Thank you,” said Claudio.
Mat toyed with a sugar packet, silent.
“Did you ever look for me?” Rachel asked.
“I wasn’t sure you were mine to look for, until recently,” said Claudio.
“What was our mother like?”
“Extraordinary,” said Claudio. He took a sip of the coffee, a dab of chestnut-colored cream attaching itself to his lip. “She had hair like yours, and she would pull it up like this.” He set down his coffee and lifted the same arm to his head, his knobby hand feigning delicacy. “I don’t know if she knew it, but I noticed everything about her. She had a beautiful voice, and long fingers, like you kids. She was smart. And a great cook.”
Every word he spoke was like a pillar, fortifying Rachel.
Mat shifted in his chair. “What happened between you two?”
“It’s complicated,” said Claudio. “And all my fault, I suppose. We were young. I wasn’t the marrying type, God knows. I was forty-five before I was anywhere near ready to be a husband or a father. Even now, my wife might argue with that.”
“You have a family?”
His eyes sparkled. “Two kids.” He pulled out his wallet with the same hand and showed a photo of two lively, dark-haired children, a girl and a boy. “That’s Tatiana—she’s almost ten. And Daniel, he’s six.”
A little bubble of elation inflated inside of Rachel at the sight of these half-siblings, but it popped when she glanced at Mat, who turned his head to the sea.
Claudio followed Mat’s gaze out across the water and didn’t speak for a full minute.
“They called it ‘night and fog,’” Claudio said finally. “Try to imagine it. Thousands of people detained without any explanation. Completely vanished. And the president got up in front of the country and said, ‘the disappeared are gone.’ Not ‘dead’ or ‘imprisoned’—just ‘gone.’ No one identified them by name. They didn’t talk about it. They just pretended it wasn’t happening. And when they finally did talk about it, even the language was a trick. They called it a ‘war,’ as though people like your mother were worthy adversaries. Everyone knows that no one actually disappeared, but ‘los desaparecidos’ is how we remember them.” Claudio shook his head. “I think people like to think they would have done something in that situation—spoken out or fought back—but nobody did. There was too much fear. Nobody really does anything in those situations, despite what they say.”
“Except Esme,” said Mat.
Claudio raised an eyebrow. “Yes. I suppose that’s true.”
Mat’s shoulders loosened.
“If you’d have told me years ago that Esme would become an activist, I would’ve said you were crazy. Lorena was the one who had strong beliefs. She always wanted to fight.”
“My grandmother says you put my parents at risk,” said Mat.
“Your mother wanted to do much more than help with a couple deliveries of publications. That’s all she did—gift-wrapped a few boxes filled with the underground newspaper Evita Montonera. That was her supposed crime. She helped prepare them for safe distribution from our printing press. She wanted desperately to be a part of the people’s fight. The good people of this nation, the people she saw working alongside her father every day—she watched those in power selfishly depriving them, taking away their opportunities, their rights, their dignity. We all wanted to stop that. Even José, God rest his soul. Was there risk? Of course. Everything is a risk. Life is a risk. But who was I to keep the woman I loved from pursuing her truth? She had enough of that from her government, her husband—even her mother, if I’m being honest.”
Mat stiffened.
“I’m sorry to say it, but you’re both grown now, and you deserve the truth. Esme was always a more traditional person. She wanted Lorena to settle down and have a family, stay safe. And your father and I were very different men, despite loving the same woman. Your mother couldn’t be stopped. She was strong, and that kind of strength—well, it would’ve come out somehow, as far as I’m concerned. Whether I was involved or not.”
Mat locked eyes with Claudio, man to man. “Why didn’t you just keep her out of it?”
A sudden pain clutched Rachel’s chest.
“Why would I have done that?”
“You said you loved her.”
Claudio sighed. “I did love her, very much.”
“Then you should’ve protected her.”
“I would have protected her, Matías. If I’d known someone was about to hurt her, I’d have laid down my life to stop it. She might’ve done the same for me. But I would never have kept her from doing what she was called to do. That’s something different. She was perfectly capable of making that choice herself. Preventing someone from carrying out their life’s purpose is not protection.”
Mat sucked his teeth, unsatisfied.
Perhaps this was just what Claudio had to tell himself, but it resonated with Rachel. She’d spent her whole life being protected from things. She’d been protected from her own identity, her history, the truth, even her own name.
“If it had been me and Mari, I never would’ve let her get involved,” said Mat. He leaned into his folded arms on the table, his coat bulking up around him. “I just wouldn’t have let her do it.”
Claudio frowned. Mat’s words rang false to Rachel too. Surely he had no command over Mari, who had a doctorate degree, flew back and forth between continents, and appeared to have built a successful life on her own terms. Then again, Mari had a softness to her that set her apart from Rachel in some way. Perhaps Mat believed these words; perhaps Mari let him believe them.
“Your mother supported a cause,” said Claudio. “She was smart; she had good instincts. She knew when things weren’t right, and she wanted to do something about it. But she was trapped in many ways, and there were things about her situation that neither she nor I could do anything about.” He turned to Rachel. “Maybe it’s different for you now. You’re a young woman in the United States. Maybe times have changed. But back then, the least I could do for Lorena was offer her a way to help.”
“Times haven’t changed that much,” said Rachel.
“I never would’ve put her at risk,” said Mat.
“You’re your father’s son,” said Claudio.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Hijo, look at you. Look at what you’ve done.” Claudio lifted his one good hand and spread it through the air above the table. “You bring people together. You and your grandmother are healers; you’re bridge-builders. Your father was a far better man than me. What I saw then as cowardice was really just caution. His cause wasn’t the good of the nation, it was the good of his family.”
“I know more than you think I do about my father.”
“Then you know the world needs more people like him. Look at me now. I’m a useless old scoundrel. It devastated me, losing them. It was why I went to Cuba. Even if I could’ve stayed here, I couldn’t stand the memories.”
“Then why did you come back?” asked Mat.
Claudio twisted his coffee cup on the table with his finger and thumb. “Argentina and I are like old lovers. I couldn’t stay away. And I’ve made plenty of mistakes, God knows. But in the end, Lorena and José didn’t disappear because of me. They disappeared because of the junta.”
Mat looked at Rachel, but she dropped her head. She didn’t want to decide the fates at this table any more than she did at the one in the Abuelas’ office.
Claudio pruned the shredded edges of the plastic lid to his coffee cup.
“Have you ever read Borges?” he asked Rachel.
Rachel shook her head.
“Borges referred to doubt as a type of intelligence. It’s a beautiful way of describing something true, isn’t it?”
Mat stood up. “You talk too much.”
Rachel rose to follow her brother, whose shoulders hunched with wounded pride. Claudio followed, and the three of them made their way down the flat cobblestone, the water visible from nearly every direction. Mat’s natural gait was a half-step longer than hers and Claudio’s. The late afternoon sun broke out, and Rachel unzipped her coat. She adjusted Lorena’s scarf around her neck, then twisted her hair into a bun.
Claudio stopped walking and took a breath. He stared at her.
“What?”
“You look just like her.”
Mat slowed to a stop and turned back to face them, standing together with the ghost of Lorena for a few quiet moments before resuming their pace.
“I don’t want to go back,” said Rachel.
“I’d imagine you’ll find yourself in a bit of a conundrum with regard to your appropriators,” said Claudio.
It felt easy to talk to him, like she could say anything without consequence. “Do you have some opinion about what my adoptive father did too?”
“Oh, I don’t care much about all that. I was thinking more about what you want.”
“I want justice,” Rachel said in a small voice.
Mat’s head cocked back to assess her.
“Justice is a big word,” said Claudio. “Are you sure you’re not mistaking it for blame?”
Rachel slid her fingers down the scarf. Mat dropped his eyes to his feet.
“It’s natural to want to blame someone,” Claudio went on. “To go through the rage, to want revenge, all of that. I’ve gone through it, too—I was tortured in prison, you know—but it’s only a place to pass through. Not a destination. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
“You’re talking about forgiveness?”
“Perhaps. If you understand what you’re forgiving.”
They passed a tiled fountain, and Mat took a step up on its rim, then hopped back down again. “Well,” he said softly. “We have proof of what he did now.”
“Proof,” said Claudio. “What’s proof? Proof is just a basis for knowing—or changing what you know. I think Ana already knows the truth. I think you’ve probably known it for quite a while, haven’t you, Ana?”
Up ahead of them, the path led through a nature reserve toward the Río de la Plata. A retention wall stretched along the water’s edge, tapering off in sections where the cement was crumbling. A strong desire drew Rachel toward it.
“Let’s go over there,” she said. She tied Lorena’s scarf and zipped up her coat.
A break in the seawall opened to a rocky pier that stretched into the river from shore. As they approached the water, a haunted feeling came over her. She crossed over the pier. Where the wall resumed, it grew close to twenty feet, extending around a bend where the wind pushed the river against its concrete in magnificent breaks of sea spray. A presence was luring her there.
Rachel tested the stones at the base of the collapsing wall, finding grip with the rubber sole of her boots. One hand at a time, she reached up to grab the rubble, hoisting her body upward, propelled toward the force of the jumping water.
“Where are you going?” asked Mat.
Behind her, Claudio and Mat stood at the opening to the pier, watching. With the wind in the foreground, she could only make out small notes of their voices.
Rachel succumbed to the upward pull, planting each foot tenuously on the next waterworn stone. She felt like she was floating again.
“How high are you going to climb?” shouted Mat.
She raised her face to the sky. “To the high part up there. I want to see over it.”
Something was calling her from the sea, in that great expanse of air and sky. It pulled her from within. She climbed higher on the broken rocks, obeying the presence.
“You should probably sit down once you get up there,” yelled Mat. “It’s pretty high.”
“Let her climb,” Claudio insisted. “Climb, Ana!”
Rachel reached the top of the seawall and sat down, dangling her legs over the side. The wind tore across ribbons of land in the distance, erasing the voices behind her. Sea spray kissed the hem of her jeans as the waves crashed and broke against the rocks below.
She opened her bag, took out her blanket, and clutched its fabric. As the wind whistled around her, she closed her eyes to the setting sun.
Her mind seemed to split in two. One part of her conceived of the full anguish of her predicament, the agonizing lies and truths. But another part was comforted by what she’d always known intuitively: she’d come from somewhere. She’d been wanted. She had the facts of her story, even if she’d yet to process them.
Rachel lifted a hand to Lorena’s scarf and felt a transference of energy. The blanket was a part of a story she didn’t need anymore; it was the fabric of the past. She held two of its corners and folded it into a triangle, wrapping it around her head like Esme had shown her. She tied a knot at the base of her chin, then stood up on the wall and let the strong wind blow against her.
“Be careful!” Mat called from below.
The haunting soul of the Río de la Plata pulled at her very core, inclining her further into the wind. A bolt of fear shot through her body as the force lured her toward the frigid water, but the spirit at its depths was peaceful. She felt ready to disappear into the wind.
Mamá, Rachel whispered into the air. It’s me, Ana. I’m still here.
She took the blanket off her head and held it up with one arm, letting it fly like a white flag of surrender.
I’m all right, Mamá. I’m here.
Her fingers parted to release the cotton fabric, and the wind carried it out into the sea. The remnants of her abandonment, relinquished. Just as it reached the point of dipping to gravity, the wind picked it up and unexpectedly elevated it again, startling Rachel with a euphoria that tugged at her chest. It bounced a few more times on the breeze, hovering, waiting.
All the sunlight in the sky seemed to pass over her, blanching her soul. She felt ready to lift off into the air. Not far from where she stood, people who loved her roamed the earth like ingredients for a unique and complicated dish with no recipe. It would take time, but she would weave together the disparate parts of her identity until something chaotically beautiful emerged. The past was a place from which she would launch, shooting off into the future in any direction she chose, like an arrow or a colorful rocket, an image she remembered reading somewhere once, perhaps in a poem. She was entitled to her history, but it wouldn’t define her. She saw the full expanse of herself now, every corner lit up and open. She had been loved—and this simple truth was more than enough of a foundation on which to build a remarkable life.
Rachel glanced over one shoulder. On the ground, Mat’s expression was full of concern, but Claudio was joyous, marveling. Her feet were instantly rooted, tethered by an invisible filament that ran through Mat and Claudio, back through their ancestors to the beginning of time. She thought of Esme and suddenly couldn’t wait to be close to her grandmother again.
It was Ana, not Rachel, who turned back toward the water in time to see the blanket spiral gracefully into the Río de la Plata. She sat down and watched the fabric soak into the surface of the water. She leaned to one side and rested her forearm on the wall, the cold wetness of it seeping through her jeans and the elbow of her shirt. She laid down entirely, letting her face rest against the cold rock. It felt hard, certain, timeless as the earth. She lay there for a long time, breathing in the cold sea air that sent shards of ice into her chest, then letting it out again. Three more times. Five. Ten. She released the tension of an inner storm that had begun weeks, months, years, and decades ago, sending it out to sea.
She could hear Mat climbing up the rocks behind her. He sat near her on a flat top of the wall. The waves crashed below as they both stared out over the water at the horizon. At last, she felt his hand on her shoulder, warm and firm. She sat up.
“You ready to go home?”
He was testing out the word, its palatability. Home. Where was that?
She nodded.
The sky was a smear of indigo. Lorena’s presence had dissipated now. Alongside her brother, Ana climbed down.
“Your catharsis,” said Claudio once they’d taken the final jump to pavement. “A beautiful thing.”
Mat rolled his eyes.
Ana looked up at the man her mother had loved, this worn-out revolutionary—her father. She leaned in tentatively and slid her arms around his ribcage. One of his arms hung limp, but the other embraced her carefully, and she breathed in a rich, earthy scent. It was new and foreign but entirely welcome. There was still so much time left.
“I should’ve had a pastry,” said Mat. “I’m starving.”
“I’ve got a box of Zucaritas. And a lime and a butterscotch candy.”
“There,” said Claudio, nodding back toward the park, where carriage lights were flickering on at a pavilion eatery. The smell of cooking poultry wafted toward them.
“I have something to tell you,” Mat said as they made their way toward the park. There was courage in his voice. “I feel like now is the right time to say it.”
“Go ahead,” said Claudio.
“Mari and I are going to have a baby.”
A happy laugh burst from Claudio’s lips. “That’s wonderful news, man.”
Ana’s face relaxed into a smile. “How do you keep so quiet about everything?”
“He’s just like his father,” said Claudio.
“I’m happy for you,” she said, but the truth was she was happy for herself. The arrival of a new little soul would make her feel that much less alone in her own beginnings with her family.
The chilled evening air shifted to a warm scent of spices as they entered the pavilion. Ana rubbed the hem of Lorena’s scarf between her fingers, snuggling it around her neck and shoulders like an embrace from a guardian angel.