The Tree Of Tears by Miguel Mendaro

The Tree Of Tears

The Tree Of Tears ﾂｩ 2006 Miguel ﾃ］gel Mendaro Johnson Translated by Pamela Ann Johnson

To my mother Who spent the last 8 months translating the bookâ&#x20AC;Ś

Every child comes with the message that God is not yet discouraged of man. Tagore Rabindranath

Words that will be written

A dark blue hat that long ago accompanied a head was almost black from exposure to the elements. It was located in the top of a tree, well embraced by the branches full of new, tender shoots that didn’t want it to fall after a generous gust of wind had carried it there, a wind that understands the deepest pockets of the soul, familiar with its tickles. I thought, as I watched the tree swaying in the breeze that the soul must be like the wind the instant it passes through a tree. It’s not crazy. It is not the wind and it is not the tree. It is the instant. Upside down, the hat that I told you about before was now the nest of some lazy birds. Here is a drawing I have of an unknown artist who passed by the spot and couldn’t resist the temptation of sketching with his pencil what was an unmistakable proof of evolution:

Behind him, a boy walked around the tall figure with his bitten pencil tips (he was a rather nervous artist). This boy was Ruben, who came from school wrapped in a spring breeze. The yellow of the flowering mimosa illuminated by the sun contrasted with the black storm clouds behind. All of these things went unnoticed to his eyes which had too much yet to see and discover. The boy had learned this morning that his mother had a present for him, and not just any old present. His short six year old life was full of expectations so great that they wouldn’t fit in 2,414 adults, making a person think… “What are we adults full of???” To figure that out at this moment would be too depressing. The day seemed to turn into night and the storm, which had been threatening for quite some time, broke loose with incredible violence. After seven minutes the sun began to shine again as though nothing at all had happened. Sitting in a chair in the kitchen beneath the glow of a lamp, Ruben looked at a photograph of a child, framed in mahogany and hanging by a thick piece of cord. The

face was black and white but seemed to glow thanks to all the different stories his mother had told him about his father. His nerves got the best of him and Ruben couldn’t wait, forgetting his delicious variety of cookies and his glass of milk for dunking, and he said to his mother in a very educated manner that he thought it was time to see the present. Together they went out to the garden hand in hand, happy. Ruben was so excited he didn’t notice the sun warming the grass, the hydrangea clean after the rain, the mimosa and the new shoots on the trees and the baby birds chirping in the upside down hat. What Ruben was looking for didn’t take long to find amid the smell of the rain. It was in the big tree. The one he felt an innate predilection for. The one that, some years ago, decided to wear a hat. To him so mighty, it was the middle of his garden. THAT ONE. He saw a swing hanging from one of the highest and strongest branches and his heart began to race. After a few attempts, he sat on the swing, with help from his mother. His small legs didn’t reach the ground so he needed, like all things in this life, the first push. Ruben began to move backward and forward, wanting to go higher and higher. Although in the eyes of a swing expert he barely was swinging, he felt as though he was touching the clouds and felt tickles in his tummy. After awhile he shouted to the top of the tree and to the distance where there was a lake, “Look how high I am, Mama!” While his mother watched her son in the shadow of the tree, a teardrop rolled down her cheek (born from happiness, too many have forgotten that tears aren’t only for sadness). When it fell to the ground it immediately sank, and was absorbed so deeply in the ground that it reached the very heart of the Earth.

1 Perspectives of a Journey

It seemed to Jonas that his compass had broken during his dreams and he got lost so easily that it frightened him. It happened on a rocky road, hostile and difficult to follow, surrounded by mist and a multitude of faceless people, he begged for guidance, something he would never have done in other situations. But no one helped. At least it was only a dream. Awake, Jonas was squatting on the floor, on a green rug lit by of rays of a tired sun that painted his old living room rust colour. His thirty-nine years wanted to leave him and the forties were anxiously knocking at his door. Unfortunately, as much as he tried he could do nothing to elude the passing of time. For that reason, and many more, he growled at two tangled wires that he was trying to separate with his two hands, biting his tongue. “Shit! How can they get so tangled up? Goooooooooooooooooooooooooooooood!” he shouted at 220 volts, for a God has many oes in it.

The clock kept ticking, “tic, toc, tic, toc”, and the early afternoon turned nostalgic. In between curses and shouts, he realized that the two wires he was trying to untangle were impossibly entangled and this seemed like a comparison with life which has a tendency to lean toward chaos all by itself, with no help whatsoever. Right then, with the twisted wires (one of them had wrapped itself around his leg and tightened like

the boas on some documentary, suffocating its prey), he realized that it was going to be impossible to separate them. Fortunately, this was no more than a daydream that we all suffer from once in awhile. He wound the wires together and decided they could stay entangled forever. “Forget it. If life leans toward chaos naturally, I’m not going to try to change it! Not one more word about it…I’m really beat.” he thought to himself, letting out a deep breath. He laid down, giving up and looked at the ceiling, watching the specks of dust he had stirred up dance in the light. “Damned wires,” he said under his breath. And laying there on the floor, his breath irregular, his head began to ache terribly. But after such a fight with the boa from the documentary, anyone would be exhausted! He stood up and went to the strange note, whose author and handwriting were impossible to identify, (unquestionably of a child). It was still where he had found it: You said you would help me. A train leaves this afternoon at the old station. It was still early. He walked to the chair he had been sitting on, before his battle with the wires, and prepared his suitcase. Somehow, Jonas knew he had decided to keep his promise, a sudden untimely journey. He had remembered. Still suffering from a headache, he sat on the edge of the chair and with an enormous effort, tried to close the suitcase. “Another trip, once again, one more out of so many!” he said out loud. Although, this time, the journey he was beginning was precipitated. The truth was he didn’t want to go. Who was it that asked for his help? Try as he did, he couldn’t remember though once in awhile, he could hear a faint voice. He closed the zipper, having to sit on the bag to accomplish it. Now, perfectly sealed, he realized that he would go with no excuse other than a voice that asked for his help. Among other things, ever since he woke up this morning, he had been having dizzy spells that made him lose contact with reality. It seemed that because of this and having to leave in such a state without giving one single logical explanation to anyone was very difficult to explain. He felt another wave of dizziness and fell to his knees. Why did he have to leave? How could this have happened? He didn’t know because, as soon as he saw things clearly, confusion invaded him from his head to his toes. *** Still sitting on the edge of the chair he realized that he had a wire wrapped around his right leg. “What is going on?” he shouted. He yanked at the wire with anger and, strangely felt pain. With his hand he followed the path of the wire up his leg. It stopped at his bellybutton. The wire went directly into his stomach! Did the boa want to devour him alive? The very idea made him feel terribly frightened.

Restless and nervous, he didn’t know what to do. He overcame another bout of dizziness. Looking down at his stomach, he decided the solution to this problem lay at the other extreme of the cable. On his knees and very carefully, he followed the cable until it came to its end: connected to the wall. In Jonas mind, he was connected to the electricity, connected to his house. How long had this been stuck to his insides? He debated with the idea of unplugging the wire from the wall but the possibility and horrible image of being “disconnected” from the world caused him a great fear. Perhaps, if he disconnected, he would never be conscious again. His back slid against the wall and he sat down on the floor. He rolled the wire in between his fingertips, twisting it. He wondered. There was no solution and he had to catch the train that afternoon.

He dropped the wire and walked to the kitchen, repeating the same steps over and over again. He took the milk out of the fridge and some powder that said on the label “coffee.” After putting it all in a cup he stood on his tiptoes and reached up for the sugar and felt another sharp pain. The wire in his stomach was so taught that it had to give at one of the ends. He sat on the floor, allowing the thing to loss its tenseness, little by little. The pain was leaving him exhausted. “I wonder what time it is,” he said in a low voice. Twisting his neck, he saw the clock on the wall. Two o’clock. He was going to have to think of something to get out of this mess so that he could be at his appointment at the station. *** He turned on the television awhile, to keep his thoughts on something and help the time go by. A heated political debate was on. A solid and transcendental friend of Jonas, Moses, said that politics was just gossip to those who believe they are intellectuals. In complete silence, his eyes left the mute television and roamed over the bookshelves. He decided it was a good time to re-read The Little Prince. It was one of his favourite novels. It was one of his favourites because it was the first book he placed in his personal library. It was the pillar, the basis of his love for books and literature. It was a book he never understood when he was a child, but once he grew it flowered with significance, and that fascinated him. He remembered his childhood, the one that SaintExupéry described so well, the one he so missed. He chose to put the book in his suitcase. It was definitely a good book to take on a confusing trip. *** Jonas gaze strayed from the bookshelves, searching for his cup of coffee. There was no steam coming off of it, it had grown cold. The living room began to sway, as though

the house was floating on a raging sea. Jonas ran to support himself against the wall and he closed his eyes tightly. He began to sweat profusely and decided to lie down on the floor, realizing this was the fruit of another one of his dizzy spells. These sensations were consuming him. Could it be that he was going to die? Thinking about death, he remembered how he admitted as a child that everything is not eternal. To die, a verb that even now at his age, he hated to conjugate: I die You die He dies… But this is a definite affirmation, and one of the biggest truths in the universe. And it wasn’t so easy to accept. Some people can carry this well, others cannot. “Damn;” he repeated when he looked at his reflection in the mirror, “life is complicated enough as it is, how do I accept this. How can I live with this?” After all, it’s our final goal, the reward for the eternal headache. We’ll die, oh yes we will.” Death made him think of Moses once again. “It will be better there,” Moses said after three beers and with no perspective of quitting, to which Jonas replied, “Have no doubt about it, because it smells like Shit around here. And I say that with a capital S,” (he always said that when he wanted to make sure he would be understood). “I suppose you’re going to tell me that there’s something on the other side? Don’t be foolish!” Moses, defensively, objected, “It’s true that it helps some of us to keep going. You have no right to rob us of this idea, we who want to believe in it.” “Whatever you say.” “It’s just that…” “What?” “Sometimes I don’t understand why you are so dramatic and negative!” he said sincerely. “It’s hard to believe you can evolve like this in life.” “I’m realistic, my friend Moses, what’s wrong with that?” he asked, drinking a big gulp of beer, the kind that goes directly to the brain. “Is my attitude prohibited? I’m twenty and you’re twenty-one. To begin with let’s wait and see if we make it to fifty. Besides, life doesn’t seem to have anything new to show us. No wait, you…yes, you will give mankind the commandments…but me? Perhaps I should preach for Nineveh? Come on!” and he raised his arms as though he was a chosen one. “No, you come on and stop tormenting yourself and everyone around you and please stop saying stupidities. Park your reality and…drink! Maybe we will even get to talk to God if we get loaded enough. That would help you reconcile your reality and that black world that surrounds you. Did you know you’re pathetic, Jonas?” “Pathetic? Who wants to talk to God?” Jonas asked, resting his beer on the floor. “Maybe I am, like a lot of other mortals but believe me when I say that to me God is no more than the unripe fruit of our imagination.” “Do me a favour and elevate me to your privileged point of view…..I’m on my knees, begging you!” 11

He came out of his reverie, a half grin sketched on his face. He could remember Moses with humour, kneeling down, laughing and begging. He couldn’t help but realize that he missed him as much as the brother he never had. He clenched his fist helplessly, prey of a barely controllable fury. “I die, you die, you die, you die…” and he did. Moses died suddenly, one winter afternoon, from some unpronounceable name for people who suffer from it, and that was a terrible blow. It happened during those black and white days when Moses said he believed and that he should have faith. He left Jonas alone, showing him, among other things, that Jonas was right. ***

He tried not to remember the day of Moses funeral. Death was somewhere between the bookshelves and door in its conjugated form, making him want to yank at the wire and thus dare his luck. But, as hard as he tried not to think about death, he couldn’t help thinking about how this had begun, when he realized this truth, the verb to die in all of its forms, and how he came to accept it. This happened while he was living in the big city. No one smiled there, anger seemed to reign. Proof of this was his old job. A table and a plant that cried, begging to see the light of day and not the harsh halogen. It was the saddest plant on Earth.

For years he worked at a branch of one of those enormous banks that doesn’t seem to belong to anyone. Day after day, year after year, he filled out thousands of letters, hypnotized in front of his computer by a tedious inertia. Not just any kind of letter, a form letter, which was even worse. All he had to do was fill in different names after the “Dear Mr. Mrs., Miss…” The truth was that what most bothered Jonas was that all these letters were signed by a Raquel Izquierdo, Chief of clientele, who had nothing at all to do with him, with the client and who, probably, didn’t even exist. “What difference does it make?” he thought, “no one will ever know.” What frightened him was that we evolve like fish in the water in a world where indifference was taking giant steps forward. The deader you are, the more productive for money making. And this was sad, but a clear example of where we are headed; a total loss of identity and cold, lots of cold.

The peak of all of this took place one very rainy day in a traffic jam. His day at work had been rotten, he had received four reprimands, and all he wanted to do was get home and disappear from the map, turn off the main input plug to his brain. Holding on to the steering wheel of his car, Jonas bit down on his lower lip. The traffic didnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t move. Carbon monoxide and other gases mixed with water in the gutters, creating a stream of burnt liquid. A traffic cop was detaining their lane even though they had the green light. His whistle blew again, again, and again. Then, a little silence followed by two more blasts. People were getting more and more jumpy and nervous. Jonas, trying to think of something else, looked to his right and a few yards ahead laid a dead cat, it had been hit by a car. Jonas felt sorry for the small animal. What surprised him was that no one looked at it. Indifference: ratifying the fact that we hide death so as to not think about its existence. He thought we should be obliged to at least take a moment to take a fast look, a discreet one, just to realize there was a dead animal, even if it was a big ugly rat, lying at the side of the road. He had to make himself believe this wasnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t happening. It was impossible. But, no matter what he tried, it was evidence of the reality of our era. He concluded that when the traffic cop let them move, all of this would be forgotten and would not have to be remembered. He felt different, probably because he was the only one who felt sorry for the animal. Soon it would be over. He closed his eyes and counted: Oneâ&#x20AC;Ś

“Turn green and take me far away this place, please,” reason said. Three, four… “Does Raquel Izquierdo exist, chief of clientele?” Nine, ten… “I sign her name for her! So many people fooled!” Ten… He opened his eyes but nothing had changed. With a shiver that frightened Jonas, who was the only person on the street that realized what was happening, he saw the cat slightly lift its head. This was awful, it wasn’t dead! Chopped to pieces as though it was in a butcher shop, it was still alive. Why did it have to suffer, it served no purpose? The woman who was behind him in a large and expensive Mercedes, honked with undeniable satisfaction, as though by doing this it gave her a huge amount of power. She blew the horn unceasingly. It seemed that her constant pressure on it was leaving the horn without air. The sound resulted to be actually funny. Jonas looked at the policeman begging him for sanity: or he let him through or he would go directly to the insane asylum. Unconsciously, the image of the dying cat grew larger and larger until the silence of his interior voice began shouting crazily, only to stop him from what he was about to do. But he did it. He turned off the motor of his car and got out. At the same time, not before, when he could have driven on, the policeman decided to let the traffic move again, an action that would not be completed because Jonas car was blocking the flow for the rest. He walked to the scene of the crime and kneeled in front of what was left of the cat. He swallowed saliva and tried to loosen the knot in his throat. He didn’t know how he was going to face this situation. The animal weakly meowed, lower and lower until the sound extinguished.

“Get in your car, crazy fool!” the people behind him shouted. “What in the hell is that imbecile doing?” someone else screamed, in a soprano voice. “Damned idiot…” a truck driver said. The cat was not going to survive. His knowledge of medicine and first aid was practically zero, although it didn’t take a doctor to realize this didn’t look good. Instinctively, Jonas gave the cat everything it needed in these hostile surroundings. He protected it while he asked himself what kind of person he had become and where are we all going. He didn’t want to be like the rest of the spectators: People in a rush, too much of a rush to go nowhere. Noticing the blood and dirty water on his hands it hit him all of a sudden and it came to mind, the unconditional love of his parents, the beauty of childhood, his buried emotions. The driver of the hit and run car could have no idea how the effects of his actions would unwind. Jonas placed the cats head between his five fingers, in a hopeless effort to comfort it. He needed to let it know that he was there by its side, that he did see it. Jonas was the warmth and the life, confronted with the coldness and the death in a battle surrounded by teardrops falling from heaven. The cat looked at Jonas, and that flash stunned him, it struck him, making him see the cruelty of the human race. Jonas knew by heart the definition of human, an understanding being, sensible to others hardships. That’s a laugh! The pig, more than repulsive, is human and the human, repulsive, is an authentic pig! It is possible although not altogether true that the animal wanted to know who was holding it, who was trying to stop it from leaving this world. After that not much more happened. It suffered a small convulsion. Soon after that he felt its last breath turn cold. The rhythm of all of the beating hearts: Bo

om, boom

om, boom Boom, boo …and silence. Bo

A very important part of Jonas died along with the cat. Someone touched his back.

“Sir, excuse me….what…what…wha…wha…wha…in heavens are you doing?” the policeman, now stuttering, asked him. He had stopped directing traffic to go and remove the plug that was stopping the flow: Jonas. His precipitated action had prolonged the desperate traffic jam and many rolled down their windows to hear the cops reprimand. It was hearsay, plain and simple. Jonas didn’t feel the first call of attention but the second was much more pronounced and he had to respond. “I… all I was trying to do was to help this cat. Didn’t you notice that it was dying? Why didn’t anyone do anything?” Without hesitating, the policeman answered, formally, “I didn’t see anything, sir. Yo...yoo...you are making a mountain out of a molehill. Don’t you know this happens every day? “What does? Everyday? What a job you have!” The traffic cop twisted his mouth not knowing exactly how to interpret what Jonas had just said. ”Now, you’re saying that what I just did is senseless?” The policeman didn’t flinch before such a question. Jonas realized that they were no longer two but three. Without being invited, the woman with the big Mercedes was coming to join them to take part in their conversation, just like the stupid talk shows on T.V. It could be possible that they were four, or five, or twenty for that matter because she was maintaining a conversation with someone on the other end of her telephone. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, yeah, you’re hearing right,” she said, looking over her shoulder slyly. “This is too much! He stopped his car and got out to pick up what was left of a dead animal. How gross! Can you imagine?” Feeling perturbed, Jonas saw the woman of medium height, umbrella, expensive clothes and makeup that a clown would envy but didn’t cover up what was behind it. She made her way to them and Jonas felt like an attraction in a freak show at the circus. “You didn’t see that the cat was dying?” he questioned the lady at once. As a shield, she was wearing a very expensive perfume that would melt any bullet before it got to her. 16

Terrified, she put her hands to her chest, feeling indignant that this crazy proletarian had the nerve to speak to her with his vulgar words. “Wait…” she said into her cell as her hand went to her chin and in a very low tone continued, “You’re not going to believe this….” Letting the phone slide downwards but without hanging up, she decided to finally answer him. Glaring at him with hostility she said, “Excuse me? Are you talking to me?” Jonas felt apprehensive about answering this threatening viper. He didn’t even know why he had asked her the question, seeing that she was wearing twenty dead cats hanging from her coat. “That fox was dead, agent. I want my story to prevail,” perplexity took a large step forward. “It’s impossible that it was alive. Can’t you see? Please, believe me, my husband it a doctor,” she explained with airs of grandeur. What she didn’t know was that, due to her ignorance, she had stuck her foot in her mouth, leaving her social class in a very bad place. After citing her theory about the fox, she turned around made her way back to her bubble, in the form of an expensive coupe, swaying her hip exaggeratedly. Once again she placed her cell phone in position and continued her conversation. “It was a, fox, a huge fox. I will talk to the health department, there must be some kind of plague or something…Just last night there was one digging around in my garbage…imagine the amount of diseases they carry…for heavens sake!”

Not even the policeman knew what to say. These type of people state their opinion and think that what they say is true and that’s it! No more comments. Jonas had almost started laughing, or crying, or both at the same time; it was all so strange. A rich woman with clean hands had dictated sentence on the situation and her word would prevail over his, a mere writer of letters at the orders of Raquel Izquierdo, his hands stained with blood and the ridiculous theory that it was a cat, not a fox. He couldn’t really blame anyone because, at first glance, he too had thought it was dead. The policeman took out a few paper tissues from his pocket and gave them to Jonas to clean his hands. After a quick meeting of eyes, he got in his car, started up and drove away. Still with much pain he remembered that urban life can be a dream to some, a nightmare to others. White is opposite of black, it is inevitable. This kind of thing occurred daily, and loudmouthed rich women who thought they knew everything expressed their opinions freely. But to Jonas what had started out as a dream had turned into a nightmare.

2 Written Feelings The memory of that day and his old life in the city brought to him vague and distant impressions and a cramp in some imprecise part of his stomach that only an expert would be able to situate. He leaned on the windowsill waiting, wire in hand, watching the mist on the window pane and the day advancing. The sun rays no longer hit him straight in the eyes but hid timidly between the branches of a cedar tree, giving the taught expression on his face a rest. Looking at the landscape the window humbly offered he saw a leafy tree, the tallest and most beautiful of them all. Then, he smiled. What happened was that once the incident of the cat (or fox, according to the rich bitch) had occurred Jonas was in a profound conflict. Life became a little more desolating. The morning after the dead cat, he went back to work feeling very upset. To go through that hermetic door that would keep him between four walls during nine hours was, to Jonas, a mental exercise in self control. Once inside the aseptic surroundings he turned on his computer and immediately opened the file that read; <<Letters_Clients.doc>>. The list of clients who would soon receive a letter from Raquel, marched past his eyes. After a productive morning, perhaps a little more than 540 letters, he took a short break to eat a sandwich from one of the vending machines in the lounge. He had noticed a girl named Monica, a young woman with curly brown hair and a face dominated by her high forehead. After studying Law and Pharmacy, imagine, (she also knew how to play the piano and a few other things), she ended up here at this bank. She smiled at people who accused her of stealing four cents from one of their accounts and no matter how she tried she could never fix or justify the situation, making a few get rich thanks to the conformism of others. To Jonas it seemed an achievement, being able to smile at those people while they go for your throat. There she was, drinking something light accompanied by a salad in which every ingredient tasted like something else. After a little eating, anyone could see that the tomatoes were a little fishy, the cucumbers like wet wood and the green peppers like a doormat. Generic manipulation! “Do you know who Raquel Izquierdo is?” Jonas asked biting into his sandwich. It was one of those stupid questions you ask to break the ice. “Izquierdo?” she responded with the fork in her mouth, which seemed little erotic to Jonas, as she twisted it in her mouth and her tongue played with it. Monica was infallible for this type of thing. If Raquel existed, she would know. After revising her mental data bank, a sparkle could be seen in her eyes. “I can’t put a fix on her. If she exists, she must be one of the bosses. But boss, boss? You know what I mean, there a lot of little bosses under the big bosses around here. Why do you ask?” “Nothing really, it was just…”

“Wait!” she cried suddenly, hitting the table with her hand, “Raquel Izquierdo right? Yes, yes, yes….she’s the chief of clients! I’ve never seen her though. She must work at another branch.” Jonas eyes widened at her excitement. He told her he remembered her from an interview she had given in a small news letter that was published by the bank. How he remembered that no one can say. “I spend the whole day writing letters and signing them in her name. Even though the signature is digital, isn’t this illegal?” “I don’t know, think it is?” she asked him, teasing him for his ignorance in the field of law. She ran circles around simple Jonas. On top of the fact that she was a lawyer, she didn’t stop playing with the fork in her mouth and it was driving him crazy. Some of the expressions on this young woman’s face awoke a deep, savage growl inside of him. She would have done it one way or the other but the fact that she played the piano stoked a certain fetish that he would never have known existed. The fact was that whatever he did to try to stop it, this girl hypnotized him. The problem was that he was a young man who enjoyed the gift of going unnoticed and he became clumsy whenever she was near. He was capable of doing some very absurd things. Weakened like a priest when the most beautiful woman confesses her most intimate sins. Once they had finished eating they still had twenty-five minutes left. Not knowing what to do, they walked around talking about trivialities until Jonas told her about what he had done yesterday, urged on by an almost total stranger. “You really did that? You got out of your car for that cat? You are…” “Crazy? That’s sure the way they made me feel besides the humiliation.” “No, no! Be quiet a second and let me finish. Brave, that’s what I call bravery!” Jonas chest swelled, it had been a long time since anyone had given him the opportunity to swim around in praise. “Wow…” “….” “…?” Silence. Jonas opened his mouth to say something but a strange sound came out instead, the kind turtle doves make in mating season. He tried again but…silence. Monica spoke first, very much on top of the situation and understanding his masculine shyness. “I never would have imagined you would do something like that. I barely know you but it says so much about you. Everyone says you are always so quiet and not to expect much of you. How mistaken they are!” “How sincere you are,” he observed correctly, his chest deflating and back to normal. “What really bothers me is how so many people make judgements without knowing what they’re talking about.” “That must be why they say you shouldn’t judge a book by its cover, don’t you think?” she answered. “Look, it happened to me just yesterday. It was so strange that sometimes I think we live in a dream. I had an argument with a woman well into her years. Judging by the way she was dressed and the fact that she was elderly, I never thought she would be troublesome. I misspelled her last name on a form to make a transfer and….what a surprise! She called me ignorant, I think I actually heard whore at

one point. She even asked Antonio to come, (my boss in situations like these), so that this never, never and repeated never four more times, would happen again. She didn’t seem to care at all about my feeling. Plus, she was talking on her cell phone during all of this! “Blah, blah, blah,” she said, moving her free hand around in the air. “Well, what I mean is…..Oh,” Monica continued, “I forgot about your lady in the Mercedes who blocked the street and wouldn’t let the bus through. I bet the passengers were hanging out the windows calling her everything but gorgeous!” Watching the magical movements of Monica’s lips, Jonas remembered the bitch. That type of person usually never stayed long in his short term memory, although it wasn’t difficult at all to remember the witch. He never realized he had fallen completely under the spell of Monica until, without any idea of how they had gotten there they were back at Jonas desk. “So, this is where you work…” she said looking over his table, astute, curious. “It’s just like mine but, wait a second, there’s something different here…something you have that I don’t...the plant!” Jonas turned his eyes to look at it and said, “Yeah, I bought it a few months ago. It’s one of those interior kinds, you know…” “Well, it’s very, very unhappy, to say the least.” she said after touching one of her earrings and laughing, not looking at him, making him nervous. “Do you think so?” “Well, of course, look at its leaves! Do you ever water it?” “Of course I do, I’m not cruel. It’s so boring around here I even talk to it. Ridiculous, eh?”

She looked at him mockingly. Monica was one of those people that thought that talking to plants doesn’t do anything. Jonas didn’t talk to it so that it would grow, he just told it about his fears and sorrows out of sheer loneliness and boredom. Monica studied the shape and texture of the leaves and discovered what kind of plant it was and offered the information with a somewhat superior air. Jonas didn’t mind at all because

when someone shows you something new with the intention that you learn, it should always be well received. She continued, “It’s a tree. What it needs is simple, fresh air and sunshine and to stop being crippled here by this room full of human thoughts of money and problems. If you leave it here it will end up like you….or me or the rest of us. Can you imagine?” Jonas confessed that if he removed the pot and plant from his desk he would be left alone, very alone. “That’s a rather selfish position….you’re only thinking of yourself. Would you allow me to write down what this plant is thinking? It must be no easy task being a tree in an office in a bank where everyone thinks you are a plant…” “You write too?” he asked, stupefied. Pianist, pharmacist, lawyer, author and on top of it all she was always smiling. She had it all, everything! “Once in awhile I do, when I’m in the mood. It’s a good escape valve, you should try it sometime.” “No, nah,” he said exhaling slowly and looking up at the ceiling. “Well then, I’ll bring it tomorrow. Let’s see what I can squeeze out of a plant that wants to be a tree. It’s like the story of the ugly duckling!”

And Monica, against all odds, sat at her desk that very afternoon and at the expense of her boss, stepped up her own deadline date.

The Tree of Tears What is the reason for your cruelness, for my hands cannot feel the touch of the wind? Shh, shh, shh… What have I done to you that you deny me the sun, the moon, the stars? Answer me! Is this to be our jail forever? Leave me alone, I need to cry. Shhh… What? Is it you that is crying? Forgive me for not hearing your sobs of pain. Tell me,

What do you expect from a tree that is fed by your tears? I cannot grow with sorrow as my nourishment. No…no….no…don’t torture me. I cannot imagine the beginning because I’ve never felt the light flowing inside of me. I can’t do this anymore, I can’t, I can’t…..! Shhhhhh, Shhhhhh Shhhh

Can you hear the silence coming? Listen! Before it arrives, let me forge my roots in the Earth. Let me show you that I can be strong, tall and firm. Please, listen to my prayer, let me be a tree.

After reading Monica’s words, inspired by a scarce bunch of leaves that were dry and thirsty for life, he let the paper fall on his desk. The afternoon had come to an end and he had filled out a record number of letters as Monica left the office early, leaving her poem in a closed envelope on his desk. The pianist-pharmacist-lawyer was right, the tree would have to be a tree and he had no right to condemn it to death. Even less when he treated it like it was something that it wasn’t. That was the truth. We don’t go through life acting like something we aren’t and he wasn’t going to do it with this tree. Later he thought about the title she had given her words; The Tree of Tears. One more trick that raised her feminine intellect making it occur to him that perhaps this tree, (she never did tell him what kind it was) they had been talking about could be a weeping willow, expressed in a more poetic fashion.

3 Take off your shoes, sit on the grass and feel the earth beating All kinds of strange notions came to him one by one, just like closing a photo album. There was no time for nostalgia at the moment. He sensed that the reason for his dizziness could possibly be the fact that he felt closed in. He must leave. The afternoon was growing old and the question returned, “Why do I have to go?” An invisible force pushed him, making him depart. A dream? He didn’t know. As he walked toward the door he saw the note that, after so many past memories, had almost been forgotten. The voice of a child: help me… “I don’t know if I will be able to…a wire has me tied to this house and I get dizzy all the time.” “If you want to you can come and help me, please!” Decidedly, he grabbed the dark blue hat that was hanging on the coat-rack and put it on his head. Dragging the suitcase with his left hand he opened the door to the house. The wire tensed and pulled at him, telling him to stop. With indifference he ignored it. Outside, a fresh breeze was blowing and the tree he had planted swayed happily. The one who had given it its freedom, who had given it the opportunity to be, was leaving. As soon as his feet touched the earth outside the wire seemed to yield, as though it had grown longer. At the same time a gust of wind made his hat fly and by blessed coincidence, land at the foot of the tree. His tree, the one Monica had written about. Sadly, Jonas walked toward it. He picked up his hat and sat down for awhile, waiting for the daylight to disappear completely. The darkness took out its charcoal pencils and drew long and fuzzy shadows. In spite of the cold, Jonas took off his shoes and put his hat on again. He felt the grass on the bottom of his feet and how it moved between his toes. “How much life!” he thought to himself and suddenly felt the beating of the roots of the enormous tree he had planted so many, many years ago. “It’s extraordinary…” he sighed at the very instant that the leaves whispered. An unexplainable tear rolled down his cheek and was absorbed by the grass. Now his tree, feeling the water that came from Jonas soul, knew that he who had let him grow was crying. He cried inconsolably. The fact was that somewhere in his sadness there was a definite goodbye, somewhere in between crossed questions, but the explanation was absent. He didn’t do much more, they both hated goodbyes. The last rays of light sank into his chest, illuminating places that hadn’t seen light in decades.

After putting his shoes on again, he felt an instant of yearning cross through his soul, injured from the circumstances. In his suitcase he carried the heaviest sorrow of all; he didn’t have time to say goodbye to Monica who he had been waiting for him all afternoon. He took a step forward, then another. The wire stretched and stretched and stretched. He was walking.

He began to remember his conversation born in a dream without a compass: “You will come to help me, won’t you?” a little boys voice asked him on the road he was walking. “I’ll depart, but I’m so lost…” “Thank you, I need you to…” “What?” “Help me find my brother!” “I’ll help you…” “I don’t know if you will remember this when you wake up.” “Of course I will.” “Just in case, I’ll write you this note.” 24

While chewing on his tongue, the boy wrote: You said you would help me. A train leaves this afternoon from the old station.

4 White snow: the last night

While Jonas had set off on his unexpected journey, Monica didn’t know exactly where he was. She sat glued to a chair in front of a small window, contemplating the way the winter afternoon changed like a canvass changing colour depending on the way the light hits it, sheltered here inside on the fifth floor. She was still and wrapped in a blanket. She was suffering from injuries, drowsy. The sky was cloudy, incredibly dense before her eyes. Nothing moved and she could sense the prelude of a storm. Nevertheless, it was snow that was coming. Only snow clouds advanced with such an astounding secrecy and silence. She couldn’t hide the fact that she missed Jonas. She couldn’t because he was everything to her. It had been almost a month since she had last talked to him and the knot in her throat was going to asphyxiate her. It was as though someone was trying to strangle her with their hands, or as though she was being hung, and all of this in front of every ones eyes, but no one helped her. Once in awhile, destiny hits us with unexpected turnabouts. The fact that Jonas opted for this cruel silence at one of the sweetest moments in their lives, left her dumfounded. The silence of the four walls made uninvited memories spring into her mind of the last time she had enjoyed his presence. An enchanting evening, it was a celebration of their love. I have to explain that they had been trying desperately, for quite some time, to have a child and thinking there was not much time left to enjoy this privilege. It was an awful thought. Nevertheless, after a stubborn perseverance in something that, after all they didn’t mind doing in the least, they finally achieved their dream. Now she had to tell him, explain to Jonas that there was a little boy or girl on the way. “Maybe two or three.” her inner voice told her as she thought how she was going to tell him. “Imagine. Stop doing that!” she shouted in the living room. Jonas always dreamed of building a swing for his future children and hanging it from one of the highest branches of the tree from the poem. He would build it of course, just like the one his parents had made him and it would have robust ropes and a solid piece of varnished wood as the seat. This would make him the happiest man in one hundred kilometres, even from here to the moon. Why? Because that was the way he remembered his childhood. With his children and Monica, his life would be complete in all senses of the word. Monica always thanked the tree for them being together and every night it gifted them with a song with the swaying of its leaves. She continued in her memories, still wrapped in a blanket and on the fifth floor:

Very nervous, Monica waited in the living room of their home, next to the fire, until Jonas arrived from work. She looked at the tree that, after only twelve years, had grown enormously while others that were more pampered took at least thirty to reach this state of splendour. The most logical explanation was that it was thankful for the opportunity that Jonas had given it after taking it from one place to another until they decided where they would live and then planting it here in the middle of his yard. The pot had become ridiculously small. At last, Jonas silhouette could be seen outside between the bushes and an old lamppost. Monica felt a small shiver. He walked looking down at the ground and once in awhile looked up at the sky. He whistled nostalgically. He looked like a great philosopher, the kind that philosophized about life. Then he began to search in his pockets and Monica realized he was looking for the key to the house. She hurried to the front door to wait for him. After spending the entire afternoon rehearsing how she would tell him the wonderful news, she ruined it all. The moment he opened the door she cried with a tear streaked face, “I’m pregnant!” to a dumfounded Jonas. Being too surprised he opened his arms and surrounded her without a word. Monica could feel that he was nervous by the way his heart raced. They stood there during twenty inhalations saying nothing until he finally reacted. “Pregnant?” “Very pregnant, up to my neck.” she said. Jonas laughed at her commentary and her aspect, expressing that he didn’t really know what it was to be pregnant up to your neck and they embraced once again. Monica came out of her reverie for a few seconds and touched her tummy, the place where life gestated. And she went back and immortalized Jonas’ reaction: “It’s …it’s what we wanted…I, I, I can’t believe it,” he said, “We finally did it. We’ve waited so long and all of a sudden here it is!” he whispered into her ear, “Don’t you think we should celebrate?” “Of course we should, and we should do something savage, intrepid…! Off we go to an adventure!” she laughed making exaggerated gestures in the air. “Don’t laugh so much, it might not be good for the baby!” “Come on, don’t be silly! Nothing better in the world for a good gestation… don’t be silly!” and they hugged again.

Wrapped in her blanket, Monica awoke with a warm but blurry memory of the presence of Jonas in her arms. Her hand went to her stomach once again and she couldn’t help but worry. She almost preferred to stay in her memories than to come back to reality. There, she still had Jonas. Outside, the heaviness of the clouds was unloading huge snowflakes.

*** Someone knocked on the door. They must be tired after climbing five flights of stairs to the fifth floor where she was. The elevator was out of order and being repaired and as a result, there were many angry people around. There was only one in operation. The one they used for patients on beds or in wheelchairs. Everyone else had to use the stairs. That day there were more than one hundred official complaints. Monica turned her head and saw the friendly eyes of Susan. They had studied pharmacy together more than fifteen years ago. She was one of those friends that are worth having. Susan had been going with Moses and would have been his wife if time hadn’t run out and he had died. Susan didn’t take long in finding another partner after the unexpected death and this hurt Monica and even more so Jonas, who was his best friend. She didn’t mourn for more than month and that seemed intolerable to Jonas. Later she confessed that she was terrified of being alone. She was nobody without someone at her side. But she always vaguely insisted that if Moses resuscitated she would drop anyone to go back to him. In some way, Monica and Jonas felt sorry for this aspect of her life. Her mind was fragile and her personality waved limply like a flag in the wind. Frightened, she walked toward Monica, not knowing what to say or what to do. They embraced and said nothing, sometimes there are no words. There was too much pain. *** Susan found a course blanket and pulled over another chair. She sat on the left side of Monica and watched the snow fall. Each snowflake fell freely, where it wanted to until the wind blew and pushed them all gently to the right. It was very cold on this floor and the broken elevator was causing many angry shouts from below. After a long but comfortable silence, Monica, in answer to Susan’s question, told her about the night they had gone out to diner. “We went out to celebrate this.” she said this without smiling, pointing to her tummy. Not being able to smile while she was creating a new life inside her was devastating. “So, you went out to celebrate your pregnancy, fine. There’s nothing wrong in saying pregnant…” “Yes, I know but it hurts.” Monica said, watching the snow fall. “We didn’t even get dressed up. We went like we were to an Italian restaurant on the north side of the city, where the very high buildings are. One belongs to the bank where Jonas and I used to work, I’m sure I’ve told you the story a million times. Sometimes I’m terribly repetitive.” “Yes, I know which building it is.” “We dinned, we laughed and on the way home we talked…” her lower lip began to tremble and the tears began to fall heavily. “No Monica! Please don’t blame yourself…these things…these…things happen. Stop blaming yourself, stop it…stop!” “I don’ want to!” “Stop!”

“Oh yes, it was my fault, damn it. Mine, mine and all mine! I made a stupid comment…” Not being able to help herself, Susan fell in rhythm with Monica. Just as with laughter, crying sometimes can be equally contagious. The snowflakes no longer were falling to the right, they fell to the left. They rose only to fall again, dancing behind the window. ***

The afternoon was well advanced and the hypnotic effect of the falling snow plus the monotony put Susan to sleep. She slept so deeply that she would be the envy of any insomniac. Monica could still feel the dispute she had had with Jonas and couldn’t get it out of her head. She went back over and over again to the same moment, from the beginning to the end, every step, every instant, every detail. Once again the knife stabbed her in the chest and the invisible hands grabbed her throat to strangle her. The night at the Italian restaurant had been perfect. There were days when things turn out just as we want them to, so well that they help us make it through the following forty-four. Monica and Jonas couldn’t stop laughing, about the most absurd things that on any other occasion wouldn’t have been so funny. Leaving the restaurant they talked about how expensive everything had become and the “cheek” of the owner of the place to charge them ten times what the dish they ordered was worth. “There’s nothing worse than excessive ambition.” But being conformists, they paid and went out to his car. They were past the stage of wanting to change the world. On their way home they drove down a wide avenue. A grand boulevard with many stoplights all of them at this time green. The city they were driving through was about one hour and forty five minutes from the small town where they lived. At seventy kilometres an hour they went through the first stoplight and, incredibly made it through all the rest which had remained green as they advanced. At the end of the avenue just past the next to the last stoplight they turned off on a shortcut that would take them to the county road that would take them home. The signs were very confusing and they got lost six times before they finally got on the right road. The melancholic voice of Sarah McLachlan slowly playing the piano was pouring from the CD player. Her voice surrounded them in this warm environment, suitable of the best night and the best moment. Jonas liked her as much or more than Monica. “Jonas.” The melody was interrupted a second. “We’ve been together almost sixteen years now…sixteen!” “I know, and you haven’t counted all that lay ahead of us. What are you trying to say?”

“And we’re going to have a baby, finally!” “Get to the point.” She looked down at her lap as though she was debating over what she wanted to say, perhaps a difficult sentiment. “Thank you for giving me this gift…You have loved me so much that sometimes I don’t think I deserve you.” Jonas wrinkled his brow, not at all comfortable with what she was saying. “Come on, come on, you’re going to be sorry for saying this.” From that point on Monica discovered that the memories, (just after Jonas spoke those words), were hard to piece together. All she could remember clearly was Jonas taking her hand and then hearing a terrible cry that came somewhere from his gut. “Watch out!!! Nooooooo!!!” She heard the sound of screeching brakes and then felt an impact as though someone had slammed her in the neck with a baseball bat. Then, the car began to spin and turn. It all happened so fast. Suddenly all was quiet. It smelled of burnt rubber and the air that surrounded her tasted like dirt and metal. At first she fought to be calm, lucid, even though she couldn’t see anything. Her head was spinning in circles. Then she heard herself saying, “Don’t go under, don’t go under, don’t go under, don’t go under.” And she blacked out. Sometime went by, she couldn’t say how long, and she came to again. Everything was blurry. All she could hear was a loud Piiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii that lost intensity. What most impressed Monica was the silence, that peculiar silence that was so unnerving. She didn’t know exactly what had happened. Confusion was playing games with her. Far away she heard music, a beautiful song. That made her remember who was singing and what could have happened. She examined the scene. The little she could see was the shattered windshield. She looked to her right and her door was alright. Immediately, she looked to her left and Jonas was not there. He had disappeared. She searched and shouted desperately trying to calm her nerves, difficult to hold together. “”Help! Somebody please help! For the love of God, please help us!” she shouted. Anguish took confusions place in the game and laid down its rules. If he wasn’t in the car, he must have been thrown out of it. She remembered those dreadful images of traffic accidents, they always happened to someone else. She also remembered the experimental dummies that always ended up with their heads turned around one hundred and eighty degrees. She tried to remember if he had fastened his seat belt but couldn’t. Nothing was clear. Another image passed through her mind. She was conscious that anguish had a hold of her from her head down to her toes and it was impossible to arrange her thoughts. Her mouth tasted so much like blood that it made her gag. She saw her reflection in the rear view mirror, which was now on the floor, and saw that her face was full of blood and she was missing a few teeth. Nevertheless, if this was the extension of her injuries it didn’t matter. She could move and didn’t have any thing seriously wrong, except for the question of the baby and Jonas. She unfastened her safety belt and moved freely. After four attempts at trying to get out on her side of the car, she crawled out on the driver side where Jonas had been sitting. The window was gone. She had to fight to get away. Once outside, she saw how the traffic went by, as though nothing had happened. People looked out their windows and just drove on. They didn’t want to get involved. Her stomach did somersaults as she thought of the whereabouts of Jonas.

“Is he alive? Please…please…I ask of you…Please” she repeated faster and faster. “Let him be alright…I never ask you for anything, damn it!” Then she saw, about twenty meters ahead and to her left, a body lying face down. It didn’t move, only a few spasms in the right leg. Maybe it was Jonas. Yes, it was him. She recognized his shoes and shirt. Then she saw, a few meters beyond, the supposed cause of the accident and a person helping the driver, who was delirious on the ground outside his car, cursing and saying all kinds of profanities. Meanwhile, the people who had been riding with him were trapped inside the twisted remains of the car which, to complicate matters, had started to burn. Screams and cries for help could be heard, too many. After three minutes the fire drowned the sound of the cries and everything became terribly quiet. The man who had managed to pull the driver out looked at Monica with terror in his eyes and tried not to analyze what he had just seen. “Are you alright?” he shouted as he saw her walking around like a zombie in a movie. “I believe so…have you called an ambulance? Tell me, have you called an ambulance, my husband is badly hurt.” He didn’t answer. The poor man had been out walking his dog (that was howling from sadness) on the quiet sidewalks of the night and it was taking him a long time to react to this sudden change of plans. “Hey! Did you call an ambulance?” she asked again insistently and a little louder. She may look like a zombie but she could still think. Then she vomited her macheroni al forno. “Yes, it’s on its way, don’t worry.” But she couldn’t stop worrying. Jonas was face down. He didn’t move. He wasn’t laughing like a few minutes ago. How could she not worry? He was the father of her child. She walked slowly toward him. She stooped down. She didn’t know exactly what to do. She had heard that you should never move an injured person, it could be fatal. “Jonas. Jonas, Jonas…” she breathed, stroking his back with fragile caresses. She dared to touch his neck. His heart was beating, he was alive! In the distance, the red lights stained the night, making the colour of the blood fade.

5 An improvised home

She had fallen asleep. When she awoke it was very late. It was not snowing as much and the shadows confused her for a few seconds, but she quickly situated herself. The clock said it was almost three. Susan was staring out the window at nothing. Monica was afraid to touch her thinking she might scare her and she might shout. Nevertheless, as she slid her hand toward her, Susan perceived the movement and turned, stepping ahead of the situation intuitively. She smiled when she saw Monica. The tiredness weighed on both of them like a one hundred kilo sack of potatoes. “Did you rest?” “No, I couldn’t. I sleep but I don’t rest. I don’t know if you can understand me…” she said desperately. Susan nodded her head. Monica left her blanket on the chair and walked through the obscurity to the foot of the bed here Jonas lay hooked up to a machine and abysmally asleep. Pip… Pip… Pip… The respirator continued working. She studied his features insecurely, every faction of this sculptured face. She still couldn’t believe that such a thing had happened to them. “If you leave, if I don’t have you, I want you to know I will go with you… You can’t do this to me.” Her thoughts had been spoken and thinking out loud carries its consequences. “Why do you say that, Monica?” “You don’t understand.” And quickly swore under her breath, frivolously. “Oh, no?” How dare you? You are stupid and selfish! Think about Jonas child that you are carrying inside of you. Don’t you see?” Monica could not answer. There was nothing to say to that. She couldn’t think clearly. It was all confusion, clouding her over completely. The feeling of impotence grew inside of her like a match that you light and put back in the box with five hundred more, waiting to ignite. “And what do you suggest I do? Eh? Should I look for someone new like you did with Moses’ Sorry but, to me, Jonas is much harder to replace…” “Do you think that I don’t see you? Come off it! The last few nights you can hardly talk clearly because you were too drunk! You have no right…and you think it’s better to do what you’re doing? Drink, drink and drink? Jonas would be ashamed of your behaviour!” ” “Stop! “ “And pregnant!” she said accusingly. “Shut your damned mouth!” she screamed as she slapped Susan with such cruelty that Susan turned and was ready to attack.

They stared at each other for a long time, intensely, a cross between hate and the search for hope and a touch of alienation on Monica’s behalf. By the time she went to hug her and beg her for forgiveness, Susan was headed down the stairs and was on the third floor. Surely she would file a complaint with the hospital when she arrived on the ground floor. Actually two: one for having a stupid friend and the other for the broken elevator. Later, Monica, lost in a sea of doubts, decided that her actions had been a result of her terrible hangover and soon, they all laughed at her. Clumsy. Ignorant. Useless… “Please, stop this shit!!!” she screamed at the wall. Pip… Pip… Pip… A pause, and once again:

Pip… Pip… Pip… She couldn’t take it any more. Monica took out a few little bottles of vodka, (the kind they give you in the mini bars) that she carried in the bottom of her bag. She knew very well how to silence the voices and the machine. Or at least get them drunk. She drank. She drank so much that she wanted to kill herself, or put a halt to the agony over Jonas or, find the one to blame for all of the bad things that were happening to them. The situation began to get grotesque and, when you don’t know how to drink, out of hand: she began to insult everyone. She talked about the daily injustices, the stinking politicians that preach and preach and preach. She talked about abortion and even danced with the IV. Luckily, Susan came back because, like I said before, some friends are worth having.

“And just what are we doing, may I know?” Susan asked Monica the very instant that she opened her eyes, lying on the floor on her side and barely covered with a blanket. “I swear that sometimes I just don’t get it.” “What?” “You don’t remember a thing, do you?” “Wait a…” her back ached with a vengeance. “Oh God. Please forgive me, forgive me, forgive me… she repeated as many times as could in one breath. Susan’s eyes became soft.

“Don’t bother you don’t need to ask for forgiveness…what is in the past stays in the past.” “Of course I do, I have to do it…you left and, as though things weren’t bad enough already, when you left me here alone surrounded by this terrible silence, I started thinking that nothing made any sense. I wanted to die… to die! For the love of…oh shit, I don’t know what’s happening.” “Do you think we have arrived at this point in our lives to die in such a ridiculous manner? I wouldn’t go to your funeral and you wouldn’t go to mine! You helped me get through the bad times when I lost Moses. Now it’s my turn to help you!” They both laughed as best as they could and immediately gave each other a hug and felt a little peace. “Go look out the window.” Susan said to Monica. She stood up. The window was so bright that it looked as though the very sun had come down out of the sky to see them in person. What an honour and how improperly dressed they were for the occasion. Outside, an enormous white blanket covered everything. The cars couldn’t move and the ones that tried slipped this way and that way. It was a dead day for money makers in the city, but a day for childhood, a day to lighten the most burdened of hearts. Many children laughed in the streets and it was contagious and enviable. The two of them stood watching, immobile and mute. Then they told Jonas that it had snowed so much that the city was paralyzed.

6 A station, three trees, a letter, and an airplane that never flew.

The sun rays timidly warmed his back, although as it got darker they warmed him less and less. Jonas felt slightly relieved being that feeling a little warmth when all you are surrounded by is cold, is gratifying. In about a third of his body the sensation of being cold was so great that his hands, naked, were burning. As he walked Jonas saw a raven and remembered Edgar Allan Poe and a fragment of the text where he implored the books to give him relief from so much pain… Oh, the books, thought Jonas between steps. But the question was still there without an answer: Who is pushing me? Where am I going and why? Once again he was incapable of remembering the conversation in a dream. He thought, as he blew warmth into his hands as though he was blowing on a trumpet, that it would surely freeze again tonight. It had been doing so for many consecutive nights and, wrapping his neck in a scarf of many suggestive odours, he remembered the pond. It would now be a block of ice. And on the bottom, if they weren’t dead, the four brightly coloured fish, cramped and speaking poorly of their irresponsible owner. At least, he had been told or had read somewhere that fish have a ridiculous memory span, around three second. “Almost like me now.” He couldn’t remember himself when he had bought them and promised them a life without worries. “Dreamers,” he murmured, “to believe in the promises of man, so many have desisted in that a long time ago.” The vapour in every breath Jonas slowly exhaled, a result of this accelerated walk, wrapped around his thin and bony figure with the constantly growing sound of his footsteps. He kept walking. Clac, clac, clac, clac… He stopped on his shadow that extended almost one hundred meters in front of him. His members were exaggeratedly long and he lifted his right leg to play like he hadn’t done since he was little, dramatizing his movements. He closed his eyes and took a breath. He could hear his respiration clearly and deeply and the rapid beat of his heart and he wished he could calm down. Monica came and went for moments in his head, in the form of images and confusing voices. She talked about snow and being lost like him. She cried so far away that it seemed she was stuck to his ear. When he opened his eyes and saw his shadow again, now two hundred meters long. The echoes of his childhood with Moses resounded, when they were little and could barely conceive the idea of being eight years old and spent entire afternoons playing in parks with enviable indifference.

Moses and Jonas mothers were very close friends. They talked about the neighbourhood gossip, difficult solutions to family problems, untouchably expensive clothing and, even though they were both married, about men, of course. The only important thing for Jonas and Moses was to spend the whole afternoon pretending to be the heroes of some fantastic movie they had seen on TV that morning. Hunters or fighters with laser beam ships. Anything that kept their imagination busy was more than enough to keep their planet spinning. Moses had been working on an idea he had thought of a few days ago but hadn’t told his friend for strategic reasons. It was a top secret. Together they would lose themselves in the perimeters of the park with the excuse that they were hunting for slugs, salt shaker in hand. Whenever the gardener, who had them down for terrorists, caught them, he scolded them for turning over each and every one of the stones that decorated the paths and also gave shelter to those nasty little buggers. Jonas and Moses sat down on the damp grass between some bushes. They were soaking wet, because it had been raining all morning. Being filthy with muck and mud didn’t worry them in the least. What did worry them was Moses plan. “We will build an airplane” and Jonas opened his mouth, dumbfounded, an airplane? Moses began to explain how they would go about the construction. It was a very simple presentation and the idea of cutting through the sky amid the clouds made him speak as only dreamers can. He laid down the plans for the fuselage of the future ship where they both would sit. This would be made of his skateboard or his old offwhite pedal car that he had stopped using because it was for little kids. They finally decided on the car because there wasn’t enough room on the skateboard for the two of them and they wouldn’t travel comfortably. In the old car they could pedal to pick up speed for the takeoff. “Wow!” said Jonas, looking up at the sky and the two clouds that were in it. “And the wings, how will we make the wings?” Moses revealed that they would need two or three broom sticks and sheets or kite material, which was better for flying. The idea of lifting off from the ground made them both a little nervous. Jonas was worrying about where they would take off. They would have to find the perfect place with no trees or houses or cables at the end of the runway. They needed an open space. To this, Moses, who was not willing to renounce his plan, also had an answer. The next day, after the longest known night since the prelude of mankind and in Jonas garage, the old car was ready. Jonas had stolen two brooms and a mop from his mother. Moses, who wouldn’t leave his friend alone in the face of danger, helped him. They had a closet full of sheets in a heap on the floor and they went about their task. After an afternoon of hard work, the broom sticks looked something like wings. The sheets were cut and stuck to the sticks with glue and tape. Frustrated, they didn’t know how to assemble them to the car. Not finding a solution and trying to hold back their great desire to fly, they decided they would be the anchorage between fuselage and wings while they took off sitting in the car. “We can’t let go of the wings and, just in case, we’ll take a kite along to help us. It made no difference that nothing made sense. At that age nothing bothered them. They could be the jesters of every aeronautical engineer. They went up a steep asphalted lane, close to their house. They took their seats in the car, holding the fragile wings between the two of them by an iron contraption they 36

had invented. They looked at their plane with pride. Then they each took a deep breath and began to pedal hard. The hybrid vehicle gained speed downhill. “Pedal faster, pedal faster!” Moses bleated. About halfway down the hill the sheets on the right wing tip had come loose and flapped, loosing their rigidness. The broom handles, held together by tape, were holing together as best they could through all the bumps and the resistance of the air in the sheets and they were being pulled backward, just like a parachute. The kite, that should have given them extra help, was three meters behind them, tied by a string to the car. It was bouncing violently off the ground without flying. Suddenly, the front end of the car rose slightly, making the backend scrape on the ground. Just as it seemed they were about to take off, it crashed back down again, hitting the ground furiously. They were running out of hill and they were moving like a bullet with no prospect of taking flight. It didn’t matter. Moses knew what they were going to do but, on the other hand, Jonas, seeing that the crash was inevitable, shouted and tried to brake. He blocked the pedals and the car lost control. A streetlight crossed their path and one of the wings snapped off. They began to skid to the left and turned over. Once they had stopped and had managed to get out of the car, Moses shouted angrily, “We were on the verge of lift off! Why did you touch the brakes?” feeling his dream was injured and his upper lip too. Jonas cried, lying on the ground with a badly scraped knee full of dirt. They fought angrily. An aeronautical engineer and two neat uniformed pilots were watching them from a window nearby, laughing. Jonas saw that his friend was crying without consolation and felt regretful, so he asked him to forgive him. He understood it must be difficult to prove and assimilate that some dreams are impossible to make come true. Moses seemed a little more condescending and his rage waned, enjoying the fact that his friend worried about him beyond their tactical discrepancies. Jonas slowly placed his hand on Moses shoulder and said, “We will always be friend. Even though it was my fault the airplane didn’t fly!” Moses turned to respond, his eyes wet with tears and a runny nose. Before he could say a word their mothers appeared screeching hysterically. Their sheets destroyed, their sons injured and all of the neighbours watching with criticism. They felt a little ashamed and vexed. They punished them by shaking them and spanking them not realizing that life alone had taught them some very important things. After that, they were both grounded for two weeks and told never to see each other again, (although that was nothing more than a dissuading adult tactic). Together they were a public danger, that’s what the gardener and the neighbours of the community said, and this made Jonas feel guilt. If he hadn’t touched the brakes, they would be at that moment flying amid the clouds that he, at that very instant, could see being prisoner that he was at his bedroom window.

***

He began to walk again with long, sure steps down the path that led to the old station. A simple construction without any frills made of dark brick and not much more. Well, yes; three tall trees, an old sign, a train that wouldn’t arrive and the memory of an airplane that never flew because of him. In his right hand his suitcase began to bother him. Why did his baggage weigh so much? Then he looked at his surroundings. He looked at his watch. He couldn’t find it but somehow he knew he had time. A woman who had a shadow longer than his looked at his and became very alarmed, walking quickly without looking at him. When you’re in a hurry, you’re in a hurry. Something told Jonas that on this train he would begin a very important voyage, so important that it would change him and mark him forever. The path swerved brusquely to the right and then came to a steep climb. To his left arose a lush forest and to his right a steep slope that ran down until it came to a stream that ran with transparent waters. On the other side was a monastery built of stone. There was still snow in the darker and colder places. He thought that he knew this path but couldn’t remember the stream or the monastery. Between the branches of the tree tops, the old station began to come into view. He was moving quickly and almost breathlessly he went up the damp, moss covered stone steps that led him to the old wooden platform. Almost without wanting to he was there at the top, standing with his suitcase beside him and looking at the shiny train tracks. There were ferns growing along the left side of the platform. He looked at his watch, it wasn’t there and he realized this was turning into some kind of a tick. Now he didn’t know if the train arrived with or without delay. The woman wasn’t there either. He worried that he had missed it but buried that idea because he would have heard the locomotive, it was so loud it was impossible not to. He had been immersed in his memories but this train was the noisiest train in the world and he would have to be very distracted not to hear it.

***

He dismissed the idea that he had missed it and sat on the only bench in the station and waited patiently. Warmly dressed, he listened to his respiration. He watched the moon grow in size and brilliance. A small breeze blew through his hair. Once again he stumbled over the voice that had suggested he make this trip, a voice that begged him for help in his dream “Please, my brother…” he heard again, in a very calm tone, though exaggeratedly sad. “Where will we look for your brother and where are you?” Jonas asked without seeing anyone. “You’ll know on the trip, the trip, the trip. Soon the train will depart.” “And Monica?” “Sleeping, sleeping, sleeping. Help me find my brother!”

***

The train broke the harmony just as two stars had decided it was time to begin to shine in the sky. An old locomotive, coming to a halt, coughed and braked and coughed again as though it carried the weight of a whole lifetime. He looked at those two stars. He inhaled. Then he looked at the moon. He exhaled. Then, he looked at the train. A large portion of the cars, all made of polished wood with large windows designed to see the prodigious scenery, was full of children. They looked out the windows with round eyes. In the last few cars rode the adults, reading newspapers about politics and grotesque things. Most certainly they had been rounded up and excluded back there by the children. Jonas was uncomfortable with the fact that there were children on board. They are too noisy, too active, and too tiring for such a long journey and so many all together! Chaos is exponential. He climbed into the last car and sat near a heavy-set woman, well dressed and perfumed. The train recommenced its journey with another cough. He grabbed a newspaper and read: “Warning: Peoples sick curiosity obliges us to write about corrupt politicians and tragedies that speak of other peoples suffering but, at least, it is very well written.” He laughed. He closed the newspaper and took out his book, following the itinerary of something he was not conscious of.

7 Without words When he opened his eyes, Enrique came face to face with a nurse who was giving him a sponge bath. Also with an awful painting, the kind that nobody knows what is on the inside of the frame and what the author of it was trying to say. He probably had just had a bad day and decided to torture his critics with the first thing that came to mind. It was hanging crookedly, degrees to the left of the wall in front of it. Feeling a little confused, he began to shout out, mainly because of this sudden disconcertion and not having any idea of where he was. Besides, the painting drove him crazy. Enrique was one of those people who, despite his young age, thought he controlled the world with a shield. He was the type of guy that would write “pig” on the window of a car, so his friends would think it was funny, and then wipe his dirty finger on his white pants. “Hey…what are you doing, be careful what you’re touching! Where am I?” His older brother and also roommate of a luxury apartment they didn’t deserve came close to him when he heard him protesting, evidence of his costly education. Enrique observed the look in Rubens eyes, as cold as the snow that lay on the ground outside. Seeing the way his nostrils flared he discovered that deep inside he felt some kind of respect. He had never seen his older brother like this, serene on the outside and boiling within. Exactly like a volcano. “Relax, please. You’re in a hospital.” That didn’t seem so funny. “A hospital?” “Yes, it’s just a hospital. Do me a favour and don’t embarrass yourself anymore than you already have. Is it possible?” “Embarrass myself? In the hospital? Why? What are you talking about? No, no I don’t remember…” He shook his head from left to right with energy, trying to see if this would shake off the words that Ruben was saying. “I guess it is better you don’t remember.” he said, putting his hand to his head as though Hiroshima had exploded inside. “Shit! Don’t play around with me Ruben. Stop beating around the bush! Explain. What’s the matter with you? Why are you here with me? What have I done?” He tried to sit up but realized that his body was not responding and the nurse, just waiting for the moment to be able to give orders, told him not to try to move, not even his big toe. “I’ll explain everything when you calm down. Yes, I will. I can assure you that you will not give me another order. You will be my little brother, of course, but your abuse of confidence…” he grew silent as though he felt ashamed, as though this wasn’t the right moment to talk. Ruben turned and walked, grumbling, to the window, loading upon him such indifference and an equal part of fury that Enrique felt he had sunk even more into the mattress. The nurse decided to postpone the bath for the moment, perhaps she would finish later while he slept, heavily sedated. That must be why they call them delicate moments. The only thing that Enrique could decipher was that Ruben didn’t want to tell him what had happened, why he was here in this hospital bed. He had to re-organize his

thought carefully and take out the files on his last memories. He couldn’t see anything more than ghosts and shadows. All he could do was make up a draft of what had probably happened and as bad as he could make it, under his way of seeing things, he didn’t understand why Ruben was so upset. A few hours later Enrique was told of all the reasons he was here and he got frightened, almost wishing he hadn’t been informed. Then he let out a swear word that could be heard all over the hospital. ***

Ruben could be mistaken for a stone wall. He knew the truth about everything that had happened and it hurt him deeply. He just hoped that Enrique would confess. After a very long time the tension finally broke. Dialogues are of vital importance to communication. Sometimes they work and, unfortunately, other times they don’t. In the case of Ruben and his brother, this one was heading nowhere, like a ship adrift on a windless sea. “Stop looking out that window…we have to talk, brother.” Ruben said after a sigh mixed with a little humbleness. He decided he was not going to yield again in the rest of their conversation. “So, that’s the way it’s going to be, always the way you want it. OK, are you going to tell me what happened?” “I crashed into another car, that’s all. Just some stupid asshole like so many others that live in this fu… city, you know! How is my car?” Ruben was not going to tolerate the bravura of his nineteen year old brother, (a perfect rooster in the coop) and even less when he asked about his car before asking about the terrible outcome of the accident. “So, the people who drive safely you call assholes.” Ruben asked, angrily. Ruben was not going to carry on a conversation in that tone, under the guidelines that his brother wanted to establish, and without being able to help it he snapped, “And what in the hell do you call someone who runs red lights at 130 kilometres an hour in the city limits? Would you call them scatter-brained or simply ass holes that are manufactured in series and sent into this world?” Enrique’s face began to change. He tightened his jaw and made another stone façade, not as thick as Rubens, to defend himself against this accusation. War had been declared and both sides were getting prepared. It was no longer a matter of yielding ground, his brother Ruben had fired all the artillery and now it was a matter of defending himself, life or death. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he said distastefully. Studying carefully the look on Ruben’s face and seeing it remained hard and the same, he sensed that the story he was going to try to act out wasn’t going well and was losing credibility by the moments. “So, you’re going to believe your version over mine? You can’t even…talk about family ties and loyalty. You should be ashamed…” mockingly, he sounded incredulous.

“Enrique, stop! It won’t do any good, and even less with me. In another kind of situation it might, but in this you have left a father to-be in coma one. A man with so much life ahead of him…” Ruben bit his lower lip angrily then continued, “You almost caused an abortion and destroyed lives, their lives!!!! Can’t you see what you’ve done, damn it?” Enrique looked away to the other side of the room and his eyes rested on the crooked painting. Two red blotches and four horizontal lines. Bingo! The artist donated his painting to the hospital to drive all the people who looked at it crazy. No one, not even the most bored fly in the world, would even take a glance at it. “You’re going to do me a favour right now and you’re going to shut up.” Enrique said, so icily that it seemed he dominated the moment. “I don’t want anyone to hear what you’re saying.” “Forget it and stop giving me orders. I never wanted to say this: you are spoiled rotten, you always have been. Now if you want, get up and hit me, tell me I’m mistaken. Don’t you see that the one who is wrong is you? Get up, you lazy piece of shit!” “You better believe I will. When I get better, my friends and I will bust your face…, you’ll be sorry about what you’re doing to me now. I’m your brother!” Ruben, threateningly, came up face to face with him. The truth was, he was terrified that his brother, I repeat, his brother, wanted to punch him out. He would have to gather strength from somewhere and make him understand that there were things that were going to have to change. He was so close to Enrique that Ruben could feel his hate. “You’re not going anywhere! You can’t move from you waist down. Know why? These are the consequences of your heroic way of driving! The best of all is that they don’t know yet if you will be able to move the rest of your body either for the remains of your pathetic life, little brother. Oh! And about your friends: they’re coming to punch me out? I doubt it. They are dead, almost like you! I believe someone wants you to stay in this world because, if its not so, I just don’t understand it.” Enrique eyes were so wide that they almost popped out of their sockets. “What kind of an idiotic story is that? Say it again! Dead? That couldn’t have hap… say!” he said, now hysterical. “Don’t you understand Enrique?” Ruben didn’t know what to say to make him understand what had happened and thought that mankind was getting out of control, losing it, the basics about our behaviour. “Your hormones have left you almost completely invalid and you killed the other three roosters that were with you in your beloved car! The next time you decide to run a stop light at 130 an hour think better of it. From now on the only stop lights you’ll be going through will be in a wheelchair!” The truth began to arise in Enrique’s throat like a huge army of soldiers with torches and buckets of water. The situation began to turn sour. Tiredly Ruben said, “If you wanted to kill yourself you should have just run into a brick wall, a rapid death, but not mess with other peoples lives.” Enrique couldn’t hold back a sob, a cry that originated from this new reality his brother had just presented to him. Ruben was still very close to him and Enrique spat in his face. “I guess I can’t punch you out but I can cover you with shit, you son of a bitch.”

“Wow,” Ruben answered, wiping the spit off his face, “I thought we both had the same mother. Your attitude is tremendous!” The tension danced a tango with the bitterness that surrounded them, clouding up the room completely. Ruben, very upset, left and didn’t say another word. Not for a long time.

8 Dialogues

He had finished reading The Little Prince. It was one of those books you could read in a short while. Jonas walked sleepily down the aisle with the book closed and under his arm. The adults that were travelling with him were deeply immersed in their newspapers that Jonas had left on his seat. One of the articles was about a terrible car accident, another of an undercover war. Between pretentious coughs and having to suffer through the irritating comments of what he was reading and why, a child interrupted the peaceful silence they were swimming in. “Shhh…” said a woman with an enormous hat with exotic feathers stuck on her head. She was reading the gossip column. She also glanced at the horoscopes, one of the sections in the paper that told smaller lies. Aquarius: at last your life will have meaning. Nevertheless, take care of love, your heart is complaining. At work all will go well, but be careful with the car, shadows loom. Money: ask for a loan and help the banks.

All of the Aquarians that believed in this would probably be careful today. (What can you do when they condition you before hand?) Twenty were killed in car accidents, (possibly the one in the newspaper article). Some were run over, after reading their horoscope, of course. And many, surely, applied for a loan. Jonas remembered that he, fortunately, wasn’t an Aquarian, nor did he need a loan or want one. “Damned banks!” he shouted as he remembered his old job. The child hadn’t taken his eyes off the lady who had told him to be quiet, inspecting those big feathers of changing hues from some exotic bird that was now dead and probably eaten with some fancy sauce. The woman was now down to the Aries, probably her husband who was travelling with her, monocle in hand. “Excuse me,” he said as he recovered, making a new beginning. The kid didn’t like to be told to be quiet especially when he hadn’t said anything. “I haven’t said anything. I don’t understand why you asked me to be quiet!” defended the boy with blonde hair with a crafty gesture. “But you will, of course you will. Soon you will begin to make that terrible noise all children make! See there, you’re doing it! It gives me a headache just to think about it!” The child looked sadly down at his kite, feeling deceived. In his eyes shone a question that only Jonas could see. Why did they ground it before it even flew? He had only come for some advice!

The train stopped slowly, coughing. There was no station or platform to be seen. To its right, (starboard, so that the navigators understand me and feel pleasure in their knowledge, of course), there was a forest with so many species of trees, flowers, bugs and enormous plants that with absolute assurance no one would get lost by just walking in a few steps. To the left, port, a sandy desert where there was absolutely nothing to rest your vision on, and with almost the same assuredness as the forest, one would get lost there either. The train tracks divided two different worlds and the result was amazing to the beholder. A person covered with soot and dressed up in a ridiculous uniform presented himself in the name of the engineer. He stated, car to car, that they would be stopping here for awhile because of some mechanical problems and to please excuse the inconvenience. Jonas decided it was the perfect time to climb down from the train for awhile and see the desert. He had just finished a book that described it and now he wanted to see one and feel one himself. As he walked, he thought about the infinite number of authors, like the one of The Little Prince and so many other books, who had chosen the desert to tell their stories. They had their reasons, Jonas thought; there was absolutely nothing here. From the nothing you would have to squeeze out something. The little blonde boy, already sitting in the sand not far from where Jonas sat was flying his kite and letting out more and more string. After realizing what a great place the desert could be for thinking, he sat down next to the boy. The sun caressed and warmed the borders of the orange dunes and the wind moved the grains of sand from place to place, whimsically changing the scenery. It was constantly moving! The wind ordered and the sand obeyed. The kite was whipping about, riding the different currents that were full of filaments of sand and salt. As Jonas watches it he realized that the same moon was always in the sky, the one that arose at the old station and four more. He thought how strange this was but didn’t give it another thought. “Hey kid if you keep letting out more string you’re going to come to the end of the spool and lose your kite forever!” he stated as only the voice of reason could do. “I don’t care.” the child answered with serenity. “Well good, alright, it is your kite. You can do what you want to with it but if you would listen to me…” “Yes, it is my kite. I want it to go as far away as possible. You know, it wanted to go to the forest,” as he waved his free hand, he explained to Jonas who was listening with an adult perspective, “but I told it that it couldn’t because the string would get caught on the branches. There is nothing worse that a bunch of tangled string. You can never untangle it.” To his head came the image of the tangled wires of which he still had one coming out of his stomach. And that life leans toward chaos too. “That’s true.” “Of course it is. That’s why I have come here to the desert and carefully let it fly above the forest.” 45

“Very clever, you’re a smart boy.” “Can you imagine?” “What?” “To be able to feel the leaves beneath your feet…I wish I could be a kite for just one minute…And that wire?” “Look, it comes out of my stomach and goes all the way to my house.” “Ahhhh….!” Without permission, the rest of the children had gotten out of the train. They were playing in the forest between the trees and on top of them. Others were running without direction through the desert, careening down the dunes on these natural slides. The grown ups were talking a lot behind the windows. They placed there hands on their chins in an intellectual pose. They criticized Jonas for stepping out of the train and inciting the children to do the same. Not very wise! Imagine for just one moment that one of the children got lost! Nevertheless, what they didn’t know, thought Jonas, was that it wouldn’t be the first time someone had gotten lost in this inhospitable land. They always seemed to do this, try to correct you and tell you what to do, especially when you don’t ask for their opinion, leaving you feeling ridiculous. “Did you like my book?” asked the boy with one eye half closed to keep out the sun. His hair shone like the light. “What book?” “The book you were reading before. It’s mine and I keep wonderful memories although sometimes I can’t remember some of the passages…” “Well, excuse me but it’s really mine, I bought it quite a few years ago…I can lend it to you if you like…” “What has money got to do with ownership… how sad!” “Yes, I have to say you’re right about that.” Jonas was surprised at the legitimate words of this young boy and grew silent. “Then once again I will ask, did you like my book?” “Well of course! It is magnificent.” Jonas said, following along. “Thank you, the truth is that I wrote it almost without knowing. Back in those times, when I was a war pilot…” And he went on to talk, as only a writer can, about his book.

***

Jonas stopped to think about the curious aspects of his journey. Something paradoxical and strange was happening. Why had it taken him so long to catch on? What was happening? He pondered over this as he listened to the small boy tell his story: 1. He was lost! He didn’t know where his train was headed. He only knew it was going somewhere in search of a voice that needed help to find its brother. He did not like this sensation of confusion at all. 2. He missed Monica more and more with each moment that went by. Monica! 3. He was talking to the author of one of his favourite books: A child who flew a kite and had an amazing resemblance to the main character of his novel. 4. There were five satellites in the sky. 46

“Where is the logic here?” he asked. He scooped up a handful of sand and studied it while he moved it around. It was full of seeds of all kinds. He calculated that only in the small area his eyes could see there must be billions of them!

In the distance and against all logic, an orange tree arose from the desert sand like a mirage. It even grew oranges of an enormous size. It smelled so good that he closed his eyes and felt a gust of wind caress him. It carried the smell of saltpetre, oranges or something like jasmine. He thought; “Who wouldn’t like to be under five moons and in the presence of a kite pilot?” ***

Having taken off his shoes he felt the sand running through his toes like in an hour glass. He liked it. He could feel the harmony. He was listening to the supposed Antoine de Saint-Exupéry (the child with the French accent, who said he was the author of the book). At various moments when he wasn’t interested in what the boy was saying, he would drift back to his yard at home, and remember his tree and Monica and something or someone else that made him feel immensely happy. He noticed that many of his memories, especially the more recent ones, were cloudy. Then he remembered Monica with such clearness that up until this moment he had been unable to achieve. “Did you realize that we are not alone in our bodies?” he asked her one windy afternoon.

“Alone? Sometimes you frighten me. I don’t understand…you mean we have some kind of alien inside?” she said as she probably thought about the gruesome scene from the film. Jonas smiled as only he could smile in such circumstances and tried to persuade her. “Don’t get yourself all mixed up. Listen...” “I’m all yours. Try not to confuse me, ok?” “I’ll do what I can.” From maturity Jonas talked about reason. He described it as that other voice in our heads, the one we sometimes argue with out loud. “We are very strange being, we humans.” justified Jonas and Monica liked the idea. “Be quiet and listen to me. You know. Empty your mind and don’t let it say a word during the longest time possible. As soon as it does, tell me what it says.” “Ok, that’s easy.” She replied. Monica became still, her eyes closed and concentrating. Waiting for it to talk but trying to avoid it from doing so, it didn’t take long for her to begin to giggle. “What? What did it say?” Jonas asked curiously. “Literally?” “Yes.” “It said without beating around the bush: What are you doing? Are you experimenting? Don’t listen to him!” They both burst into laughter. The voice of reason was afraid and told them so.

Antoine was crying. Jonas hadn’t been paying him any attention and that, to any writer and pilot of kites who thought anything about himself, was an insult. “I’m so sorry Antoine. I’m back with you now!”

9 From a second floor to Paradise Avenue

She had just placed a sad kiss on Jonas forehead, one of hope. He did nothing, there was no response. She spent the afternoon looking at him. She told him things, things like how the baby was, what they would do when it grew up; public or private school, would they talk to him of God, names they had thought of…just typical things. But it was hard to maintain a conversation when no one answered you. She had been speaking to the doctor, yesterday afternoon, although she didn’t catch half of what he had said, just technicalities that didn’t seem to fit together. “It is possible that he will awaken.” he said one day. “It’s possible that he never will wake up,” he contradicted himself on another day. What kind of doctors worked at this hospital? Monica, so kind and educated, and so manageable in certain occasions, didn’t protest like so many other people who exploded like atomic bombs when the doctor explained their case. “Jonas, the snow couldn’t completely paralyze the city. It’s melting and the cars and the money are going back to work…” she told him as she sipped a cup of half warm tea. Susan had gone out to buy some chocolate and while she was gone Monica decided to make a visit. The elevator had been repaired and the little improvised note that had been stuck next to the button had been removed. Apparently it had just been unbalanced. That was what the technicians said; they would have to reset it, computer business. Then a doctor said, “My balls, the era of computers!” She pressed the button that said 2 and ran her fingers over the Braille; she tried to imagine what it would be like to be blind. Then she noticed there was a doctor dressed in a green suit and white jacket who was trying to examine her chest with his brown eyes. She got off on the second floor even though the elevators female (and provocative) voice told them they were on a floor that didn’t even exit in this hospital. The highest one was the sixth and when they got to the second she said in a dignified robotic tone “eighth floor.” Who would tell this poor woman that she was wrong, they were on the second? What did you have to study to have your voice taped for an elevator? The doctor, humorously, looked at Monica and said he would continue heading down, to the tenth floor of course. She tried to laugh. She couldn’t. She took herself for a walk on the second floor, not forgetting what she was looking for. She finally found it but she had lost the right words which had probably remained upstairs, in some book. Room 227 The door was open. She saw a painting. On the television there was a motorcycle race but everything else was silent. Monica couldn’t take another step. No one had seen

her and her feet felt like cement, she just stood there outside the doorway. A hundred demons danced in her throat, around a fire and the smoke kept her from breathing. Then she felt dizzy. When she finally decided to take a step forward, some one came out the door almost running into her. It wasn’t a nurse. It was a young man that, if you took away the dark rings from under his eyes, would be attractive in other circumstances. He looked at her. He doubted five times, trying to speak, but could do nothing. It was an uncomfortable violent situation, as she would tell Susan later. He recognized who she was and the reason for her tears. “I, I…my brother. Oh God!” and he said nothing more. Without realizing Monica had turned her back on him. Her hands were shaking. She went back to the elevator and got in with the same doctor who seemed now like an angel rising up to heaven. She could do nothing more than cling to him, frantically grabbing his shoulders so that she wouldn’t fall into the abyss. She had been firm while taking a good look at the young man. Could it have been him that crashed against them? No, she remembered him saying “my brother…” Once safe inside the elevator, the formalities lost importance and little by little she relaxed in the arms of this unknown doctor. ***

The doctor led her back to the room and introduced himself, in between her sobs, as Javier. He was tall and thin with blonde hair. He left her in the room. As she sat with Jonas she had finally calmed down. About an hour later, she felt in her pocket a piece of paper and couldn’t believe her eyes when she saw a telephone number written on it. It didn’t fit the circumstances. Typical macho who thought he had seen an opportunity. How that mans hand had reached her pocket she would never know. It was probably something that only the most experienced doctor knew how to do. Outside, the snow was melting. Monica sighed at the fact that the snow wasn’t capable to remain just to make people happy, stop the rivers of money from flowing and let free will run loose. Intuitively, she took Jonas hand. She liked to feel his pulsating warmth. She immortalized the way their relationship had begun: After putting twelve words together and making them sound good united (about Jonas plant) and thinking and thinking about the perfect name for the title she wrote, “The Tree of Tears”. She would never forget the change of expression in Jonas eyes who the very next day after she had written it, had changed his ways. She arrived at work. Jonas came up to her desk with the plant in his right arm, held close to his chest. “I’m leaving this stinking bank” everyone looked at him with horror and began to whisper, “and I’m taking my plant!” The doubts of all who observed him were confirmed, he was nuttier than a fruitcake. “And just what are you going to do?”

“Who knows, Monica? I’ve spent my whole life waiting to be somebody but I’m not. So much time invested, studying, working, getting angry at people…and then the cat, my plant (my tree), your words… Don’t you see? This is what we have fought for all of our lives, to end up in this place? What a rip off!” “That’s the way it is, Jonas…” “No. That’s the way we want it. Better said, that’s what we deserve. Look at you, and please don’t be offended. You have studied two different degrees. How long did it take you, ten years? And what for, this?” Monica shook her head trying to hide what she confirmed, it had taken her seven, “and the piano, do you even remember what it sounds like?” Monica thought a little. This young man who had seemed as though he had nothing to say to the world had turned into a visionary with a plant and a concise idea about life. “Well then…are you really going to go? I can’t believe this!” “Don’t you see me?” “Yes I see you, but…” “I’m out of here!” “I don’t know what to tell you…you caught me completely off guard. Are you leaving because of that silly thing I wrote about your plant? Oh, come on…and what if your utopia doesn’t work? You’ll make me feel guilty!” “Nahhhhh…I’m leaving for a lot of reasons. Don’t steal all the credit.” he smiled, “Anyways, here’s my number just in case you want to get a hold of me.” Monica folded the paper into four without opening it. “Very well, Jonas, good luck in your new life!” she didn’t know what else to say, less formal. “I just want you to know that I don’t understand you. You can’t give everything up just like that, all of a sudden! But if that’s the way you want it...go right ahead!” “And you keep smiling at that world that doesn’t know how to be happy…” he said and the phrase what will be will be went around and around in her head. “See you, Jonas.” He stopped and added, “If you still have a second, one more thing. Was it a weeping willow?” “No.” “Oh, really?” he asked, deceived. “No, no it’s not. Why so much interest?” “Well, the title was The Tree of Tears so I just assumed…you know.” “How silly you are, but it is a good assumption that you made.” “So, what kind of a tree is it? No, no!” I don’t want to know” “Are you sure?” “Yes. It will be THE TREE with capital letters. THE TREE. “I think we have an unbreakable habit of putting names on everything. That’s bad, girl. Well Monica, I better shut up and leave. Goodbye and I hope to see you soon!” Then, he disappeared from view. Monica sitting in her plastic chair and chained to the computer felt as though a very important sentiment had gone along with Jonas. An idea, even if it was crazy it was brilliant. She opened the note. It’s not everyday someone opens your eyes and I sincerely thank you.

In the envelope there was a leaf from his tree and the smile in the note was also on her face and so big that it almost didn’t fit. Without thinking she wanted to run after him on an impulse after reading the note and the way it made her feel. But she didn’t for a very simple reason: a person has to be more serious and know what to do. Social behaviour and pride kept her from going in search of this uncommon young man. She wanted to start from zero with this new idea of his. She couldn’t do it, it wasn’t logical. Plus the fact that all of her co-workers were talking about him and that made her feel even more doubtful. So, on the contrary, she did what logic dictated. She did it so well for the next thirtyeight days that she almost forgot Jonas, I said almost. Those are a lot of days. When on the verge of dying, Jonas memory luckily began to protest a few hours after the thirtyeighth day had begun and made her wake up. It isn’t every day that someone gives you a note thanking you for opening their eyes. *** On day thirty-nine she grabbed her cell phone and called Jonas. In her hand she held the leaf that Jonas had given her. It had six different hues, almost seven. A sleepy voice, as though it had just awakened, could be heard and sounded far away. Monica felt a sudden impulse to hang up, as though she was a teenager, but thought better of it. As we get older our years dictate to us what to do sometimes. “Hellooooooooooooooooooo?” Jonas said for the third time, in a comical tone. He was almost ready to hang up seeing that no one answered him. “Jonas?” Monica asked, knowing perfectly well it was him. “Yes, that’s me.” “This is Monica, do you…” “Monica!” Jonas happiness was more than apparent hearing her harmonious voice, and he didn’t try to hide it. “Yes, it’s me. How…how is everything? How is it going?” “Fantastic! I’ve changed a few elemental things in my life. What about you?” “The same old routine…” She thought about her ugly white desk with her computer, papers, letters, more papers, stamps and signatures and changed the subject so as not to get depressed. “I called you to thank you for what you said in the note. It…it…” “It was simply the truth.” “Oh, well…well…thanks. The tables had been turned. Monica was always the one who led their conversations but now it was Jonas who held the reigns. “How are things at the bank?” he asked seriously after a very long and awkward silence. “Ok. How is your tree?” The question about his tree gave a new edge to the conversation and his voice became excitedly happy. “Well, I think you have to see it with your own eyes. It’s incredible, really. I never thought that…” 52

This sounded like a good invitation and Monica, who had let Jonas get away once, didn’t want to let that happen again. She jumped at the opportunity. “Ok, ok, I’ll go.” said Monica as though conceding defeat at his implorations. Jonas, who was telling her about his tree and the colour of the leaves suddenly stopped short. It seemed by his silence that he was thoughtful, taken back. “But I haven’t even invited you.” said Jonas, dryly. Monica wished that the earth would swallow her. This was the perfect time to hang up. She tried to get herself out of this mess. “Didn’t you say I had to see it with my own eyes?” “That’s just a manner of speech…” “Well, sorry, I thought…” “But now that you’ve mentioned it, I think it sounds like a wonderful idea! You have to come! You won’t even recognize it when you see it. It’s no longer that sad little plant…” He went on talking so naturally and innocently about his tree while sweeping away all thoughts of undercover intentions. At the same time he stepped away from an uncomfortable situation created by a misunderstanding. “Where do you live?” He told her without doubts exactly where his new home was and they set a date, at seven with a happy moon. *** She went around in circles and got lost seven times before she finally found his street. It was a small and discreet avenue with old facades smelling of damp stone and a lot of shadows at this time of the afternoon. She walked up to the portal and rang the doorbell insistently: 5th B, 5th B, 5th B. Jonas didn’t answer and Monica thought one of two things, either he had stood her up or she was completely lost. Once again she looked at the street sign and rechecked the number written on a piece of paper: 11 Paradise Avenue. It was correct, she wasn’t mistaken. She pressed the bell one last time. She waited but she sensed that no one was going to answer. She decided to leave, feeling deceived and angry for believing in such silly things. She turned on her heals and left. “Are you leaving?” she heard a voice she recognized say, off to her right. She turned and saw Jonas. He had let his beard grow a little and the expression in his eyes had changed dramatically. The sky was growing dark in the north. A summer storm was on its way and some grumbling could be heard, as though the clouds were hungry. The blowing of the wind calmed the heat and humidity that they had been suffering from. “I thought I was at the wrong place or you had stood me up…I didn’t know.” They gave each other the usual two kisses, one on each cheek. “What an imagination you have.” said Jonas. “And where were you, may I ask?” “Across the street, over there,” he pointed, “next to the pub. I was watching you from under that green canopy.” “And why would you do that?” she asked, placing her hands on her hips. “Why didn’t you come as soon as you saw me?” she said as she tried to imagine what he had seen while she stood there angry and swearing at everything. It wasn’t very lady-like. 53

“I don’t think you want to know why…I don’t think we’re that close yet.” he said in a low voice. He had a look on his face like a child that has a secret, a tactic that wasn’t his. He later confessed that he had borrowed it from Moses and that he didn’t do it at all well. “Do you really want to know?” “I’m dying to find out.” “I just wanted to see how many times you would ring, how long you would wait.” “But…why?” “That way I could tell how much you wanted to see me. Please don’t get mad…” She felt relieved, she even liked his answer. “You’re kind of strange, aren’t you? You leave the bank with your tree, you let your beard grow, change your life style without warning…what else?” They both laughed and thunder could be heard somewhere close by. “It’s going to rain soon. Would you like a beer?” Jonas asked. She nodded, it was the perfect solution to calm the nerves she couldn’t hide. They sat on the terrace under the green canopy, not as protected as she would have liked. They drank beer and Jonas told her about his new job at a greenhouse. He worked in the section of plants that wanted to be trees and at the same time collaborated with an animal shelter for abandoned pets. This he did for the dead cat. Soon it began to rain. Then it began to hail. The earth became wet, the water ran in rivers on the sidewalks and the hail bounced off the roofs of the cars. They realized that they both liked the smell of damp soil. It was a good beginning. *** Night came without their realizing it, the purple curtains unfolded and there were so many stars in the sky that our planet looked like a tiny, bad tempered flea, very angry. It was more like the flea of the fleas that at the same time belonged to other bigger fleas. It was chilly and it smelled of thyme and rosemary. Jonas spoke with an ease that Monica had missed, he could talk about anything without feeling uncomfortable at any time and she enjoyed hearing words worthy of being written. The third beer set the imagination free and a very well dressed pianist, hired from the conservatory, was playing all kinds of songs, sweetening the aroma that the rain had brought. Jonas had an idea and, without thinking he stood up and went to talk to the musician. Monica felt a little panicky, afraid he was going to embarrass them both. Overacting and with a very serious face he sat down on the piano stool and announced to all, “For you Monica. The person who urged me to plant a tree, leave a bank, to believe in things I thought were dead and for making me want to learn to play the piano like you! And for the rain that makes us all feel happy!” She laughed and put her hands on her face, a feminine gesture of generations. Before he began he spoke again. “You know Monica my piano teacher says so many things I don’t understand. I told him I just wanted to play the piano but he insists that to play you must learn the theory. He’s right! Although I resist, I have to learn. Being that I am very clumsy, and after rehearsing this moment hundreds of times, I confess I’m still incapable of reading a sheet of music. This is the only song that I can play.” Monica at this point was feeling very panicky because she, (who knew how to play) would probably not be able to play anything without the score in front of her. But Jonas, 54

once again, had something to show her. He began to play. The music was perfect. Everything was in its place, even the silences that form a part of a song. Then Jonas opened his mouth and began to sing. That’s when she wanted to run, this was too much for her. But the first words in Italian made Monica get goose bumps. He sang and everyone fell silent. “Paradise Avenue” made honour to its name she thought. At the end of the song everyone applauded with enthusiasm. More surprised than Jonas were the many people who knew him and loved his trivialities and eccentricities. Looking very proud he stood up and waved to his public. ***

“Did you like my song?” “Is it yours?” she asked, not sure if he was joking. She popped an anchovy-stuffed olive in her mouth. “Yes, it’s his.” Responded another voice to Jonas left and to Monica’s right. They both turned to see its source. “He wrote it a few days ago. I know because he got angry every time someone would interrupt him. He was always saying things like, ”Nobody bothered Vivaldi when he sat down to compose so how do you expect me to write a decent piece if you keep bothering me?” I told him he was not Vivaldi. Are you the Monica he is always talking about?” and he made a childish gesture that Jonas sometimes borrowed. He talked on and on, not letting anyone get a word in edgewise. He seemed to be the typical young man with a striped shirt and brown eyes, but it was a false impression. He stopped short to catch his breath and looked at them, his hands in his pockets. “Moses! Have you finally decided to shut up?” exclaimed Jonas, pushing back his seat as he stood up. “Come on, sit down and have a beer with us!” “I won’t refuse your offer. Since you didn’t come up I was getting worried. How I love to control things. I was all kind of things. Do you understand?” Not used to drinking beer Monica, a little bit tipsy and semi-aware of the fact that with just the right amount of alcohol the world seemed like a marvellous place to live in. She watched as Jonas’ friend sat down and felt happy that this stranger had joined them in their conversation with phrases that made no sense whatsoever but with a beer seemed completely logical. “Monica, this is my best friend Moses. He’s a bit of a nuisance but it’s as though he was my older brother.” “I’m pleased to meet you.” she said, “Please forgive me but I think I’m a little drunk.” Moses laughed at the frankness of this unknown woman and said, “Wait just five minutes and I will catch up with the two of you.” He called a waiter and ordered five beers, two for his friends and three for him. When the beers arrived he began to guzzle them down one by one with such speed that it only took him two minutes and a half to be starry-eyed just like Monica and Jonas. That night Moses confessed that he loved the way it smelled when it stops

raining. They all agreed. A good friendship began to form between the three of them and it would last to the end of the universe and beyond, for the good and for the bad. So it happened. Moses went home and left them, he was sleepy and it was late. As they were saying goodbye, Jonas grabbed Monica by the shoulders and pulled her to him. Their lips met and at last they kissed.

10 Ideas in Fertile Soil Yes, ideas in fertile soil. These are the ideas that remain silent for a time, at rest, slowly growing, they are assimilated and then they can be used. Just like the ancestral technique of cultivation. Enrique was sowing immense fields of wheat in his bed. He couldn’t do much else and the television denied him any possibility for thinking. Not being able to move his body was torturing him. Just lying in bed not being able to do anything more than think about how the quality of his life as a human being had changed so drastically in the time it takes to snap your fingers. But he was one of those super humans that modern society creates and had always carried, as far back as he could remember, a shield of impenetrable steel. The tougher you were the less chance there was for blowing it in front of others. That was how Enrique had gained his friends respect. He was now the leader of a group of cadavers! His parents gave him the car of his dreams when he was eighteen, allowing him to fly over the asphalt, to demonstrate he was an ace at the wheel, no one could beat him. He begged his father and his mother, (sometimes because she was just a tool of access to his father) to buy him the car and they finally gave in and bought him his new casket on wheels. It was so powerful that it could catapult him to all the different dimensions of cyberspace. How blind they all had been! Destiny had given them quite a few calls of attention. The only one who suspected this could happen was Ruben but no one listened to him and now he had to deal with this alone. It had been two days since he had spoken a word to Enrique, although this afternoon he had a lot to say. *** “The pregnant woman from your accident was here today, the one that survived.” Enrique didn’t answer. He acted like he was watching the television. “I imagine you didn’t see her because she didn’t come in, probably afraid I suppose. I didn’t know what to say. Can you understand that? My mind went blank.” Nothing. On the news they were talking about a civilian aircraft that had been shot accidentally down by a missile that belonged to a powerful army. The strange thing about this last bit of news was that they told it though it was the most normal thing in the world. This planet was crazy but it kept Enrique occupied, at least. Ruben talked and talked, pausing once in awhile and speaking again, even though his brother seemed hypnotized by the television. Enough was enough. “You are going to listen to me whether you like it or not!” Ruben said, turning off the TV just as the sports were beginning, Enrique’s favourite part of the news.

Ruben began severely. He told him he could not understand his attitude, distant, as though none of this had anything to do with him. He also told him he had called their parents last night and they still hadn’t come to see him. “Do you remember Mom and Dad?” he asked. Enrique still said nothing. He was as indifferent as a rock. Anyone else would have been furious by now, jumping at Rubens throat. “Yeah man, the ones that bought you that cute little car, the ones that educated us, the ones that gave their lives so that we would be people worthy of this life. They didn’t care if we grew up to be doctors or pizza deliverers just as long as we were good persons. They kept us away from the bad and you go and blow it all. Tell me, are you just trying to be different?” 0nce again he said nothing. “I think you must have done something really bad to make them not want to come and see you. I don’t know…” Enrique began to cry. “There you go, there you go…always so tough, just like a steel shell full of butter. Cry, please, cry. I want you to cry till you dehydrate, at least that makes me see that once you were a person.” Ruben made him look back at his past, so far away it seemed as though he saw it through a foggy glass. “Oh yes. I was eleven years old when Mom told me I was going to have a brother or sister. We lived in Italy then. You have no idea how that changed my whole world. It was incredible but I know you don’t understand it. Everyone congratulated me at school. They stopped me in the halls and said “Hey Ruben, I heard you’re going to have a brother, that’s great!” I smiled a lot and I mean a lot and you were the reason for my pride. I was prouder than anyone can be and you were only the size of a grape at the time. Then you were born. When I saw you in the crib you made me comprehend, with my eleven years, some of the marvels of this life, like birth. And I would never be able to explain how I felt when Mom put you in my arms. Now it was Ruben who had tears in his eyes. He hadn’t meant to cry. He stopped his sermon for a moment and looked for a handkerchief to blow his nose. “You were everything to me, damn it!” He said this swear word because, being a man and a social macho that he was, it wasn’t easy to recognize certain feelings and a swear word in between tears made him sound tougher. “And I was always there for you. But time made you grow and you had other priorities. You started to think and it went to your head. You saw you could be free, that you could do anything you wanted to…” Enrique looked at the ceiling. He was trapped between his brother’s glare and the painting. “I just want you to understand one thing” Ruben said flatly, “ I don’t care if you hate me the rest of your life, if after this you don’t want to say another word to me. When you recover and you want to start a new life alone without me don’t worry about it, I don’t care I almost prefer that over living with a person that isn’t capable of assuming their mistakes and learning from them. Just do me one favour. Some day accept the fact that you made a mistake and it was that error that killed your friends.” He stopped to get air, “You also destroyed another family. This would be the first step toward living in peace. I know very well that you have a conscience and it won’t let you be for the rest of your life.” A nurse came in and Ruben left the room, head down, leaving his brother with all of those words from the past floating in the air. They were ideas in cultivated soil, of course. 58

Against his will Enrique felt that his throat began to close more and more, oppressing and not letting him breathe normally. The necessary dosage of air was less and less and his anxiety to breathe grew which was a contradiction that was taking its toll. He felt how his heart began to beat irregularly and a cold sweat broke out on his forehead. Then the walls began to melt and the voices became echoes. Suddenly he saw stars and felt a sharp pain. The nurse shouted, asking for help, but Enrique no longer heard her. On the other hand Ruben did, stopping dead in his tracks just outside the door, with a strangers fist squeezing his heart, not letting it beat. A blonde haired doctor pushed him out of the way. They had to save Enrique who was trying to slip away without being noticed and without saying goodbye. That was the worst thing that could happen.

11 The creation of the universe

The engineer, with a vain composure, announced that the train would renew its journey. Antoine had wound up all of the kites string, anticipating this announcement. After smiling, as fast as a falling star that Jonas almost didn’t see it, he went back to the same car he had gotten out of before. It was the third one, counting the engine. Shortly after, the rest of the children shouted happily in the desert and on the other side, in the forest. They all came running back and got into the same car. A few older ones got into the fourth car. Jonas, boots in hand, followed suit and pointed his nose toward the important car, the grown up one, the last one of all: the tenth. As he was walking bare foot back to the tenth he suddenly repented, realizing he didn’t care about looking important and he was sick of the criticism he would hear once he was on board. His hat took off flying and landed on the roof of the first car, the car where all the children were. They were looking at him with open mouths. “Come here!” they shouted. He didn’t go in. It would be such an easy way to get a headache. Instead, he climbed up on the side where there was a little bronze ladder embracing a railing and sat down on the roof, with his legs hanging over the side. He didn’t care what the children or the grownups would say. He grabbed his hat and pulled it down on his head until his ears bent down. Then he took out a piece of paper and drew the incredible view he had before his eyes. The eternal contrast between nothing and everything:

He put away his drawing in one of the pockets of his corduroy jacket and thought that to create a universe shouldn’t be such a complex task. “Hello,” said a boy who was sitting close to him, interrupting his thought about the making of the universe, “fourth edition.” He turned his head and studied the lad: he hadn’t seen him before, he was new. Jonas looked at him carefully and confirmed that this was not Antoine. His hair was brown and not one was where it should be because of the wind as the train picked up speed. “And Antoine? Do you know where he is?” “Who is that?” “A boy your age, blonde, with a kite.” “The Sun King?” ¹ “Probably, although I never heard him call himself that” “He’s playing with Ana.” Ah…well. If you see him, tell the Sun King that his kite would fly better here than anywhere else, don’t you think?” and he sucked his thumb, making an idiotic gesture. “How windy!” “Yes.” The little boy answered, laughing. “Well, and what is your name, little one? I hate awkward silences, they make me nervous because I feel I may being making a fool of myself, because I don’t know what to say and what they will think of me and, you aren’t another writer, are you?” After fishing around in his pockets he took the drawing out and tried to change the subject. “Do you like it?” and the he remembered that he didn’t know the boys name yet. “My name is Jonas, what are you doing up here, it’s dangerous. I can’t even imagine what those people in the last car would say if they saw that I let you come up here.” Every time the train went into a sharp curve the last wagon, entering later, could see the first and the adults were open mouthed, acting worried over the fact that Jonas was sitting on the roof with a child. How reckless! How irresponsible! Who does he think he is? Oh! Oh! Oh! He could read their lips silenced by the window panes. The boy looked sadly and a little cautiously at Jonas. “My name is Enrique. I’m lost! Are you lost too?” and he smiled with the hope that Jonas would say yes. Of all the children aboard the train, he was the only one to admit that he was lost, even though it made him feel a little bit ashamed doing so. Jonas could distinguish a deep streak of pain in his eyes. “No, well now that you mention it maybe I am just a little. Don’t you see? Here I am on the roof of a train with you, in the strangest place on earth. I have spoken to one of my favourite authors who also is a child. What can I say? Give me your hand. We are the lost passengers of this train!” The child laughed, “You’re really weird. Could you do me a favour?” “I’ll do what I can, ask away” and he sighed putting his drawing back in the pocket of his jacket. “Ah! I am lost and I have to find my brother. He’s going to be so mad! Let’s look for a wheat field. I’m so happy you caught this train!” _____________________________ ¹Nickname given to the childhood of Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Jonas felt as though his heart had stopped. That voice, that phrase. His brother! His dream! It was for him that he was making this journey! Immediately after that his hat flew off again…the dark blue hat that Monica had given him as a present soon after they met, the hat he had laughed at and caused her to get so angry because he didn’t like it. It flew so high and so far that he lost sight of it and so did the boy. And Enrique’s comment was forgotten in his grief over his lost hat. Like a grain of pollen that the wind takes from a tree, carrying it at its whim, maybe just a few meters before it falls to the ground or maybe thousands of kilometres. The only thing that mattered to him was where it landed, if it would be like a grain of pollen in the desert with no opportunity to grow or would it drown in the sea. Then he said “shit!” He looked for Enrique who was nowhere to be found. In his place Antoine de SaintExupéry appeared and let out the string of his kite. He watched it fly. “Everything is so strange…my hat has gone and with it my last link with Monica. Where will it go? And that boy…” “Don’t worry about you hat. It will go where it needs to be.” “Hey, I didn’t tell you before because I never got the chance but you wrote one of the best books that exists!” His smile almost didn’t fit on his face as he said, “Thank you. I understand that people don’t like to read anymore. Can this be true?” “It could be. What is certain is that we are more and more lost.” “How sad it is, what you are telling me.” “Yes, it is.” Another child climbed up to where they sat. It wasn’t Enrique, it was another with baggy clothing and an ornery look. He seemed so familiar! Accompanying him was a girl with beautiful ringlets and a complexion made of the finest flour. They made familiar auras in the atmosphere, floating between the pollen that danced in the air around them all. They all waited for someone to say the first word. During a long time they looked from one to another. All they heard was the chugging of the train and the wind. Finally the boy with crooked smile said, “Jonas, Jonas, Jonas, Jonas how young you look and how lost you are! You have finally changed!” Jonas looked at his hands and they were not like they usually were, calloused and rough. It had been so long since he had seen them like this that they looked like the hands of a complete stranger. He fell to his knees and his tears rolled down his face to his lips, saltier than the water of the most mystic ocean. Between sobs, he raised his eyes but could say nothing and the little boy came to him and put his arms around his neck. “Jonas, Jonas, Jonas…I wanted to see you so much! I have so many things to explain to you…!” And all he could say was, “Moses…”

12 The sun: Creator of life He had been shot down in the longest aisle in the world and a small whimper could be heard. The deepest and strongest cry of despair a person can make cannot be heard, because it is the soul that pronounces it. Rubens legs became so weak that they finally gave in making him kneel and support himself with his hands on the wall, scratching it with bitten fingernails, Enrique’s fault. His cries were like those of a new born baby. They had managed to reanimate Enrique who had gone into cardiac arrest. He was sedated and had a machine that helped him breath artificially. Not much longer and they would be hanging one of those little tickets on his big toe and bury him under tons and tons of damp earth. Once they got him stabilized they weren’t sure if he would wake up again and if he did, his rehabilitation would be much more difficult and complex. For just an instant, when he thought that his brother had gone forever leaving the worst disaster stuck to his footsteps, he felt angry and helpless for being so rough with him. He also felt hatred for everything that surrounded him because he did not comprehend what was happening and why life was so damned unjust. But the moment that the blonde doctor told him he had been stabilized, he felt a momentary relief, as though they had lifted part of the weight that was making him sink down in the darkest lake. He thought of his parents, even though they resisted going to see him he knew they would never forgive themselves for not being there the day their son died. Ruben had had enough of the empty walls and the stale and sterile air in the hospital and needed to get out of there. It was the first time he had ever felt such anxiety. He left. He took the crazy elevator and landed on the main floor, packed with people needing information. Going through a rotating door he felt how the sun immediately filled him in an extraordinarily vital way. It was cold, very cold but the sun warmed him just the right amount. He took out his pack of cigarettes and lit up. He smoked it too fast and got dizzy. And there he stood: still, letting the minutes and the seconds ran. He didn’t care about anything. It was all the same to him now. Until a young woman, who looked as tired as he felt, asked him for a cigarette and they smoked together, letting the sun do its job. After all, it was up there for something.

She threw the butt on the ground with distaste and disgust, as though she was sick of smoking, as though she had spent years in abstinence and suddenly had fallen back in a temporary attack capable of bending anybodies willpower. Angrily she grounded it with her foot making sure it was out and with it her desire. The entrance to the hospital was a constant coming and going of patients, family, doctors and nurses and crazy people, lots of crazy people. A nurse with bags under her eyes that took up half of her face scolded her and told her there were waste paper baskets for her use and ashtrays. Ruben offered her another cigarette and she, blaming him mentally for her lack of willpower, didn’t say no. As she lit it she looked at him, studying his clothing, his gestures and his strange way of looking at things.

“Your eyes are swollen, have you been crying? Excuse me for being so nosey,” and in a low, almost inaudible her voice continued. ”I don’t need to ask, I confirm it. You have been crying.” Ruben ratified this statement by a simple movement of his head, firm and conclusive. He had been crying and had nothing to hide. He had his reasons…Why hide the pain? Perhaps under other circumstances he would have tried to do so. “Can I do anything for you at all?” He shook his head and smoked, taking a superficial glance at the woman who asked the questions and lifted his chin to the sky, closing his eyes, letting the sun warm his face. Then, with his eyes still closed and exhaling smoke, he said, “Everything seems so simple so disgustingly simple… it is us who are determined to complicate everything. Am I wrong?” She didn’t say anything even though it was her turn to speak. She just waited for him to continue talking. She didn’t want to change the subject that he wanted to talk about. It seemed to her that this man had been a long time without speaking of his problems and needed this improvised help from a total stranger. He began to confess saying that perhaps stepping aside would be a solution, not even an option to consider. But he did insist that nothing made sense. He couldn’t find sense in anything. What can you do when the very sun that warms you and lights your way doesn’t make any either? “What are you saying, suicide? Do you wan to commit suicide?” she asked him when she sensed the direction he was heading. “Yes, suicide.” “No, no, no, no… never! Have you gone mad?” she looked down, dismayed, thunder-struck that a complete stranger could say to her face without any shame that he wanted to do this. “It is the most selfish position there is. Do you have any idea of the disaster you would leave behind you? I don’t believe you do because if you did you wouldn’t be saying this. Ignorance is very bold…the person I most loved in the world made that choice and believe me, I would rather have died myself than to feel the way I felt afterwards. Everyone, listen to me, everyone goes through difficult moments. Don’t ever think you’re unique. Or do you believe you are the centre of the universe?” “No I don’t think I‘m the centre of the universe at all although it would seem that I have been chosen to be. And I confess that I hope all of this will quickly pass because no matter what you say or do, I have no intention of changing my mind.” “Listen, however the way you feel, it doesn’t matter what has happened because even if it has no solution, it will pass.” “Of course it will pass, everything does, but I don’t know at what price. Enough! I don’t want to bore you with my sorrows and my theories about suicide…tell me. What has happened to you to be in a hospital with such an optimistic outlook?” “I believe in having third chances. Not the second ones. The third ones, just so you see I can bend. I have suffered a lot, but we all have the right to another opportunity.” “You haven’t answered my question. Did you come here to get vaccinated? Of course, now I see…anybody would be optimistic that way!” “No, I’m afraid not. In a car accident they almost killed the husband of my best friend who, on top of it all is pregnant.” Rubens face went white, “Someone ran a red light and…” “Excuse me, I have to go now. I, I, I…” Ruben knew that story only too well. “What?” “Yes, yes, I have to go…”

“Are you all right? Wait, wait, wait!” she shouted, “Don’t you dare leave like this! I know what you’re going to do, you shouldn’t have told me about your suicide. I’ll call a doctor…stop!” Ruben stopped, rebuffed. “Do you really think we get a third chance?” he asked. “I haven’t even tried to use my second one on you.” “I don’t see why you would have to.” “Do you swear you will give me my second chance?” “I swear.” “And you will listen to me?” “What are you talking about? Of course I will listen to you…” One second was multiplied by thirty: “My brother caused your accident. My brother has killed three of his friends and almost the husband of your best friend that came to see me and I couldn’t speak. Even she and her baby were in danger. Now you tell me, do you want to keep listening?” The girl seemed to turn into stone, petrified. She took two steps backwards, confused, dazed and frightened. She felt around in the air for something to hold on to, to sit down on, something solid, as though she had come face to face with the very devil himself. “I’m leaving. I can see that. But what difference could it possibly make?” he said as he backed into the elevator and left her alone.

He got off the elevator on the fifth floor. Captive of his tears, he stopped in front of the sign on the door written in green plastic: Room 533 He didn’t wait and walked in without knocking. Inside there was a man sleeping face up in the bed and what looked to be his wife had been sitting and staring out the window, probably not thinking of anything or thinking of too much. She too had fallen asleep. Immediately, the woman who had been downstairs smoking with him at the hospitals entrance, walked in and slowly walked up behind him. She put her hand on his shoulder and sighed, trying to dominate the situation as best as possible before there was a disaster. “I don’t think this is the best moment for this, you know, to ask for second chances. Not now.” She whispered in his ear. Ruben turned to find the kindest eyes these hateful and aseptic circumstances could offer. “Leave before she sees you. Please. I have to beg you, please.” “I just wanted to…” “I know, but it’s not the right moment. I promised a second chance. Please leave and there will be time later. I need time to prepare things. This won’t be easy and you know it.” Obediently and silently he left the room with her. They both cried for awhile without or with too many reasons. When they both settled down again they turned the

page and started over. Ruben told her that his brother was a disaster, he always had been. It was all he could say and a very poor excuse. Although he did underline the fact that Enrique was not a bad person, there was something good inside and he was searching for it. “It’s not your fault, absolutely not! That’s why I am talking to you and why I promised to give you a second chance. When you left me standing alone downstairs, I had to do some quick thinking. Your brother is the one who should seek forgiveness, not you.” “Yes, yes I know and I told him that right before he… he is on the verge of dying. I was trying to make him understand. Shit!” “Don’t go on. Now leave.” Her order was so severe that Ruben obeyed and left. But in their goodbye there was a clear “see you later.”

13 Thank you

She left the book on the table next to the bed with a dry leaf marking page twenty-three. When she felt up to it and strong enough, Monica read out loud to Jonas. Among so many (Edgar Allen Poe or Tolstoy, amen, an infinite list) she had just finished reading him The Little Prince. These books were her personal jewels! They grew older as the years went by but they also grew in power. Whenever he was reading and finished a book he would say “thank you”, to the author no doubt. “Thank you” for his effort, his imagination, for making his soul bleed to write it, for leaving a part of his life in it. Writing a book was no easy job! And she sang songs that Jonas liked close to his ear. Music, another way to talk with your soul! A friend of Monica’s whose first name was Esther and last name unpronounceable, worked in a private clinic where she fixed minds that had gone haywire. She told Monica that this talking and singing didn’t help at all and she would be better off doing a crossword puzzle or sewing or some other similar task. Never the less, she listened to Esther who spoke very low due to her reduced height. She had long hair and looked like a Hobbit. Clearly Monica did not agree in doing puzzles and even less in sewing. She had never even threaded a needle! But she didn’t have the strength to argue about it, or anything else for that matter, (if ghosts exist, UFOs, sectarian politics or if the society she grew up in was made by conspiratorial motives and setup of interests that benefited a few and hurt most). Luckily, Esther finally left and Monica could relax, wanting, of course, to read to Jonas all the books in the world. Susan came in with a bag full of small objects. Monica deducted she had been shopping and felt ashamed that since Esher left, she had spent most of the afternoon sleeping. Susan went straight to the chair, leaving the bag on the floor in between clumsy and uncertain steps, taking out some chocolate. Then she sat down and looked at Monica for a few moments out of the corner of her eye. She made a small waving gesture, and the two of them ate chocolate for awhile, letting the sweetness have its effect on them. “You’ve been smoking, you stink!” Monica said. She stretched her legs and bit into her chocolate. “I couldn’t help it, I was nervous. I have been down stairs for awhile with a young man who offered me a cigarette. On the second one…” “The second one, you mean you actually smoked two?” “Yes, two. The point is that I was talking to a guy who wants to kill himself.” “Oh, what a shame! Poor people!” “I tried to talk him out of it the best I could and I think that with a little help on our part…” “Susan…” “What?”

She explained to her friend, trying not to offend and hoping she would not misinterpret her words, that she really didn’t want to listen to other people’s problems, she had enough of her own. The last thing she desired was to talk about that kind of thing, and she told her this sincerely and from her heart. “That’s alright, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…Ok. I won’t say another word about it.” “Thank you. I have such a terrible headache. You don’t happen to have an aspirin, or two or three, do you?” Monica asked as she massaged her forehead with both hands. Susan asked the nurse for them. They both submerged into a long and comfortable silence remembering different things that were at the same time related. Monica’s memories took off directly in the direction of a winter’s day, one of the coldest that anyone could remember in centuries according to some of the moss covered rocks on the hillside, full of naked trees that shivered under a sun that could be heard but not seen. It was a Saturday, an official day for resting from work and the perfect day to look for a house. A house for three, or maybe four because it seemed that Moses had a special friend. The only inconvenience was that it had to have two stories and a yard. In three years Jonas and Monica had formalized their relationship as a couple, it had been complicated, two and two never made four. Actually, it helped that they had both turned their backs on their jobs at the bank where they worked but it was taking them a long time to find another job that filled them. There no longer existed jobs that make people happy. During this time they all shared the apartment at 11 Paradise Avenue with a less and less biblical Moses. When he saw that they were serious and had been saying for months that they had to find a new place with a yard to plant the tree, whose pot was way too small by now, his life seemed to loose meaning and begged for a place in their new home. He told them they wouldn’t feel his presence and he would eat by himself, chain and all. He couldn’t accept living alone. He considered himself a breakable being, inconsistent because of his own reasoning, with macabre and catastrophic ideas, enjoying easy ideas about lives without meaning, (only Moses knew all of this because on the outside he seemed another person). Plus the fact that Jonas was his soul friend and thanks to him, he kept these theories under control. They maintained a perfect balance together. The relationship between her and Jonas had grown so thick that those that saw them and the way they lived one another could only feel envy. What bothered the rest was that they weren’t the typical repellent and hateful couple. The sticky kind that are always kissing and saying I love you every other word. They argued one day, the next day peace. They shouted at each other! They hated each other sometimes so much that they wished bad things would happen to the other one. And against all odds, these disputes only made them stronger. Doesn’t everyone know that true love only lasts an instant? And that to maintain it you have to cry blood? Jonas and Monica knew this and the poisonous tongues could find nowhere and no one to bite. Poor people! They found an old house, covered with dark, chipped paint. It was built of brick and then added onto in wood that descended tiredly and without frills on the north side of the house as a vast porch. It had an attic with a terrace and an ample yard with orange trees and jasmine which fell downhill until it came to a cliff named by the labourers “The Soul of the Heavens.” The town was far away enough from the city so that you could not hear the shouts and the horns. The people that lived in the town looked suspiciously upon visitors. They didn’t want their peace to be disturbed. The majority of the times that people came from outside, the town went crazy.

The house they found was nestled on the outskirts of the town. Surrounded by mountains there was a lake that served as a mirror to the stars making even the calmest of evenings a spectacular show and helping one to understand the name of the cliff: The Soul of the Heavens. Two weeks later they were moving. In between boxes and boxes full of who knew what, was the most important of all, THE TREE. Jonas dug a hole so deep that you couldn’t see his body waist down. Two big men that were there with the movers, carried with difficulty the tree to its spot and let it drop heavily with a groan into the whole that had been dug. “This must be one expensive tree to spend so much money to bring it here!” and they laughed mockingly, thinking this couple must be crazy. They didn’t pay any attention and prepared to transplant. When they pulled the almost four meters of tree from its pot, they saw a perfect mould of sand and clay with formidable roots that were so wound around each other it seemed impossible that they could have fit in the pot. It was a relief now to see that it was going to have all the room it needed to stretch itself out beneath the earth, in all the directions it wanted to. And the three were overwhelmed with happiness! They had a house and they had finally planted the tree that had changed their lives and was now telling them thank you. From then on the nights became full of conversations about celestial reflections on the water. And those were Monica’s memories, the day they found the lake that she could see from the hospital window, amid the snow covered mountains. Susan sat in a chair, lazily, feeling that her eye lids were heavy. She had been thinking of Moses, especially the last year they were together because in some way, the man she had spoken to and smoked a cigarette with at the entrance, had vaguely reminded her of him, both in looks as well as expressions.

Susan met Moses just before their move. They had fallen in love very quickly and didn’t want to be apart. Conscious that speed is not a good counsellor, they wanted to enjoy more time together. But Moses insisted that he would never leave his good friend Jonas and that he was going to live with them in a small town, so he proposed that she come along too. She accepted. After all, she was a pharmacist too and knew that she could find a job at any pharmacy in one of the near by towns close to were they would live. She soon met Jonas and still remembered that first impression of him as a person of such kind and easygoing ways. His eyes seemed to understand and at the same time argue with the world he saw. He had such internal common sense that it seemed amazing. She already knew Monica from their days at the university. Nevertheless, all was not happiness as time went by. Although the relationship between Susan and Moses was almost perfect and they were thinking of getting married, a sad look began to steal into Moses eyes. They all noticed it but they let time pass and do its job and it did! Little by little the sadness that he never talked about ended tragically. After an afternoon shopping, Jonas, Susan and Monica came back home, (Moses said he didn’t feel well and to excuse him for not going), and arriving, she could still remember perfectly what happened.

“Moses?” she called while she took food out of the bags. There was no answer. “He’s probably sleeping,” said Jonas, “Moses?” he shouted. Nothing. Then Susan went looking from room to room, calling him as she went. She walked through the darkness of the living room and still couldn’t find him. She finally found him stretched out on the couch in the den. He was sound asleep. Susan came closer to wake him and softly touched his shoulder but he didn’t react. So she went to give him a kiss on the forehead, that method never failed, and when she put her lips on his skin she felt a terrible stabbing in her heart, he was cold as ice! She said nothing, she stood still, going over all of this and knowing that Moses had been slowly extinguishing and silently shouting for help and nobody had done a thing for him. She stood there for at least ten minutes, looking at him, until Jonas came into the den. “You were sleeping, eh?” and seeing the look on Susan’s face he immediately knew what had happened and called Monica. The three of them cried and blamed themselves in silence because they had all noticed this change in Moses but no one had reacted. There was a note that said: I’m sorry. I couldn’t stand myself anymore. All of this Susan had gotten over. A death so great you had to get over. And now in this last year she found it again, resumed in the eyes of a stranger: the smoker. He had the same look as Moses and they talked the same. Susan knew that there is a certain light in the eyes of all humans and when this light goes out, that’s it. Night came and they went to sleep early, one more day would come.

It was very early and the sun hadn’t come out yet, though the sky was getting light. A voice interrupted her dream, waking her: “Monica?” “Yes?” “How are you? Do you mind if I stay here awhile with you?” “Of course not. Who are you?” “I’m Dr. Elizabeth Chicken.” she said, followed by an awkward silence, “Please, no wise cracks about my last name, it’s been a cross I’ve had to bear ever since I was little.” “Don’t worry I’ll do anything I can. What can I do to help you? Or better still, what’s so special about me that you come to see me before dawn?” Dr. Chicken strutted into the room like a fashion model, partly hidden by her white jacket, amid the sterility of the room and stood observing Monica who sat wrapped in the same blanket as always. They both studied one another and the fresh and rested and “I have no worries” look of Dr, Chicken made Monica feel small. “I don’t want to know anything transcendental, just a couple of things to see if I can help you. How are you taking it?”

Monica, who had no idea where Susan had gotten to, made a strange gesture and waited to see if the doctor was being serious or if it was some kind of joke. Was this the most appropriate question to ask a patient the moment you meet them? Monica, irritably, couldn’t believe it. “Just out of curiosity, how would you feel if in one second, they took away the most beautiful thing in your life? Have you stopped to think about it?” “My opinion about the events has no relevance. You are the one I am interested in. Please, go ahead.” “No,” Monica said seriously, “If you want an answer, ask a better question, Doctor Chicken. It isn’t right to ask some one how they are taking a situation almost impossible to take, even more so when they have been through an accident that left three dead and a husband in coma. The answer is obvious.” “”Alright, let’s change the subject. Let’s see…” she shuffled through her papers, “What political party do you belong to?” “For God’s sake, what’s that to you? What is this all about? What diagnosis, or whatever, will you make of me it I’m from the left or from the right or both at the same time?” “Please Monica, I need your cooperation. If you are going to answer every question with another question we will never finish…why are you at war with me?” “Maybe I’m just not in the mood.” “The truth is that we are very worried and need to know the effect of the accident on your mental health. Believe it or not, your attitude during theses days could condition you for life.” “I won’t contradict that.” and she stared long and hard at the doctor, “The moment you walked in that door you warned me not to laugh at your name. You’ve been provoking me ever since you came in here.” “Of course not, Monica, now please answer my last question. This is a basic list of questions to see if you are lucid. What political party do you belong to?” “You asked for it.” She said, throwing her blanket to the floor and standing up. Dr. Chicken watched in horror as she stood up, taking a step backwards and clutching her notebook to her chest. “Did you become a psychiatrist because they picked on you when you were little? Did they call you little chicken or big chicken or something like that? Is this why you are so interested in the perturbed minds of your patients? Am I mistaken? Poor little thing, depressed and surrounded by people’s cruelness!” From the space that separated them Monica, who had gained lost ground, observed how Dr. Chicken crushed her pen with a certain amount of cruelty. “My life has nothing to do with this. You, my dear, are the patient.” “You are a very boring lady, Dr. Chicken.” “What is the last thing you remember of the accident?” Monica swallowed her saliva. “A loud crash. Then I lost consciousness and came to again. How long I was out, I can’t say.” “What did you see?” “The car was destroyed, my husband was on the ground and three boys were burning alive.” “Did they burn to death in front of your eyes?” “Yes, doesn’t one of your papers say anything about it?” “No,” and she scribbled madly at the end of a paragraph already written.

“Well, yes, they burned and I will never forget the smell of charcoaled flesh. I didn’t feel sorry for them and I still don’t. I don’t believe I ever will. Are you going to tell me I’ve become a monster, Dr. Chicken?” “No, your feelings are completely normal under the circumstances.” “Normal?” “Yes.” “Then this world must be full of hate. All you have to do is tally all the daily fatalities!” “It’s possible. You’re pregnant, right?” “Isn’t that transcendental fact in one of your papers?” “Yes.” “Well then, why do you ask?” “Cooperate. We need you to relax. We are going to prescribe a medication for the good of your baby.” “We’ Doctor, the only one here with me is you, why do you keep saying we? Does it make you feel like you have someone backing you up, more convincing? One way or the other you are planning to drug me so I will shut my mouth and distort reality? Are you going to send me to outer space? That doesn’t seem very appropriate!” “More or less.” “If you don’t mind, Dr. Chicken, I would rather not take them. What has to come will come and I want to be as sober as possible to stand up to it.” The doctor, seeing that Monica was keeping her distance, stopped trying to be so friendly and began to speak with a colder tone, it seemed as though her buddy technique hadn’t worked. She was ready to take Monica back to the beginning of all of this. She asked, “And are you going to drink to solve everything?” “I see your papers inform you when you want them to. That was just an accident and I don’t drink, thanks to a true friend of mine.” “How long have you known Jonas?” “Sixteen years.” “How did you meet him?” “Through a tree.” “Explain.” “What for? I don’t think you care a bit about my absurd story. It’s a typical fairy tale. Why did you stop being friendly?” Dr. Chicken didn’t answer that question. She seemed like a beginner who didn’t know how to lead the conversation with her patient in any productive direction and sweat began to break out on her forehead. “I repeat, you have to cooperate and I can’t make a good report if you tell me you met Jonas thanks to a tree, even you agree, it’s absurd.” “Alright, but it’s the truth. Let’s just say that thanks to the tree our love was forged. Is it really that hard to believe?” “I’m not going to insist, I see you don’t want to help.” “You’re the doctor.” The questions that Doctor Chicken proceeded to ask her were easy and there only finality was to see if the patient was aware of reality. “Where do you live?” “On the outskirts of town.” “What is the capitol of Portugal?” “Lisbon.”

“Nineteen times four.” “Mrs. Chicken, this is getting ridiculous:” “Nineteen times four.” “Seventy…six.” “If you were involved in a car accident, not as a victim but as a bystander: Would you help? And if you did, who would you help first?” “You aren’t too bright, are you? How on earth could you even think of asking me that?” The doctor made a gesture, over doing it. “I do ask you to forgive me, I was just reading the standard questions and didn’t realize…excuse me, how embarrassing, I don’t know what I was thinking of!” But she had malice in her voice. For some reason Dr. Chicken was resentful of Monica’s lack of helpfulness and wanted revenge. “Don’t be cynical please. You did it on purpose! I could read it in your eyes so don’t try to deny it. Do you know what? I wish that you were in an automobile accident. I wish that your husband, if you have one, was here and you had to put up with all of the stupidities you can possibly hear coming out of the mouths of people like you. I wish you had to stay in the same hospital where the killer is, the one who caused you this pain. I wish you could see how it feels when you have an accident and people just drive by and look, not wanting to get their hands dirty and not wanting to get involved. I wish you could see how it feels when a doctor comes to tell you are crazy straight to your face. Now, and better than ever, I understand Jonas and his experience with the cat. Did you know that was the day he stopped believing?” “Now we’re talking about a cat?” “Anything else, Doctor?” “If you don’t want to tell me about the cat then no, not for the time being. But I will be back this afternoon to talk some more. I need to hear more. We are getting nowhere this way.”

14 Tell me what I’m doing here He began to walk in circles on the roof of the train in front of the surprised eyes of his friend. “I need a mirror, Moses. I have to see myself!” “Here’s a bucket of water. Look at yourself.” Jonas walked up to the wooden bucket and put his hands on the rim. The surface of the water was covered by ripples caused by the movement of the train and didn’t offer a stable image but from what he saw was the agitated face of someone he had left behind decades ago. Alert eyes full of hope… even illusion! Jonas now seemed like a young adolescent losing his maturity and filling himself with innocence. Nevertheless, this didn’t bother him because he needed to talk to Moses, his dead friend! And if he was real, Jonas understood everything all at once. He understood why he had cried so much when he said goodbye to his tree and why it was so hard to remember Monica. He was no longer in the objective world full of famous intellectuals. Moses had a question to ask. “Is everything the same as when I left?” “Left? I don’t know what you’re trying to ask me… do you mean the day you died?” asked Jonas evasively. “Of course! Are men and women still as crazy?” “Yes. That remains the same. Would you tell me what I’m doing here? Where are we going? What is happening?” “All in time, Jonas, don’t be in such a hurry. Don’t be! I want to tell you something: Every night, I hear many trees singing in the forests, among the hills, in the valleys, on the top of the mountains. It’s a simple melody, with simple tones but with rhythm and in one voice. And your tree can be heard above them all. It sings differently and tells tales to the rest, inciting them to sing its melody. Do you know why?” “No.” “The day you decided to take a simple step and give a second chance so that supposed plant could grow, it spread its roots in the earth and stretched its branches to the heavens…and that left an impression, a titanic impression! The echo of what you did together with what you did with the cat, are travelling the confines of the universe.” “That’s a little hard to believe, Moses. How do you know this?” “The other day I was talking to a being from another world. His eyes were like stars that were fixed in galaxies and his arms were very long,” explained Moses, “Between this comment and that comment we began the most curious conversation: This being spoke to me, very seriously, “I have come from very far away because we have felt a pure and charitable gesture. It had been at least a fretesty (a fretsty is the equivalent of one billion human years, explained Moses in another conversation) and we had given up hope that there still existed goodness in the universe. We had learned recently of your existence as self-destructive beings. Suddenly, hope shimmered.” “What did you feel?” I asked him.” “Respect for life. The pure belief in good…” “I really don’t understand it. Our species leaves a lot to be desired if any biologist wanted to study it.” “Haven’t you ever noticed the way babies are easily infected with laughter or crying?” 74

“Yes.” “You humans made the laughter to put out the crying. That is why I have come to talk with you. You must close the circle that you broke the day of your death.” “I broke what?” “Yes you. You believed in life. You protected a tree. You dreamed… although at one point you stopped doing so and you broke the harmony and the force that created it…” “And what should I do now?” I asked him. “Before I answer you, what can you tell me of your world in a few words?” “So I applied that saying about a picture is worth a thousand words and pulled out a sketch I had made depicting the sorrows and the misfortunes of the world that I had been chosen to live in and that did me in, rotting my soul. I showed it to him:

Finally, after looking at my drawing, he seemed to grow sad. Then, he spoke to me about you, Jonas, and that we would meet again and together we would have to fly our airplane!” The train went up the slope, a slope that would later turn into an enormously steep mountain with rocks that were shaped out of fantasy.

Jonas listened carefully to Moses, who closed his eyes as he was talking so as to better remember all of the details. They were higher and higher. Now the train was going around in circles like a snake around a pole, the rocky mountain was getting narrower like the top of a huge tree and they couldn’t see the top. Between circle and circle, some down below in the last cars got dizzy and vomited. “Where is this train going?” “It is taking all of us to where you decided we really should be.” “I haven’t decided anything. I left home and went to the station and then I lost my hat. Besides, the rails of this train are anchored solidly in the ground and I can’t change their direction even if I wanted to.” “That decision you have already made. We will leave the train on the top of the mountain.” “What decision did you say I have made?” “Are you going to help Enrique?” “Yes, of course I will. I never doubted it when he asked me. But Moses, I don’t want to die. I want to go back to Monica…” “You will.” The train stopped suddenly. They had arrived at the top. The mountain was so high that the world below looked round, like a small ball, as though they we on the top of a pole that was stuck to it. “Supposedly we can’t breathe here in space. Isn’t that what they always say?” Moses laughed. “Let’s wait here awhile. Did you notice down there how many satellites there are? Six? Seven? I can’t remember now. One of them orbits very close

and its orbits crosses one hundred meters over the top of this mountain, only once in awhile. Today is one of those moments. So, when it’s close we have to jump hard to get loose of this planet and we will feel the attraction of the satellites gravity. Did you get that?” Jonas nodded, his forehead furrowed and not believing a word. Just then, a Cyclopes satellite began to come near to them. It wasn’t grey or full of dust and ashes. It was green, yellow and blue. It was a giant slowly advancing. Then it was right over their heads and they could see some things falling toward it. So they jumped. They escaped from one and were trapped by the other, falling on a beach where there was a sailboat on the shoreline. “What about the rest?” “They’re not coming.” “I didn’t have time to say goodbye to Antoine and his kite. Do you know he is the author of The Little Prince? How nice he was!” “Yes, but I’ll bet you one thing…” “What?” “Don’t you realize that on that train there were a lot of people who have been important in your life and you didn’t recognize any of them. Not one! Your grandparents were playing in the sand dunes. Your parents didn’t dare to speak to you because they were just babies…” “Oh!” “How is Susan?” Good…she’s doing good Moses. What do you want me to tell you? You should have stuck around and found out for yourself!”

15 Sickness: Gastroenteritis Cause: rotten chicken Cure? Elizabeth She was tired of feeling tired and of being registered here at this hospital looking out the window. There was a note written by hand on the back of the chocolate wrapper on the edge of Jonas’ bed. It said: Monica, I have some things to do I will be back tomorrow to see you. I’m sorry I didn’t say goodbye, but you need to sleep and rest. Your good friend, Susan

Monica was still suffering from the ridiculous conversation she had had hours before with Dr. Chicken. Who did she think she was, anyway? She would have bet anything that that young woman had recently graduated and had gotten her job at the hospital through the back door. She was a good looking woman, no one could deny that but she was repulsively polite with a perversity that you could feel by the way she touched her hair. How did she dare call her crazy to her face? Aren’t we all just a little bit? For a few moments Monica considered if maybe her mind was betraying her but no, she saw everything clearly, just with a different point of view. “Good afternoon, Monica.” “Good afternoon, Doctor.” “As I said, I have come back. This time I decided that someone else should talk to you and I will take notes. I don’t do this because I don’t like you, but because you out did me in the battle this morning and I didn’t know how to react.” “Whatever, but it’s a shame now that I had decided to cooperate with you.” “Really?” Monica nodded. “Then I guess we can let the doctor go.” The doctor with a grey beard intervened as though Dr. Chicken had described Monica like some kind of dangerous animal, “Are you sure, Elizabeth?” “Yes, but thank you just the same.” So, Dr. Greybeard left with a quick smile, to attend other matters. The hospital was overflowing. A school bus full of children had overturned. There were no fatal victims but some parents had a new vision about life.

“I will answer the first question you asked me this morning. How am I taking it? Sincerely, a little disoriented. They just took away from me all my perspective of the future. Now I can’t look ahead…Elizabeth. You don’t care if I call you by your first name, do you?” Dr. Chicken, who Monica now knew her first name was Elizabeth, couldn’t believe she was with the same Monica she had talked with this morning. She had changed decisively and completely, and had called her by her first name. In some ways she seemed calm about having knocked out Chicken this morning, as though this was another doctor talking to her now. Monica was very intelligent and agile. “Monica, do you mind if I call you by your first name? Let’s erase this morning! What do you think?” “A brilliant idea! Let’s bury the hatchet.” “First, there will be no treatment at all if you don’t want it. My only intention is to get those words that are inside and so hard to handle, out. Those words that burn our souls…” “Words that burn your soul,” thought Monica and answered, “You should have started that way this morning! Speaking of souls, I’m not going to be the only one who bears hers today. You should know, Elizabeth, that I will tell you all if you too, show me your soul. Is it a deal?” Elizabeth held her breath, abstractedly, looking at Jonas and his incredibly peaceful aspect. She scratched her eyebrow with the tip of her pen while debating if this would be professionally ethical and what she had learned about this kind of situation. She finally accepted Monica’s idea: Elizabeth would formulate two questions to Monica and in turn, Monica could ask her one. “Monica, would you like to tell me the story about the tree now?” A big smile covered Monica’s face. “Of course. Jonas and I met when we worked at the bank. He was the only one there that had a little plant on his desk. To be able to have it there he had to argue with one of the bosses or someone because, apparently, it was against the rules.” “All this over a plant?” “Yes. Imagine, Elizabeth; there were thousands of people, all of us with the same desk, chair, ideas and even the way we dressed.” “What a terrible image…although we all run around in white jackets, guess it just goes with the job!” “Well, one fine day I realized that this timid young man had a plant. I talked with him out of sheer curiosity and he asked me why his plant was so sad.” “Let me guess, it was plant for exteriors, right?” “No. I examined it and soon saw that it was a tree!” “A tree? Now I understand!” “Yes, and Jonas, surprised with our tasty conversation and a moving experience he had with a cat, soon after made a decision: he left with his tree, as though he was crazy.” “Crazy indeed, and then what did he do? He had to start all over from scratch, right?” “Yes, he decided to begin a new life and dedicate it to jobs that filled him. He planted his tree in a bigger and bigger pot.” “And how did you end up together?” “Well, silly me, I followed him to his utopia and we ended up falling in love and buying a house close to here with a couple of friends, Susan and Moses, and we planted

the tree in the yard. One day, Elizabeth, I will show you the tree and then you will believe what I am telling you!” Elizabeth took notes and then got up and walked over to the window. Her gaze was lost in the defenceless branches of the trees that decorated the hospitals entrance and said nothing, waiting, knowing that it was her turn to answer. “Tell me, Elizabeth, does you’re life have any meaning?” With all of the makeup she was wearing, with all of her brick wall façade, Monica could see her eyes sadden, not from sorrow but from resignation. “I believe I’m pretty much like everyone; I get up in the morning and my goal is to go to work, to be busy. I treat patients every day that need my help. Sometimes I’m helpful, sometimes I’m not. And with this, I make a salary to keep living, period.” “I understand. It is the logical evidence: the law that rules the world.” “Yes, now let’s change the subject. What about the story that you talk about so much of Jonas and a cat?” Eloquently, Monica told the story in all detail. Elizabeth’s eyes opened wider and wider and to Monica’s great surprise, a tear rolled down her cheek. Oh, she had judged her wrong! The pain was in exactly the same place as Jonas felt it: it wasn’t about an animal that had been run over and left to die on the edge of the road. That was the law of life! But the fact that no one did anything while it was still alive made Elizabeth understand that we humans are condemned, we must have died inside along time ago, and she realized this now that thanks to Jonas, the cat, the tree, Monica and her friends. It was time to begin to smell the rain!

“The first time I saw you I got a false impression of you that conditioned me immediately,” said Elizabeth benevolently. “I thought you were one of those arrogant bitches that I have never been able to stand. I hate it when someone looks down their nose at me. Why do people do that?” “I guess it’s a kind of protection in this modern society. It’s funny, I had the exact same impression of you too!” finished Monica. “Perhaps we both were putting up a shield. It was impossible that we could have liked each other from the beginning.” They were both sitting down and Elizabeth saw a stack of books. “Wow, what a lot of books! I guess you must like to read, right?” “No, I never have been an avid reader but Jonas, on the other hand is and I have rescued a few of his favourites and have been reading them to him.” “What are you reading him now?” “The Little Prince.” “My parents gave it to me for Christmas, but I didn’t like it at all.” “You have to read it again, now that you’ve grown up! Here, this is Jonas’ book but I know he would be more than happy to lend it to you.” Elizabeth took it and put it on her lap, letting out a big, tired sigh. I can’t afford to look at life the way you and Jonas did before…” “If it weren’t for the accident I would try to convince you that it is all worth while.” “Of course it is! Day after day I handle terrible cases in here. Children sentenced to death with cancer. How can this happen? I mean…how can a child come into life to die? It’s devastating! But the experience makes them strong and they overcome.” “It’s admirable.”

“Yes and the pain of the families when they lose a loved one who has been killed. The other day I had to attend a raging father who almost killed the driver that hit his little daughter and killed her. It wasn’t poor drivers fault!” “What happened?” “The girl wandered out into the street between parked cars and it was impossible to avoid her. But who convinced the father that it had really been his fault for not being more attentive? And what about the poor driver that ran over her? Two attempts of suicide!” “Now that we are on this thorny road…please tell me about the person that caused our accident. I know nothing about him.” “I don’t think I should, it’s not a good idea!” “Please!” “It was a young boy…” “I know that much. The police told me what happened. The damned fool ran a red light at over sixty five miles an hour! How were we supposed to see him? Our light was green and there was zero visibility at the intersection. I know all of those details but I don’t know if he is suffering, if what he has done doesn’t let him go to sleep at night…” “Monica…” and Elizabeth began to lie. She couldn’t tell her that Enrique was being defensive, righteous and proud, that he was a product of our modern society that Monica talked about so much! So she said the only truth there was at the moment. “The boy went into coma a few days ago.” “That’s fair,” she said, looking at the yellow light switch, “and his family?” “We don’t know why, but the parents haven’t showed up yet. At the moment, his older brother is with him.” “I remember him, I ran into him in front of door.” “His door? Are you crazy? You mustn’t confront them!” “And why not? I have all the right in the world! What’s he like, is he suffering too?” “Yes, I’ve spoken with him and he can’t even begin to express his how he feels about his brother’s actions.” “Well that’s normal. Wild animals should be kept in cages.” “He had to stand up to the monstrous looks of the families of the three boys that burned to death. At least there was one kind gesture by one of the mothers who said to him, “It’s not your fault, young man. This is the result of the behaviour of our children, the permissive way we bring them up, giving them everything and letting them get away with anything. I’m sure my son helped make that accident happen. They were drugged and drunk! He had been lost to me for quite a few years now, but I pray your brother comes out of the comma. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy, to have to live with the weight of what has happened.” After telling this Elizabeth sadly said, “Monica, exactly where do you want to go with this?” She didn’t answer immediately. “Could you forgive?” “From my viewpoint, yes,” Elizabeth said. “From yours, I doubt it. Impossible!” “I know. They say to forgive is the most beautiful gesture given to humanity. If I accept that then I guess I’m no longer human, that I’ve lost everything…” “And if they beg for your forgiveness?” “If Jonas lives and doesn’t have after affects, I would accept if that’s what he wanted. If he doesn’t come out of the coma, never! I’m afraid if he never wakes up I’m going to have to face a life full of demons. I will bring a child into the world that will be brought up with bitterness. Do you think that if I forgave them I would feel any better?” “Don’t worry, Jonas will wake from his coma, and in that way the waters will return to their course.” Elizabeth took Monica’s hand. “Believe what I’m saying.”

16 Second encounter

Indisputably, Ruben was desperate, even though now, against all odds, he felt a little better. He had an idea and he had a plan. All he had to do was bury this feeling of guilt. He went down to a shop and bought what to him was not at all a silly thing if not a gift from the heart. He put the objects in his pocket and went straight back to the hospital. He walked along the sidewalks of the city observing the faces of the people. How cold it was this winter morning! He buried himself deeper in his coat. Once inside he went directly to the elevator where a young doctor waited for him to get in. When he got closer he recognised her and decided it would be better not to get on because it was Dr. Elizabeth Chicken who had a book under her arm and was holding the doors. If she realized his intentions she wouldn’t let him do what he wanted to so he waited. “Everything OK?” she asked with a wink. “Oh yes, I’m waiting for someone. I’ll be up later.” She nodded, opening her book and read happily. A few minutes later the elevator came back down, empty. He felt as though two large hands had a hold of his stomach and were wringing it just like you would a wet towel you were trying to get all the water out of. “Ding. You are in the basement.” The elevator affirmed. The doors opened. He searched for the room and when he found it and before he realized it (he was dream walking) he was inside and a voice spoke to him: “Oh, it’s you…OK, I’m listening but be quick and to the point. And use the right words, for your own sake.” said the woman. But the words had disappeared from his mouth, which was dry and scratchy. How nice of them to just fly away like that! “I’m waiting for an answer…” The words still resisted getting in proper order. He took one step forward. “Don’t move, I don’t want to feel your presence, especially if you have nothing to say to me.” “I’m sorry,” he finally managed to say, “Inside this bag it my apology and a note.” He didn’t say anything else, he put the bag on the floor and left, but not before running into Dr. Elizabeth Chicken in the doorway, flabbergasted, who couldn’t help but saying angrily, “Good tactic. But if you knew you were going to do this you could have at least consulted with me first, Ruben.” Ruben disappeared and the room felt like a refrigerator. As he went the two of them spoke in low voices, but they were arguing. Had Ruben done the right thing? What was the secret in the bag?

“What have you done? What have you done!!!” he swore as he entered his brother’s room. “Who do you think you are doing what you just did? With a little luck Dr.

Chicken will intervene and take the note from Monica’s hands…it’s nothing more than poison!” Standing there and looking at his brother, he tried controlling his breathing. He couldn’t hold his breath any longer and in between exhalations he suddenly remembered that it had been he who helped Enrique to take his first steps in life. That had been such a joyful moment that Ruben actually cried. Little Enrique walked a good distance with the purest laughter coming out of his mouth. Now he was still and quiet. And he wouldn’t walk again. “Why are you doing this,” Ruben asked him. “At what moment did you stop being that beautiful creature?” Just like he used to do when he was little, Ruben bent down and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “I still believe you can change.” He said. “I’ll wait until you return and together we will change what you have done, but please, if you can hear me, you have to change your attitude…change, please.” And a tear fell on Enrique’s face and Ruben wiped it away. She threw the bag against the wall. It bounced off and fell. Elizabeth tried to calm her down but Monica had lost it. She growled and cried, like a furious beast. Elizabeth couldn’t find the words to use to help her and if Monica didn’t stop this she was going to have her sedate her. She had no other choice she would have to do it for the rest of the patients and for herself. In a gesture of impatience Elizabeth said, “I really like…the book…” and Monica suddenly seemed to break down. “It’s true, it is such a beautiful story.” Monica kept crying. “I’ll leave you alone now. If you need me just call and I’ll be right here.” The hours went by while Monica lay on the floor next to the bag the young man had brought up to her. Dry and without another tear left to cry, she moved her hand close to it but felt afraid and withdrew it. After eight or nine tries she finally picked it up. Rising, she sat on the carpet with the bag between her legs. The hands on the clock were dizzy from going around. And her nose ran and fell on her blouse and her eyes were red. Finally, she pulled the envelope out which supposedly held a note. Reluctantly and carefully she opened it: Monica: I have no right to do this. Or do I? I don’t know. I have looked for your name. And because of you I am not able to sleep at night. For you and for the wellbeing of Jonas and your baby… How powerful words can be. United words that made her hands tremble. She wondered if she should read on. She did, it was inevitable: …Who am I? Ruben, the older brother of Enrique, the one who has destroyed your lives. I say this without hiding. Once said, I don’t want your forgiveness, although it would be the greatest gift that life could offer me…

The tears somehow found a way to escape again. How could she assimilate the fact that this young man named Ruben was, in fact, a person with a warm heart? Life was giving her some cruel surprises but telling her some great truths. She kept reading: .. I offer you my life, my soul, whatever you wish. But knowing you won’t want them I will give you a gift… Monica went directly for the bag, drying her eyes on the sleeve of her robe. She opened it and found inside an eraser and pencil. And, since she didn’t understand, she looked for the answer: … It is a gift from the heart. An idea I had. Don’t take it as an insult. It is an eraser and a pencil, with which I would like to erase what is written and rewrite it…Unfortunately our story has been written with permanent ink. That’s why I give you a pencil. I hope you accept it with open arms because I can’t offer you anything else. Ruben The brother of the cause of all of their misfortunes had a heart bigger than all of the citizens added together. It wasn’t his fault! And even though she felt this great hate inside of her…how brave he was to speak in his little brother’s name!

17 Golden fields

They left their shoes for anyone who might need them. They were so uncomfortable! And from there on they walked bare foot. Moses and Jonas marched placidly along on the white sands of the beach where never before, at least not in a long time, anyone had walked and doing so gave them a wonderful sensation. Talking, playing, running, they were jumping and the sand was warm and full of sea shells that held the whisper of the sea, shielded with its beach the blue and transparent waters. The boat was waiting, pulled up on the sand with its small mast and an unfurled sail that hung limply to the left. “Well then, do you want to sail?” “You bet I do!” answered Jonas. “We will sail in search of our truth!” Like child pirates or sailors they shoved off into the sea. The waves were not breaking with force so it was an easy task to get the boat back into the water. They climbed aboard and raised the sail, tying securely the ropes, just as though they were experts at the art of navigation. They limited themselves to listen and talk to each other about their business. As soon as Moses got the opportunity he told Jonas the sea they were sailing on was a sea of tears! Tears! All of the tears collected in one vast sea. This was where, according to Moses, all of the sadness and all of the happiness of mankind came to rest. “My dear friend Jonas…” he said with exaggerated reverence, as in past times. “My dear friend Moses!” he answered, copying his tone. “Would you let me take the helm awhile?” “Of course!” “Where are we heading?” “To a wheat field on the other side of the sea…remember? It’s what Enrique said! You have to help him find his brother!” “That’s right, I had forgotten!” “But listen carefully with all you attention: you still don’t know everything.” “Speak, sailor.” “As you well stated, you are aware that where we are now is not the same world we lived in before. Do you remember our airplane? Remember Paradise Avenue? Remember your tree and the Soul of the Sky? Do you remember that you are going to have a daughter or a son soon?” “That’s right, I forgot about the child. Monica is pregnant and up to her eyebrows! Bless you Moses!” “Do you remember anything else?” “Mmmmm, no.” “Let me put you up to date: Monica and your future child are physically well. You are not. The fact is, my friend, you are in very bad shape.” “Don’t tell me that, Moses…that makes me feel sad. I was so happy just a minute ago.” “It’s the truth and I think you should know it.” “So…you lied to me? I’m not going to see Monica again?” “I said you would see her again.”

“But by the look on your face, I sense I am going to die soon.” Moses turned his gaze to the body of water. “That’s not entirely the truth. I’m afraid it will have to be your decision, your choice.” “And just what does it involve?” “If you decide to give a second chance to Enrique and help him find his brother, you will see Monica but…you will die shortly afterward. You would teach a lesson that so many men and women need today. On the other hand, if you want to live, you will return with Monica and the little one, in a world that will just get sadder and more and more grey… Don’t you remember why you left the city and we made out home in a far away town?” “I said from the start that I would help him find his brother. I realize the consequences and accept them.” “I knew you’d do it! Oh Jonas, you’ve always been like that! But it won’t be easy, you still don’t know everything. Do you know who Enrique is, by chance?” “A poor little kid…” “Just a poor little kid who’s looking for his brother here in these shadows. Perhaps a young adult in Monica’s world.” “So, what’s wrong with him?” “He is very lost, Jonas. As lost as you are around here…” “And… why?” “Enrique represents everything you detest. He is arrogant, he listens to no one, he’s conceited… he’s the reflection of the plague that is sickening mankind.” “He seems like such a good person here! Well, if I can change that and find his brother, it would be well worth it but, I don’t understand why I have to die to bring hope back to people.” “It’s very simple: Enrique almost killed Monica and the baby and you, although you are still debating between life and death. It happened in a terrible car accident. If you die for him, even though no one knows it, the facts will be fixed in the winds and they will travel the land of men…Don’t you know that the plague that is sickening the world is no other but pride, not being able to forgive, and not giving in to other points of view? Do you understand what will happen if you save him? You would be forgiving the worst attitude ever seen!” Jonas let go of the rudder and the sail flapped in the wind. “Now I remember, I remember the accident,” he said very seriously. “Give my life for someone who doesn’t deserve it doesn’t make any sense.” “He will repent and you will save him! You will teach a lesson that has been lost for so long…and I tell you, when the time comes, you won’t be able to say no.” “Stop it!” Moses took three steps backwards. Jonas had suddenly aged at least fifty years all at once. He was very tired. Moses suggested that he sleep for awhile. Jonas didn’t object and lied down, like a dog would, in the bow of the boat.

***

“Help!” someone shouted far away.

Jonas awoke, curled up in the bow of the boat. He stood and, without losing his balance, studied the sea seeing far off someone splashing in the water. Was it Moses who had fallen in the water while he was sleeping? No, he was behind him, just as surprised as he was. Without thinking, Jonas dove into the transparent water. He swam toward whoever it was that was shouting and saw that it was a small boy. Without looking, he grabbed him, calmed him down and helped him swim back to the boat. Once they were both safely aboard, Moses looked happy to see who was standing there before his eyes. “You are looking well again, Jonas. You are who you are supposed to be.” And off Jonas went to see his reflection in the waters of the sea. And this is what he saw: It was him, almost forty real years old, the same he had when he left Monica. He returned his gaze to Moses and then to the boy and growled: “No, its’ you again!” The boy got up and gave him an enormous hug while he staggered from the exertion of the swim. “Thank you, I thought I was going to drown or else get eaten by a shark!” “What are you doing her, Enrique?” asked Jonas, now as an adult. “I told you to stay on the train until we found your brother.” “That’s not true!” “Yes it is.” “It is not!” “It is too!” “No!” “Yes!” “Stop it, that’s enough!” interrupted Moses. “You sound like a kid, Jonas. Just because you’re an adult doesn’t mean you are always right! What Enrique is saying is true!” “I felt like I should go with you. My brother will be mad at me. I jumped a little bit later from the mountain but it was later and I fell into the sea, not in the sand like you guys…” and he laughed as he told them this, making gestured and feeling satisfied that he had been right and Jonas wrong. “Enrique, now that we’re here: What if I don’t want to help you? What if you don’t deserve it?” “What? I’m only looking for my brother Ruben. Please! I haven’t done anything wrong! We have so many things to do and he must be furious right now because I got lost. I can’t even imagine my parents if he can’t find me! He must be about ready to explode! Would you help me find him?” There was a long pause. And Jonas, full of grace and respect, smiled in a way that the sick world needed so much. “My dear Enrique, in this life everything has to be earned! Don’t you think so?” The child nodded. “Then make fast this rope and let’s go looking!” Moses threw a look of eternal gratitude, almost rendition and admiration to Jonas. No doubt about it, he was the perfect captain...

They couldn’t see land anywhere. Enrique had climbed to the top of the mast and hanging on tightly sang a song. The ocean was the most precious place, capable of inspiration but also, capable of driving you insane. When the sea moved agitated and nervous it was because in that place the majority of tears were of sadness, anger and impotence… But they always ended up calming down again. If there was a storm, it was hate. Jonas deducted that the sum of all the water was formed by happiness and peace. Nevertheless, Moses warned him that the world was becoming more and more crazy, crazy! And the waters of the seas were more and more furious. Perhaps even common sense was lost because even the fish were migrating to other places. He told him how, on another trip, he had been lost and drifting during a long time. He almost went crazy and, during months, the sea tried to kill him. Why would the sea want to do that? “Land!” shouted Enrique. They both looked in the direction Enrique was pointing. “There it is. I can see the golden fields…it’s not more than five miles away.” said Moses. Jonas changed their heading. Enrique climbed down the mast like a monkey, happy. “Mister…Jonas?” said the boy coming to the stern. “What.” “I forgot to give you this.” From the pocket of his pants he pulled out a very wrinkled object. Jonas recognized it at once. “Your hat.” “How…? Thank……thank you.” “Thank you?” “Yes.” “You’re welcome!” and he kept singing, with enviable freedom. “I guess your friend has earned your help with his own merits, don’t you think, Jonas?” Completely surprised and against his will, he couldn’t help but let go a smile, and amazingly, without forcing it, it was an authentic smile. Then he did something he would never do in the real world. He bent down and surrounded little Enrique with his big, adult arms. “I thank you for what you have done for me without being asked to do it. I promise we will find your brother.” He didn’t care if this boy had turned into a monster, as Moses had told him. How could he possibly deny such a happy child, with vivid eyes, his help?

They got the boat to the shore as close as they could get, then jumped in the water and pulled it up on the sand. Once they had touched the sand they saw inland how great hills of golden wheat grew and here and there a tree stood in solitude. The wheat was very high and soon, between the yellow, they saw a head pop out, laugh, duck and begin running. “It’s him! It’s my brother!” Enrique shouted. “Ruben! I’m back!” and he ran desperately toward the fields. When Enrique ran into the wheat, they could barely see him as he jumped high to see where he was going. His brother, who seemed to be having a good time hiding from 88

him, was laughing and running in zigzags, playing. Neither Jonas nor Moses saw them again. Their laughter was lost in the breeze. “That’s it.” In a far away tree, silhouetted by the horizon, two boys climbed between its limbs, shouting and waving their arms. They sounded far away but they could hear what Enrique was saying. “I always knew you would help me! Thank you! Thank you very much! Thank you, thank you!” and they kept laughing. In between happiness and laughter, a breeze from the sea heading inland came and took Jonas hat. “No, no, no! Not again!” Without thinking, he ran after it but began to fly and fly. “Moses, wait for me, I’ll be right back!” He ran and ran and ran and finally his hat posed in some ones hands. Jonas knew who it was. Standing there, he looked at her incredulously. She looked at him, rocking in the breeze, and extended her hand toward him. At last their paths had crossed again. When Jonas felt Monica’s touch he felt that he vanished.

18 Where are you?

It had been forty-five days since Jonas was hospitalized. Monica was beginning to tolerate the situation, more now that Elizabeth helped her to see her future full of possibilities and the support she had from Susan. In the end, Elizabeth had turned out to be a true friend that she had judged as poorly as Jonas had his tree. In the early morning she sat in front of a blank notebook, pencil and eraser in hand, and couldn’t write anything down. It didn’t work, taking those imperfect thoughts from her mind and sending them to her hand. After spending two hour thinking about this gift Ruben had given her, she saw that deep down his present was running over with good intentions. Erase what was written? It was a difficult task knowing as she did and as Ruben had said in his letter that it had been written in permanent ink. His valuable action had made Monica change her point of view. How brave he had been! It was impossible to look at Ruben as a barbarian when, in truth, he wasn’t. On the other hand was Enrique, who she hadn’t had a chance to know yet. Susan had been there that morning but had to go back to work, but she confessed that she had already talked to Ruben and that he was an excellent person. When Monica told her about the gift he had given her, Susan got choked up. Bored, she went to the cafeteria and there between the tables sat Ruben. Could this be destiny? After a few minutes and seeing that he avoided looking at her and acted like he hadn’t seen her, she walked over to his table and sat down as he stirred his coffee. “Look.” she said. She pulled the notebook out of her pocket before a perplexed Ruben. She put on the table and opened it to the first page. “It’s blank.” he said in a low voice. “Of course it is. I’m lacking ideas.” “And?” Monica put her hand in her pocket again and pulled out the pencil and the eraser. She looked at him and pushed them across the table to him. “I am incapable of writing a new story… do you think you could begin it for us? Us? And Ruben smiled, incredulous, taking the pencil and posing it softly over the virgin paper. “Ruben,” she said meanwhile, “Where did you want me to write a new story if all that you gave me was an eraser and a pencil? It was an incomplete gift!” He couldn’t think of anything to say. It was true. Beside the fact that he was infinitely grateful for what Monica was doing, he still felt very ashamed. But, without doubting anything, he began to write: “The morning was as cold as all the rest had been. To me, men are less and less men and women too. The coffee tried to replace the warmth that my body had lost. And when there was nothing left to hope for she arrived. She looked at me and has let me write in her notebook the new words that express that there is still good in people…” Monica read it. When she reached the end her eyes shifted from the notebook to Ruben. They looked at each other. “You have nothing to be forgiven about…”

“Monica, I…” he quickly interjected. “Shhh…” she shushed him, making him be quiet, “I can’t forgive you because you have no blame.” “Oh yes, don’t you see? I’m his older brother and if I would have been stronger and not let him get off the track like he did, none of this would have happened.” “Your grief does no good now Ruben, nor does feeling sorry, tell me about your brother.” “Enrique? Well, as he went through adolescence I lost track of him. The new Enrique doesn’t have words in my dictionary to describe him. That’s how he became. Neither my parents or me could do anything with him.” “Why haven’t your parents come?” “They’re coming this afternoon, finally. And only because Enrique is in coma.” “It’s about time. It does no good looking the other way.” I think they are incapable of assimilating the truth. Can I ask you something?” “Yes.” “If by some gift from heaven, my brother awoke from coma, changed his attitude and asked you to forgive him, could you? If he didn’t recognize his mistakes I would understand if you didn’t, he seems to be an animal now, but if he became the kid I used to know, could you?” “You can’t ask me that. It’s an impossible wish. You can’t…” “I understand.” “Thank you.” “Thank you for taking this step, Monica.” Then she took the eraser and undid the last words that Ruben had written that said: “and has let me write in her notebook the new words that express there is still good in people…” and she wrote: “and she let me write in her notebook the new words that will show to all of those who are willing to see, that good still prevails and is reborn constantly in people who dedicate their lives to demonstrate this to those who put it in doubt…” “The eraser is here for something, isn’t it?” and then, in an act of eternal understanding, they gave each other a hug of reconciliation. How wonderful it was to be able to erase and rewrite the story between two people! “This is Jonas,” said Monica to Ruben as she held tightly the hand of the future father of her child. “Now you tell me if I can or cannot forgive your brother.” “Of course you can…actually, you should…” said a weak voice. Jonas voice and Rubens heart froze. In the bed, Jonas tried to open his eyes as though someone had pasted them shut with glue and his voice was dry and came out in spurts. His first words were incoherent, caused by his delirium, and he said he had been on a train, on a sea of tears and that he was thirsty and the sand and the salt made his whole body itch. Monica wept, breathless and Ruben held his until finally he came to and went to look for a nurse who immediately called the doctor. After a long time listening to Jonas hallucinations, Monica tried to calm him down. “Jonas, the important thing is that you came back! You came back!” To the surprise of all those around him, Jonas opened his eyes and gave his beloved a kiss and asked her how the baby was. He was happy to see many of his favourite books surrounding him. Then he looked directly at Ruben.

“Are you, then, Enrique’s brother?” Nurses, doctors and all present were dumfounded. There were murmurs of stupor. “Ah, yes.” “Good, that’s just what I thought. He’s a good kid, Enrique. He sure knows how to smile! He saved my hat for me!” “Jonas, he…” Monica began to say. “Yes, I know. He was the cause our accident. And? I’ve told you he’s a good kid, even though he used to be a monster. He has changed? Has he found you yet?” “What?” asked Ruben, not giving credit to anything the words being spoken. One of the doctors beepers began to sound: “the patient in 227 has awakened!” Ruben realized immediately what was happening and looked at Jonas who was smiling. “You’re finally going to find the brother you lost so long ago… hurry!” Half the people on the floor ran to the crazy elevator with him. “My beloved Monica, how are you?” he took his weak hand to her tortured face and touched with the same tenderness as when they met. “I thought you would never…” “Don’t cry, please.” “These are happy tears!” “Then cry, of course! Did I tell you my hat blew away? And you know I always follow it…it brought me back to you. And, here I am!” “You have had some beautiful dreams…” “They weren’t dreams…! It was another world, I was with Moses!” “Our Moses?” “Yes. He was a boy. I left him sitting in the sand and I told him I would be right back…” The doctors kept checking and doing their tests while the two of them talked with no worries. Everything, apparently, was in order and in the right place. Now there was a lot to talk about.

19 Jonas Truth

The male nurse that was on duty when Enrique woke informed that he came out of the coma crying. “Crying?” asked one of the doctors with the worst reputation in the hospital, not due to his professionalism but due to his bad character and enormous stature. He had a first and last name just like everyone else: Don Miguel Toro, the Don being imperative in the centre as well as out. The male nurse didn’t do anything else but insist and insist in this, making sure it was noticed how much it pained him to do so. Reluctantly and with his brow arched, Don Miguel Toro admitted it. At the moment, Enrique stared absently at the crooked painting on the wall. His eyes were vacant as they ran their tests on him. Then he did nothing more than ask for his brother Ruben so many times until he finally walked in the room. They looked at each other and immediately Ruben saw the same eyes but with a different light. Oh! Was Jonas right? He wasn’t sure and had to find out: “How are you?” he asked, his face wet with tears. “Getting along. Ruben…I…” “What?” “Eh…I…” “Yes.” “Shit, why is it so hard to say things sometimes? I…am sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. No…” “It’s alright…shhh…take it easy, I’m here and everything is going to be alright. OK? Everything will be just fine!” Ruben surrounded him and Enrique raised one of his arms. “Mobility in the upper left extremity.” said the nurse. Feeling the hand on his back, Ruben felt infinitely grateful. “You smell of…country…and…of salt water…where have you been you rascal?” Enrique laughed. “It was a long trip in train and by boat. I owe it all to Jonas. He helped me, giving up his own road so that I could find mine…” “Did you say…Jonas?” He nodded. The medical staff, all being careful and prudent in the presence of Don Miguel Toro, were terrified. They made as many connections as possible between the two stories and wrote notes as rapidly as they could. Why do you think a doctor’s hand writing is always illegible? They have always had to do it agilely and swiftly. There is just too much information that can escape you if you aren’t fast! So this happened: Don Miguel Toro wrote down some prescriptions to be delivered immediately. Where they were to be delivered was written on the paper. And he flew down the hospital aisles.

For the moment and until Enrique recovered, by the advice of Dr. Elizabeth Chicken, the matter of the car accident was not to be mentioned. It was temporary taboo. It would be dealt with later with all of its consequences.

Ruben listened carefully to all of the stories his little brother told him, as though he was talking about an adventure book. “Do you think what you’re telling me can be true?” “True or not, he made me see what I was. And what I should be from now on.” “Tell me more about Jonas…” “Ruben…” he said with expectant eyes. “You would have loved to meet him! I have to tell you that I was just a little boy and when I fell from the top of a planet to another, because Jonas promised to help me look for you, I fell into a huge ocean. There I stayed, floating around and listening to a fish that wanted to eat Jonas and was swimming in circles around me. You should have seen the size of that fish, Ruben! And he told me he would use me as bait to catch Jonas and he lied to me saying that he would save me. I cried a lot and tried not to believe him and then I saw a boat coming. It was Jonas! The fish was right! I shouted for a long time desperately and told him not to come close, it was a trap, but do you think he would listen? He jumped in and saved me. Later I saw it way down under the boat but the fish didn’t do anything, luckily. Ruben had been listening sitting in the far left end of Enrique’s bed. “That story you just told me is hard to believe that it really could have happened.” “I know, but it was so real!” “The surprising part is that there are similarities…do you know who Jonas is?” “I just told you! He’s the man that took me to the wheat fields so I could find you!” “He’s also the man from the car you crashed against and made go into coma. He came out of it two minutes before you did.” Enrique felt a though his world shook. There was a real Jonas! And on top of that, he had decided to save him, even though he was the one who had sent him there in the first place. At least he had returned and hadn’t stayed in that world… In all of this havoc Ruben and Enrique’s parents had shown up at this temporary new home of their children. They brought with them a freezing cold silence. They said nothing. His parents were broken and they came wanting a confrontation with the before-the-coma Enrique. Knowing what was going to happen, Enrique made an enormous effort, aided by a valuable and nonexistent Jonas. “Before any accusations and before you say anything at all, I want to say a couple of thing to you: The first, I need your forgiveness and I am truly sorry for having put you through so much. Thank you for coming. I need you both now more than ever. The second: I am completely aware of all the damage I have caused and I am solely responsible for repairing it. I will give every drop of my blood until I run dry. And the third: my life now, after I finish this sentence, will be of total commitment to those that surround me. I was so arrogant and cruel and I really am sorry…” “And also insensitive and a complete dumb-ass,” said his father, his voice choked with emotion. “Yes.” “Well, at least you accept that you have done wrong.” “Yes.” “Well then let’s start from here, Enrique.” The Dr. Elizabeth came into the room and introduced herself. His parents greeted her with gratitude and soon she had filled them in. She told them everything that had happened up until then and everything that could happen from this point on. They returned to the taboo she had imposed until after the storm blew over.

20 The fine line between objective and subjective The omnipresent, the nickname that they called Dr. Elizabeth Chicken had, in reality, a good explanation: she was everywhere at the same time! But since it is an attribute you should use only when speaking of God, she at least tried, and sometimes almost achieved it. There was a legend running through the hallways of the hospital that she had been seen on two different wings at the same time. That was the way the patients told it: “She was with me at 2:34,” said one. “Impossible, that’s the time she was with me!” But, who could believe any of them when they spent the day taking pills capable of making you believe you were a bird? “I could sketch a countless number of personalities for you,” confessed the almost omnipresent Elizabeth. “Until I began to listen to Monica’s stories and, if I may say so, I was right! It would be hard not to be!” “And just what did she tell you?” “Everything!” Elizabeth said while Monica covered her eyes and pretended to repent. “Well then, how embarrassing!” Jonas said from the bed. Monica laughed, sitting next to him. Since he had awakened from the coma she had been so quiet that she didn’t seem like herself, soldier who had battled against unimaginable tempests. “Here,” said Elizabeth, handing over the book that Monica had lent her. “I finished it quite some time ago so I reread it three times.” Jonas saw the cover of the book. The Little Prince! Suddenly he was back on the desert sand with Antoine de Saint-Exupéry, his kite, quiet as always. “During the time I have been absent, and in the time it took me to get back here to you, I have been with the author.” Elizabeth and Monica, though trying not to, exchanged worried looks. “Tell me more things that you remember, tell me everything.” Elizabeth said now acting like a doctor, notebook in hand. “The Sun King flew his kite. He told me his secrets for writing a good book, something I would never dare to do.” “Who else did you meet?” “My parents and my grandparents, although they were children and I didn’t recognize them.” “Really?” Little by little, Jonas told them all of the details of his journey. Who he had been with, what he had felt, heard, etc., etc… Elizabeth wrote down random words and suddenly Jonas stopped, realizing where he was and who he was talking to. How slow and what few reflexes he was showing. He would have to leave to one side his innocence and try to infect them with the stench of incredibility. “Elizabeth, you don’t believe a word I’m telling you, is that not correct?” “Of course I do.” “Come on, I am completely aware of the fact that everything I am telling you is far from being comprehensible in our reality, but everything I have told you is true. Is it really that hard to believe?”

“Yes. I’m not going to try and fool you, Jonas. A train? A sea? Saint-Exúpre? It was a dream! You can’t convince me that it was real!” “Do you believe in God?” he asked. “Yes,” she said with not even a blink of doubt. “And isn’t He like a dream, perhaps? Tell me is it hard for you to believe in Him?” “I have days.” “We all have those days. I don’t believe in the God that everyone talks about. And I still don’t know if there is a real One. But there definitely is Something there that guides us.” “I suppose so.” “Being that you are not interested in what I am telling you, you tell me the facts about my case and let’s analyze what has happened in the most real manner possible, as you like things. In other words, Doctor, let’s talk objectively.” She picked up her notebook and began to flip through the pages, finally finding what she was looking for. “Alright: There have been a series of surprising coincidences, although they are perfectly justifiable: a) You have spoken to us about Ruben. An unknown person to you. b) You have spoken to us about Enrique. Another unknown person. c) You have related them as brothers. d) You identify Enrique as the cause of your accident. e) You both came out of your comas at the same time. f) You both talk about contexts, situations and scenery that are similar. An amazing fact. g) Enrique maintains that you led him to his brother and that was why he came out of hits coma. At this moment, 13:49, we can justify the following: 1. The happenings in a, b, c and d acquirement of information while you, the patient were in coma. 2. The events in e could be fruit of coincidence, stranger things have been put on file. 3. The events in f and g are, at the moment, completely unjustifiable. We must insist on these. Simply because it is impossible to explain how two patients who are related through one event, isolated on different floors of the hospital and have never met, can have the

same delusions. Here we will look at the relationship between the people that spent time with the patients to see if they talked the same things to induce this type of dream.” “Neither of trains or boats have I talked to Jonas,” interrupted Monica, without letting go of his hand for even a moment. “But you did read him books and among them was The Little Prince that speaks to us of the desert, of children and he even met Antoine Saint-Exupéry!”

“It has never been proven that people who are in coma can listen to those around them. A friend of mine told me that, right?” as she remembered her friend Esther, the Hobbit. Jonas, quiet, let the two of them go on with their discussion of what was true and what was considered a delirium. “I lived it. I don’t want to hear another word about it. If you want to treat me like I’ve gone crazy, go ahead! Crazy I am! But soon it will be proven that what I say is true, whether you like it or not.” Monica, who had stood up, let herself down in the chair as though she weighed three times more than her weight and Elizabeth crossed her arms with her notebook tight against her chest, like she always did when she felt defeated by some situation. “Navigating on the Sea of Tears, Moses explained everything to me and I made a decision.” Thinking that this was still part of Jonas dream, they didn’t pay too much attention to what he was saying. He told them that on his path he came across a young boy who asked him to help him find his brother. That boy was Enrique. “Enrique, second floor, a child?” “Yes, he was a child.” “I’ll write that down” “Moses told me that after I saved Enrique and after having come back to Monica in the real world, I would die, but he didn’t say when. But to be able too save him, being conscious that he almost killed us, and give him that second chance to find his brother, would give to men, women, children and old people a new hope!” “And if you said no?” “I would come back, but there is little left of our world. We have been walking around lost for so long! Don’t you think it is possible to save these people and at the same time give Monica and my child and even you Elizabeth, a new living world?” “A beautiful present…but it isn’t real. Do you understand, Jonas?” “I understand…”and he became silent, his head turned toward Monica, resting on the pillow. “”Crazy I am and crazy in your eyes…I want to sleep, I’m very tired, very, very tired.”

***

Just like a child he slept. Elizabeth and Monica had talked for almost an hour outside his room in the hallway of the hospital, without making any headway, but Elizabeth, who loved objectivity, was holding back information: she had a secret! They tried to act objectively while talking to Jonas, that was why Monica had been so quiet and let Elizabeth do most of the work. They tried to get Jonas away from all strange and subjective thinking in his mind, they wanted him to be sane, but he was sane! Now the balance leaned toward what Jonas had told them. Those fantasies of children! Were they only silly tales or, perhaps, real? Thoughtfully, Elizabeth took one step and said, “Monica.” “What’s wrong Elizabeth?” “I haven’t told you everything. We found sand… sand from the beach! It was in Jonas’ bed and also in Enrique’s!” “Sand?” “The same that they both talked about. It’s either a joke in very bad taste or we accept what Jonas is telling us, that he has returned to eradicate the plague of evilness so that we can live in a better world.” “Do you know what you’re saying? If we accept that then we accept that he will die!” “And that is the strange thing. He is completely healthy. There is nothing abnormal.” “Then, my dear Elizabeth, objectivity wins over subjectivity. Let’s not worry about something that is not going to happen!” The elevators doors opened and out stepped Susan, distractedly. She walked toward the two of them who were still standing by the door outside Jonas room. “Boy, the hospital is really busy today,” she said looking in the doorway at Jonas and saw him sleeping like always. “It has been the craziest day. I don’t know what the hell is wrong with everyone but I spent all day selling tranquilizers…” Monica, waving her arms said, “There is news around here!” “What happened? Wait, your eyes…no!” “Yes!” shouted Monica, “he finally woke up!” “Thank God! And so, how is he?” “Just like always… he’s just himself. It is marvellous, the same old Jonas! More alive than ever!”

21 The Great Promise Jonas made so many friends in the two weeks at the hospital! He was the centre of attention for the nurses, the doctors, the sick, the visitors of the sick… thanks to his stories and his positive way of thinking about life. Better put, the way he envisioned life. Still in bed, although visibly recovered, people tried to get into his room to listen to him. They all sat around in big groups on the floor, some standing, and some outside by the door, in the hallway. He had left all of the problems behind, which, according to Jonas didn’t even exist, we created them ourselves. True or not, it had allowed him to walk upon a road of burning coals without getting a single burn. The proof of this was when a lawyer showed up and wanted to know if he was interested in a nice sum of money and becoming a millionaire at other people’s expense, Jonas answered that he wasn’t interested. Why not? Asked the lawyer who was dressed like a lawyer? He had all the right to collect that indemnification! Plus he had everything on his side to win. No, insisted Jonas. I don’t need that money but I sense that you do, but I do thank you very much just the same for your interest.

Very soon he would be allowed to go home. A woman named Augusta, who had been admitted for a heart attack, believed everything that Jonas had told her, and one afternoon when there were many people in the room asked if he would show her the tree that he talked about so much. ”I always wanted to do something crazy like you did. Let myself go with the smell of the rain or the wind. Just silly things like that…” she pointed out. “Yes, but what would the people around you think?” asked a doctor who stood with his arms crossed. “That I’d gone mad, no doubt!” she answered. “That’s for sure!” said an old man and they all laughed. “Jonas, will you invite us all to see your tree then?” Augusta asked again. “Of course, if Monica doesn’t have any object…” “It will be an enchanting afternoon!” Monica cut in. “Wait and see! We can have a snack in the yard.” Another doctor came in the room accompanied by Don Miguel Toro, the two of them very serious. The last of the two ordered everyone out of the room: “Stop all of this foolishness and empty the room. We can’t work in these conditions. Get out now, hurry up!” And little by little the room became empty and all that were left were Monica, Jonas, Susan, the two doctors and Elizabeth Chicken. The doctors were very puzzling when you tried to see the truth in there faces, but Elizabeth showed an unbreakable truth on hers. Jonas knew what they were going to say but Monica didn’t, or was trying to hide from it. “Jonas,” said Don Miguel Toro, breaking the coldness of the circumstances. “I’m going to die, I know that.” “How can you be so damned serene at a moment like this?” asked Don Miguel. “Don’t talk like that.” criticized one of the nurses under his command. “I can’t understand it. How do you do it?” “It’s a stage in our life, or that’s what my father taught me.” “It’s death we’re talking about, no less!”

“Are you afraid of death, Doctor? You treat it on a daily basis!” “Really, thinking about it, I guess not. Suffering, perhaps, yes.” “Death doesn’t make people sad.” “Oh, no?” “It’s what death causes around us, on a normal level. Death saddens us all, because those like us die. And there is no way to understand it!” Don Miguel Toro arched an eyebrow, like he always did, and decided not to say anything, at least for the moment. Meanwhile, the nurse that had criticized Don Miguel and knowledgeable about Jonas stories, was helping Elizabeth fan Monica, who was on the floor, unconscious. The tears of both of them were inevitable and when Monica came to she felt Elizabeth’s tears falling on her face. “Is Jonas going to die?” she asked and Elizabeth nodded once, affirming the sentence. She barely could get up and sit down on the seat next to his bed. She looked at him. “That doesn’t seem reasonable or just; why did you accept this pact? Why does it have to be your life in exchange for Enrique’s?” “Ma’am, don’t play his game…” scolded Don Miguel. “Silence!” interjected Elizabeth. “I have already told you: humanity needs to go back to its roots. Smell the rain. Listen to the wind and even if this seems absurd to you, be a little better with our neighbours and even believe in the good of those unknown people around us, forget a little about money and the problems we love to create for ourselves.” “Foolishness, Jonas, foolishness!” Monica said and left the room angrily. “When you want to talk about the real world and your son, our lives, let me know and I’ll come back!” Silence. And Don Miguel Toro spoke, breaking Elizabeth’s order, supporting Monica and trying to get Jonas, (the strangest patient he’d ever had), to come around to reality. “What you are trying to prove to us won’t happen, Jonas. Do you really still believe in those childish stories? For the good of your last few days, Peter Pan, come back to the world with us or you will die alone and very sad.” “Go back to your roots, doctor. See how wonderful you can feel.”

***

The news of Jonas impending death ran through the hospital like a wildfire. Why? Why did this have to happen? He said it would and it did! People didn’t have the right words to say but they thought about these things, ridiculous questions that made them feel lost and sad. Each time he heard them, Don Miguel Toro told them to be quiet, that the hospital needed order and peace for the good of its patients. But even so, they entered his room to visit with him with a million questions to ask but upon seeing him they would break down and cry. Jonas always told them that he hoped they would be able to come to see his tree and please to not forget the date. Then, some of them would smile. How easy it was to smile! After many arguments with the patients in the hospital, Don Miguel Toro finally had to close Jonas room so that no one could enter. He put a guard outside the door. Jonas touched Monica’s tummy, during a parenthesis when they were alone.

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“You’re a little bit heavier.” She made a gesture of defeat. “I have a feeling we’re going to have a girl.” She still didn’t answer. “Monica, listen, if you doubt what I’ve told you, then you can’t blame me for dying because it is all a fantasy and being a fantasy, that decision has never taken place.” “The problem is that I believe you. And I don’t think it’s fair. You are going to leave us alone, without you. What are we going to do?” “Well, you know I would never leave you…” he said, touching her face, “you’ll feel my presence all of your life…” “You’re words are so easy… and who is going to guarantee me that you’ll be there?” “I’ll be there.” “Moses told you once, that if you stayed here, the world would go on in the same direction and…” “Yes, Monica, all of the worst things you can imagine will happen. Hatred grows, fed by the animosity that breeds daily among us. We have forgotten our truth. Our tree has lost its roots, how can it possibly stand without falling?” “And with your gesture all of these things will change?” “Yes, but it will be difficult. People will have to work very hard to achieve it. The truths about the change will be like seeds with the hope that man will plant them. Then the rain will fall…” “I understand. Now about the accident; all of this didn’t just happen by chance?” “I don’t know. Moses did tell me that what we did with the tree and with our lives left a mark…” “Who would have told me back then when I was working under the orders of greed and I saw you leave with a plant under your arm that you would one day change the course of he world?” “I won’t change anything. It will be the people, you’ll see.” And at that moment, without asking permission or knocking on the door, Augusta rushed in, dodging the guard. She hugged Jonas and Monica and she looked at them both then left running with the same energy as she had come in with. “Look how happy you have made a whole hospital. They admire you.” “And you too.” “So, you think I look fat?” she asked with a wink, standing up. “It’s becoming very obvious, our baby!” “Do you think it will be a boy?” “Yes.” “What will we name it if she’s a girl?” “I love your mother’s name.” “And if he’s a boy?” “Ruben.” “Ruben?” Monica understood him as soon as she finished her question. Jonas and his infinite gratitude! “That beautiful story you told me about Ruben and the pencil and the eraser…what imagination! The truth is that he did the impossible to ask forgiveness for his brother. He did more to change what is written than all of the pride in the city in a whole year! He deserves it.”

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***

After knocking and receiving permission, Elizabeth entered. She walked over and gave both Monica and Jonas a kiss on the cheek. She asked them how they were and they told her a half truth. She explained as best as she could about the sickness that Jonas was suffering, its causes and symptoms, what to expect. They understood little, if nothing, just the fact that little by little he would begin to lose consciousness until he had an overall arrest. “You could die here, but I imagine that’s not the way you want to do things. Am I wrong?” Jonas face lit up. “I want to die at home, looking out the window at my tree, next to Monica, you and Susan.” “There will be no problem with that.” “Good, then not another word about it until the time comes.” “Your wish is my command.” responded Elizabeth. “Wait. I have to ask the two of you one favour.” “What?” the two women asked in unison. “Your job, Elizabeth, will be none other than convincing Monica, the day Enrique comes to her to ask for forgiveness.” “That will never happen. He will never come to see me,” said Monica. “Believe me, he will, that’s precisely why I saved his life. But you don’t want to forgive him, Monica. I know you don’t and that is why I’m asking Elizabeth to help you find the courage necessary.” “You are asking too much,” Monica answered, “I’m tired.” “I have told you what will happen after I die and it doesn’t depend on me, it depends on persons, and everything will begin at the moment you accept to forgive him, from your heart. Do you hear me? If not, I will have died in vain.” “I’ll help her,” reassured Elizabeth. “Believe it or not, Jonas, we have already talked about this subject at length.” But Monica didn’t want to follow the conversation and turned her head away. “Let’s stop talking about this, it makes me sad!”

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22 The road ends the Same Way for Everyone He coughed. And that cough brought nothing good with it, like the train that pulled the cars of his life behind him. Jonas was more and more tired and it took a great effort to keep the tone of his voice lively like it had always been. He left the hospital after signing some papers so that he could go home to spend his last few days free from responsibilities. This afternoon of a recently arrived spring, many people were coming to see him. He wanted to be there and would make, against Monica and Elizabeth’s wishes, one last effort to be in the yard. Among other things, Jonas didn’t separate himself from the leaf from his tree: Monica, who had been collecting the relevant things in Jonas life, had kept the leaf that Jonas had enclosed in the note he gave to her so long ago when it was no more than a bush. She gave it to Jonas, protected in plastic. He admired what she had done and walked around with the leaf in his hand, proudly, as if it were the greatest of treasures. People began to arrive, walking from the village and Jonas asked Monica and Elizabeth to help him be seated in the wheelchair. He was just like a little boy waiting to open a present and, why not say it, very moved by the fact that so many people had come to see him. They were outside walking around in the yard, waiting for him, hundreds of them admiring his tree. They knew which one it was without asking, being that he had described it to them so many times in his stories. It was the largest and most beautiful in the whole garden! One surprising event happened: Augusta opened her way through the crowd and walked up to him, carrying a flower pot with a little tree in it. It looked so much like the one in the poem! “It’s not too late yet,” she said, “I still have time to see it grow. It’s better late than never!” Jonas nodded and thanked everyone for coming to tell him goodbye. Some didn’t have the courage to step up and speak to him. It was so hard! And one of those people, who had proved to be very brave in many other situations but at this time couldn’t find the strength, was Ruben. Silent, he stood under Jonas tree, looking at the Soul of the Skies. People began to leave. Ruben remained under the tree. They took Jonas back indoors where you could see him lying in a bed near the window that looked out over the yard. Night fell and Ruben continued in the same place, as though his feet had become stuck to the ground. Susan went outside with him. Ruben didn’t notice she was coming until she spoke and he felt her presence. “Monica and Jonas insisted that I come out to see you. They want me to thank you. Why you will have to imagine.” Ruben stuck his hands in his pockets and, remembering Monica asked, “Do they know yet if it is going to be a boy or a girl?” “No, they want to wait until it is born.” As hard as he tried to keep his emotions in line, he couldn’t help but explode. “Why does he have to die, Susan? Would you please tell me WHY?” And he clung to her, digging his nails in her back. The pain in our soul seems to manifest itself in such ways! Susan didn’t answer him at first, she just hugged him and then said, “You came in search for a second chance and you have received his gratitude.”

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Both of them were silent now, under the whisper of the evening breeze until they wee shocked by a terrified scream. “Susan!” shouted Monica from inside the house. And only once or twice do they call you like that in a lifetime. Ruben and Susan ran toward the house.

***

It was the end of Jonas. “Monica,” he said in short gasps. “I’m here,” she answered while she caressed his sweaty and cold forehead, having as witnesses in the shadows Susan, Elizabeth and Ruben. “So many things have happened… and… we have done.” “Yes.” “I have imagined this moment so many times. Do you know what the only thing I wanted was when death came?” “What?” “To have someone like you holding my hand and that way it doesn’t hurt… it doesn’t hurt… Monica, the time has come for me to go back with Moses! I will have to cross the Sea of Tears!” “Shhh… don’t raise your voice.” Monica’s face hardened, assuming what this meant, whether it was truth or fantasy. “Are you ready?” she asked, with the hardness of a rock. “Yes. I’m sorry I won’t be here for…” he coughed with difficulty, “for… when the baby comes into this world.” “Don’t worry. He will come into a world that he deserves. And I will talk to him about you as if you were real.” “Thank you.” “No, thank you.” “You will be a good mother, just as you have been a good partner in… battles… life, our battle…” He couldn’t finish the sentence. He simply seemed to submerge into a wonderful dream. They thought he was dead, but Elizabeth told them he had lost consciousness and that all they could do now was to wait. The four, brokenly, awaited the outcome.

***

He was still breathing at 5:33 in the morning, but weaker and farther away. One could imagine looking at Jonas, that one forms part of the planet Earth where there is noise and turmoil. When one dies they fly, elevating and swimming through space, where there is nothing more than silence and tranquillity. Once one had cleaned themselves of all impurities, one would fall again to the planet that they are part of and be transformed into other things, to give continuity to life. Their eyelids were as heavy as their souls, which they could hardly keep open due to their mortal bodies. The crickets got tired of singing.

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The sun came out and lit the fields, the church, the lake and the trees and its light came in, little by little, to the room. The rays advanced along the floor as though someone had spilled a bucket of water, but much slower, until they touched their bodies. Then, after a few minutes when they began to warm things, exactly at that instant, Jonas stopped breathing. How could it be so simple? Could cruelty be so simple, like a sweet kiss, a slap from reality? Did all of this have a double meaning? Seeing him in the bed, held by Monica’s sobs, his face peaceful, was a lesson in life. Monica didn’t let go of his hand until it became cold and she realized her truth, and the truth of everyone. Ruben cried with Elizabeth and Susan, but they were silent sobs. “Well,” said Monica, trying to smile, “we will hope that he really does reunite with Moses…” And even though he was gone, he proudly clutched the leaf in his hand.

***

Jonas ashes fell under his tree. Others were scattered over the cliff and were blow into the lake. Others were born away on the wind, going wherever. It was complicated to see that a person can be reduced to so little. All of the ideas of a lifetime, all of the love given… a little and a lot at the same time. It seems a paradox but there were few ashes and many, Jonas, at the same time. This was the way he wanted it and all they did was follow out his wishes.

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23 And the baby came and with him, forgiveness He was in a rush to come to the world! He kept pushing, regardless Monica’s efforts to slow him down, the baby wanted out. And right now! Monica was received in a hospital that she knew very well. During her times of rebellion and hate and also the strong woman she had demonstrated that she was. “It’s her first baby and it’s coming three weeks early!” said one of the nurses. And, of course, the almost omnipresent Elizabeth accompanied her, holding her hand, to the delivery room and Susan was there to whisper words of encouragement. The elevator, after a good work-over, had stopped being crazy and its female voice eliminated. So many people had protested, using the complaint sheets: How could a hospital possibly have a crazy elevator? To which some one answered: it takes nuts down and it takes nuts up. And being nuts is contagious… She pushed and pushed and pushed and pushed and on top of this, Dr. Miguel Toro told her to push some more… but the pain was soon gone when she heard the wailing rebounding off the delivery room walls. But the crying stopped after only two seconds. Had something gone wrong? The baby was quiet and they thought it had died. It didn’t breath, never the less it wasn’t so. In the arms of a nurse it was, peaceful and silent. “It’s a boy, Monica, a boy…” “A boy…” Prudently, the nurse asked, “And you will name him after…?” “No. Jonas no, we both decided his name will be Ruben:” And everyone who knew Jonas story were speechless, relating this to the truth. Even the expressionless eyes of Dr. Toro held proud tears that he tried to hide.

***

Later on, in the room, Monica, Elizabeth and Susan took turns holding the baby and giving him warmth. “Hello, Ruben.” said Monica. “Hello.” answered Ruben. The three of them turned. It was Ruben who was still living at the hospital. His brother was in rehab in another building. “I heard about your birth and came at once:” “Come over here and look at him!” Monica said with enthusiasm. He came over, close to the crib, and saw a little thing with wrinkled legs, peacefully sleeping. “What are you going to name him?” “After you.” “What, Ruben?” “Of course! What do you expect? We have so many things to write, grab some paper and begin!” “I…thought you would call him Jonas.”

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“Jonas and I decided. You did something that nobody would have done in that situation, and with your gesture, we hope to have a child as honourable as you.” He only said thank you while he caressed the delicate skin of the newborn.

***

In one year, Ruben was able to stand with help. His eyes never stopped scrutinizing and studying everything. One of the things about him that astonished many was his capacity to laugh. He must have had a huge space inside. Neither the mathematicians nor the physics were capable of justifying his laughter in proportion to his body. It was autumn but the leaves had decided to wait longer that other years and now were lazily falling. Susana, Elizabeth and Monica were lying on the grass in the yard, talking and laughing with Ruben and another child whose name was Andrew. Susan was taking care of him for a friend at work. At a distance, by the entrance to the house, two men, one in a wheelchair and the other helping him, were looking at them. The one in the wheelchair came forward alone, down the path that led to the yard. The other, Ruben, stayed back.

The three knew who it was immediately: Enrique. Everything that Jonas had predicted would happen was happening. Elizabeth looked sharply at Monica and said, “Remember what you promised. We are going to leave you alone with him so do what you should. They left her alone. They rest of them all went inside the house. Andrew cried but Ruben laughed, and soon the wails were replaced by the contagious laughter. Enrique advanced over the grass with difficulty but managed to roll his wheelchair over to where Monica was standing. She didn’t know what gesture to make and her mouth was completely dry. “Just remember it was for him that the accident happened and for him that Jonas died.” she made herself remember. She studied him over and it seems as though she had rehearsed this moment a million time in her head. He was much younger than she ever imagined and the look in his eyes was sad and broken. “Monica…” “Yes? It seems clear that’s me, right?” “I don’t know where to start…it was…it was all my fault.” “I already know that.” she responded rudely. “I’m sorry Jonas died for me…he decided that…” “At least you’re admitting that you killed him.” “Yes. And I need you to forgive me…it was a mistake I made…” The moment had come but for Monica it seemed impossible and she turned her back on Enrique. She did it to hide her misfortune and to not give him the opportunity to ask for the second chance he was begging for. “Please, don’t turn your back on me! I can’t carry this load!” Monica walked away from him, didn’t even look at him, and didn’t say a word to justify her behaviour. “I beg you, please!” She walked away slowly, with a funeral step.

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His wheelchair got stuck in a hole in the yard, stopping him from moving forward. Then something incredible happened. Enrique let his body slip out and onto the ground and he dragged himself, thanks to the strength in his arms, digging his nails in the ground, and pulling his inert legs behind him. “I can’t leave…I won’t leave. I was wrong…I was wrong!” She kept moving forward, listening. And he went after her. The image was, in any other situation, grotesque and brittle and Monica would be looked upon very poorly in the eyes of any stranger who happened to be watching. But she wasn’t aware that Enrique slithered, calling her name. “Stop!” And Monica did, not because he told her to but because there was something chilling in his voice. She held her breath and turned around, her hands clenched into fists by her side. She was astonished to see Enrique squirming after her down on the ground. Even so, she still couldn’t do it. A feeling of dread filled her. She ran to the house and up the stairs to her room and locked the door. She threw herself on the bed. A few minutes went by, then a few hours, then the hours began to add up until they became exactly two days. Exactly forty-eight hours Monica remained wrapped in the sheets that were impregnated with Jonas smell. Enrique remained lying on the grass, in the same spot she had left him. He wouldn’t let anyone help him. He would not leave until he was forgiven and if it was necessary he would die in the yard, yes he would. They were two eternal days. Monica, finally, yielded through pity and weariness and she went to the kitchen for a glass of water for Enrique. She went out to the yard and the young man, weakly turned over on his back and looked up at her. She stooped down to where he was and put the glass of water to his lips. She above, he below, they looked at each other. Was this, perhaps, the perfect time to pull out the eraser? Wasn’t this what Ruben had been talking about? After taking two painful sips, somewhere up in the sky Monica saw something flying. It came born on the wind with a certain aura of magic around it, and it landed in the top of Jonas tree, as if it were dancing. On her knees she studied the object, and without being surprised, because she always knew that Jonas was right, she forgave Enrique and helped him back into his chair. “Thank you for helping me, thank you for everything that you have done.” Enrique said, worn out. And Monica turned his wheelchair until it was facing the tree and pointed with her finger: “Look what the wind just brought. Up here, in the top of the tree.” Enrique followed her finger; it was Jonas hat. “He begged me to forgive you. He said you were a great kid after all…” “Yes, I was. Then I became an idiot like so many others that exist in this world. Now I’ve changed, Monica…I’m so sorry this had to happen so that I would open my eyes.” Although she said nothing to Enrique, Monica thought, her hands resting on his shoulders: “It doesn’t hurt to forgive. No. doing it is the cure to all of my misfortunes.”

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24 The end, always a good beginning He ran as fast as his legs would let him. So fast he almost fell. Moses was lying on the sand, yawning and bored, next to the boat. He had made a very elaborate sand castle that had high towers, with his little hands. He yawned once more and saw a small boy running straight toward him shouting and jumping: “Moses! Moses! Moses!” When he reached him, Jonas knocked him down on the sand and they fell rolling to the place where the water kissed the coast. Then they separated and Moses could grab a good handful of wet sand and throw it in his eyes. Jonas shouted as though he was defeated. “What are you running away from?” “The natives are coming. We must escape right now!” “Yes sir, Captain,” said Moses, “but first I must give you your hat!” “Thank you sailor,” he said as he put it on. But it was way too big!!!!!!!!

They pushed the boat back into the sea and raised the sails. His hat, once again, blew off his head and began to fly. But this time, for good, far away. And from the sand, in between the footsteps of an adult that had buried those of the child, you could see the sailboat heading to sea.

***

One journey had finished, but another was just beginning. The sky was cloudy. A ray of sun broke through and painted the fields on the other side of the Sea of Tears, which they had just crossed. It smelled of fresh earth, a seed of life. The boat remained behind, drawn up on yet another beach. Now the two of them felt as though life was growing inside of them. It was as though their hearts kept beating, but in another way. Their feet grew and stretched until the very corners and they lost their anterior form. This was when they came out of where they were sleeping, confronted by a new light. Their arms broke into infinite prolongations. The questions they were always so ready to ask disappeared. Now there was nothing. Only peace. There was nothing to question, only enjoy the harmony and tranquillity…and there they would remain during years, perhaps centuries. They forgot their names contained within time. Upright, the wind and the rain gave them their welcome and caressed all of the parts of their bodies, making them sway, enriching their souls. And they felt tickles.

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Words that are written In some far away and distant place, a story went like this:

Letting the pencil drop on the grass, her friend Laura, mother of the revolutionary Moses who was jumping around barefoot on the grass, took advantage of the pause and told her friend Sara, Jonas mother, a phrase that in truth, she had never heard and therefore didn’t answer being that she was busy with the task at hand. Sara, the woman with a slender figure and exquisite manners, was concentrating on how to go about drawing the figure on the terribly white sheet of paper. She picked up the pencil and started again. She was making a small portrait of Jonas to hang on a wall in their house. She yelled at him to sit back down on the stool and smile, and to do so to just remember anything that made him happy. Moses poked fun at him but his mother told him he was next in line so he stopped teasing. “I’ll be finished in a minute, all I need are your features and I can finish the rest of it without you.” she said. “But hurry, Mom,” he answered, “Dad is almost finished hanging the swing next to the river.” It was impossible. Jonas didn’t help at all, turning his head to look at the swing. She decided she would take a Polaroid picture, one of those instant ones. “Smile!” Off went the flash and the photograph came out in a moment. Laura and Sara set their boys free and they ran down the slope in between somersaults and cartwheels until they reached the creek where Jonas father was hanging the swing upon one of the branches of a willow, next to the old church. It was wonderful to see how the children were enjoying themselves, unaware of the problems of the world, wading in the water, splashing each other. Being that there was no drawn portrait, the photograph would have to make do. Sara blew on it and waved it through the air. Soon you could see his features appearing. His expression was well defined: that of a young boy completely carefree with an honest smile. That was Jonas! “Your son has such beautiful eyes!” said Laura. “What do you think they will do when they grow up? Did you ever stop to think about it?” “They will be something important, no doubt about it. They are so awake. And the people that are awake tend to lead…” Jonas father was laughing just as hard as the children as he pushed them in the newly installed swing. After a whole afternoon of playing, they placed mattresses in the yard at Jonas house so that they could sleep outside that night. This was just one of the many advantages of summer. During their evening meal, something very common occurred. Being very quiet and seemingly sad, they asked him what was wrong and Jonas replied: “Why do you have to die?” “It is just another part of life.” his father answered. “But that makes people be sad… is that why so many people cry?” “Yes, Jonas.”

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And Moses shouted at the top of his lungs, “Well then, I am never going to die!” and he laughed, trying to look like a man of steel. “Well, if that’s what makes people sad,” he said, calculating, “I will change it!” said Jonas and together with Moses marched down the slope and back to the swing again. His parent looked at each other, touched by the comment of a six year old. “You’ve got work to do, Jonas!” said Laura. The three of them laughed. Sara showed them the photograph of Jonas, holding it close to the candlelight. It had turned out very well. They saw in the eyes of the boy a special light, a special halo. “He can’t change the impossible, of course, but…those ideas… could help… Our son will do something important for mankind!” his father exclaimed. And they sat there looking into the eyes in the photograph, captured by the ideals of a boy… imagining the future of him and that of Moses.

***

It was a rainy afternoon when Jonas parents, proud of him, hung his picture on a wall in their house so that never, neither one of them would forget this day. To forget is so easy, so many have given everything for the good of others. But we have a tendency to forget these things so soon that we, over and over and over again (and even though it may seem strange, over again) get lost!

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