Fernando’s family was also larger now. In a short interval Trini had given birth to two more children: first one boy, Jorge, and then a girl, Lolita. All these things meant expenses, particularly considering Fernando’s and Trini’s vanity. They had more than one governess and several tutors for the four children, and the only one who seemed to profit by the costly education was Rojelia.
The house above the jewelry shop had also been remodeled, almost rebuilt. Fernando had all the floors connected by ornate staircases. The whole house was redecorated, even the outside, in a showy wedding cake style. Rather than have rented or bought a residence in a better spot, they seemed to like the vulgarity of that location, to be right in the heart of the city with all its disagreeable noises.
When Julieta asked Fernando for money, he was insulting and persistent about her leaving Paco. He said: “I don’t mind helping you, but I don’t want to feed that crook when I also have a family to look after.” Julieta left blushing with shame and indignation. She still resented having her husband insulted.
Ledesma tried to help her but Fernando reproached him in a manner that was almost disrespectful, and Ledesma continued to help her as best he could, out of his own pocket, and also to comfort her.
He, a decided misanthropist, who had never sought her company when she shone in society and who seemed to avoid her, was generous in his visits now that she was forsaken.
Once he was with her in the small sitting room. Although they did not speak, all those happenings were in their minds and they knew what they were thinking of. They were almost following a conversation in their minds. Then he said as if answering: “But then you should go away with your children, if only for their sake.”
“I can’t leave him, Ledesma, you do not understand.” She held his hand and looked at him very directly: “Have you ever loved, Ledesma?”
He held her eyes very intently and his lips moved in silence as if trying to say something that he could not pronounce.
Ledesma had never shown any particular age. He had looked mature ever since she had known him, but now he seemed to her very old and tired. He looked away and relaxed: “Yes, I have loved. I still love and I have never hoped.”
“But if you have loved like me, without attaining, how could you always be so calm? I never noticed anything.”
“No, you never did.”
“Because you did not really love, Ledesma. You never loved as madly as I have.” Ledesma was looking at her and his eyes were very open and very dull and there was anguish in his face. “Oh no, Ledesma! If you had loved, you would have killed yourself already. You would have wanted to kill your rival, but one cannot kill the whole world. Then you would have wanted to kill the one you loved, but in the end you would have killed yourself knowing you could not live. People who really love and are not loved kill themselves. Love is a storm of life within and, if checked, it turns against one and destroys. Those who love in vain kill themselves sooner or later.”
“Not all of them.” His voice was hollow. “You say that because you are young yet. When one is old, when one has conquered the storm of a young, secret love, that storm turns into gloomy days, hopeless, endless, gray, dull days, and one waits and one knows one waits in vain. One does not kill oneself then through conviction or despair. One kills oneself then because one has realized that it was death one was waiting for.”
At that time Julieta used to take long walks in the Retiro with her children. She walked fast, with resolution, frowning, like someone in a hurry to get somewhere, and then, all of a sudden, stopped and sat on a bench, her head down, while the children played about.
It was thus that her friend Virginia met her once. She noticed Julieta looking frightfully aged, careless of her person and dress, the one thing she once was so exacting about.
They embraced one another a long time and then Julieta spoke, but this time she was sober in her manner and scarcely spoke of her life. This composure was even sadder to her friend.
When they parted, Virginia hesitated and then said: “Julieta, I hope you know that if you need anything you can come to me, like a sister. Promise me.”
Julieta looked long and blankly at her friend and said, “Thank you.” Then she looked down again and shivered in her thin, shabby clothes. It was a chilly, somber autumn day.
The friend was about to say impulsively: “Julieta, I know that you don’t like to wear a coat, but. ”
But Julieta had already called the children and was walking fast away.
“That Virginia was my mother,” Garcia had said once to me very solemnly, as if this lent matters an authenticity that justified anyone in crashing the literary gates and then condoned his misconduct, once inside.
I dallied a bit longer thinking about these things, then stood up, stretched, and walked home with determination.
When I got there I noticed the light in my room and wondered if Garcia had changed his mind and returned after all. I went in and sure enough he was there, but it was a very different Garcia. He stood in the middle of the room as if he had heard my key in the door and come to meet me, and he looked very strange:
“Where were you all this time?”
“Sitting on the park side reading this.” I laid the manuscript on the desk. He stood there wanting to say something, I was sure, and not knowing how to say it, and I asked him what was the matter.
“She is dead.” He choked on it and his whole expression seemed to disintegrate. His mouth, the flesh all over his face, trembled.
I knew he meant his landlady and for a moment I entertained the stupid thought that he might have killed her, but soon the idea vanished of its own accord and I asked him what was it all about, to tell me more.
“When I got home I found a note from the Cuban roomer telling me to call some number. He had to go to work and could not wait for me.” Garcia produced the note. “They told me that she had drowned, that she was at the morgue and I must come down to identify her, or something like that.”
“But then why didn’t you go right down? Perhaps it is somebody else. What will they think if you don’t go right down?”
“Oh, it is her all right.” He appeared to be regaining some controclass="underline" “They had all her stuff, and anyway the note was left this afternoon.” He looked away from me: “Think. She was dead all that time, drowned — that horrible tragic death, and we were— I can’t go down there all by myself. You must come with me. I could not go alone.”
“But of course. Let’s go.” Then I had an inspiration and told him that the person to accompany him should be Dr. de los Rios.
“It had not occurred to me, but Dr. de los Rios — to burden him with these personal matters. ”
It was obvious that, even now, he was ashamed of his relationship with the woman and still more ashamed of his shame.
“Dr. de los Rios understands much more than you think and is as much your friend. I am going to call him.”
As I made the call he insisted: “But you are coming too, are you not?”
“Naturally. You don’t think I am going to go to sleep at a moment like this and let you go out by yourself—” The voice of Dr. de los Rios interrupted.
I explained as well as I knew how and he said to come right down. It would be simpler that way as he lived on the other side of the park and farther down than we did.
We went out and hopped a late-cruising cab and rode across the park and down to de los Rios. All Garcia said during the ride was: “And to think we were in that neighborhood this evening and tonight.”
Dr. de los Rios was waiting at his private entrance and his car was ready at the curb. He got hold of Garcia by the shoulders and studied him. Then he told me that he had made a telephone call and everything would be all right.