Four Doors and Other Stories (3 page)

“Pay more attention...”

“You are right but I do not know when to stop. How can someone distribute one’s effort when nothing is wrong?”

Mother seemed to wait for a solution to her problem.

“I think you should make peace with yourself, Mother! And all these problems will disappear. There are people who are cured of cancer, you know. Why won’t you cure your heart?”

“But I am at peace with myself! I am an honest person, without frustrations,” Mother rushed to deny her affirmation as if being frustrated was the most shameful thing in the world.

“Come on Mum, admit it. All people are frustrated. Especially those who do not accept themselves. That does not change what I told you earlier. You make me very proud.”

There were things in her past that had hurt her, Mother thought. For example, not being the preferred child out of the two in the family. Despite being morose and unattractive, her younger sister got all the attention.

“All these sorrows gather in your body and surface from time to time because they need to be healed. This is why you are having these mood swings and heart problems,” continued her daughter.

There were days when Mother carried on with life, hanging out with her friends, going on trips, without showing she cared for her daughter. Other times, Mother phoned her out of the blue only to scold her for not calling.

“Don’t fret; there is no need to say I am right. Just think about it and it will do,” the daughter said knowing that, despite her kindness, Mother had much pride.

Mother winked a lot and mumbled something, implying that she was going to look into this matter. It was the first time the daughter allowed herself to give advice to her mother. She would not do it even when Mother, helpless, would completely rely on her. Times were different now. Daughter was different too. Although Mather was unable to grasp all of her daughter’s ideas and actions, she trusted her. And, secretly, took pride in her child’s similarities. Daughter resembled her mother in beauty, stubbornness, courage, capacity of bringing things, people and places, to life. Well, maybe not as good as she did.

For the first time during that day, a contented smile grew on Mother’s face. They were a breed of strong women, that was what they were. Mother was only a child when an elegant woman had knocked at the door of the same house she was now living in, saying,

“Hello, it’s Grandma!”

She could not wait to play with the nice toy brought along by the stranger. While looking at the ensemble, her mouth opened in awe, her mother appeared out of the woodshed, chasing the visitor away with insults.

“What a nerve, to show up like this, after so long! She got rid of me, throwing me into a poor family. What does she want now? And why do you cry? You need toys, ha? Get back to work or you’ll get punished!”

If there was something Mother’s mum could not forget, it was treason. Abandonment was a sort of treason. Better a poor life, next to her good-looking but drunkard husband, than rich and humiliated. Despite all, Mother had loved this woman with all her might. She had been harsh, she had sent her away to marry when she was eighteen, all her things packed in a small suitcase; she wanted to turn her into a tailor, against her will. And when, almost thirty years ago, Mother wanted to divorce her much older and easygoing man, her own blood had sent her away from home saying she was too poor to take her in. But Mother had spoiled and taken care of this woman until her last breath. And had waited all her life for affection. The baby sister seemed to suck it all up and always slept in bed with their mum whenever the drunken husband was losing his way back home.

Mother had also silently endured other people’s mocking looks, whenever they saw her together with her older husband and the gossips generated by the birth of her only child. Mother had gotten the apartment. Mother convinced her husband to buy a car and their first colour TV set. Mother could move mountains when she decided to.

A sparrow landed in the yard and started hopping until it reached a small pond of water. It ruffled up its feathers and started washing. The sun had moved and started to put some colour on Mother’s face zealously.

“Mother look, a sparrow!”

Mother turned her head in slow motion.

“Mother, mother, I’m hungry!”

Mother got up from the chair. She might have said, “Do it” or “help yourself,” but then she would not have been Mother. Mother who was so courageous, Mother who was so beautiful in her youth that, although she wasn’t gifted at all when it came to driving cars, she had mesmerized the police officer and had her driver’s licence after passing her first examination. However, this Mother would sometimes get scared and soften up. As she did during a holiday in Paris. They were having breakfast in the hotel restaurant. Mother was about to put a muffin into her purse for later when daughter gave her a bad eye saying she was embarrassing her. Mother had placed the muffin back on the plate, smiling awkwardly although she would have loved to share it later with Daughter. Both of them remembered.

“Mum, do you remember that thing with the muffin that happened in Paris? Please, forgive me, I didn’t want to be mean,” Daughter said whilst sipping the noodle soup.

“Mother always forgives,” answered the woman with a wave, but the girl was determined not to fall into the trap.

“I don’t know what is going on with me when I’m acting like this. But I’ll do my best to keep it under control.” In fact, she knew, but was sceptical about Mother being able to understand.

“This is great. I try to keep myself under control but sometimes, I miss it...”

The girl smiled happily. A pleasant breeze was starting to warm the coolness that had dwelt between them for years. Of course, there was work to do. But it was a piece of cake for two such powerful women, who could move mountains, if they wanted.

“Mother, what would you say if I stayed a little bit longer and we had a nap together? We could sleep in the new bed you bought recently.”

Mother nodded in approval.

“Wait just a second, I want to finish doing the dishes,” she answered.

Colour had returned to Mother’s cheeks.

Just like that, hocus-pocus, she had written her application for holiday leave and placed it on the human resources manager’s desk. She had longed for a week at the seaside for quite some time now, for being there during that particular time of the year when beaches are still deserted and bodegas remain latticed. At this very moment, the shores and the water were inexpressibly pure, like a woman who turns back into a virgin after a prolonged chastity. She had longed for some time to live in that beautiful villa, up on the seawall. A villa that had gravel alleys and a short, blackened fence and only God knew why it was named “La Prison.”

Anyway, it was better to dwell in “La Prison de la Mer” instead of “La Prison corporatiste.” This idea must have been building inside her mind for years but became crystal-clear only now, one morning, when she woke up from an agitated sleep. She had had such a bad dream that she had screamed and kicked her legs. The man, who was lying next to her, probably over tired, did not hear a thing. Or faked it, pretending to be sound asleep. It did not matter, anyhow. After two years of being a couple, sluggishness was the best word to describe their relationship. They interacted in the same way a car with an empty tank would slowly go down the road, rolling at only a few miles an hour and only because the road is slightly sloping. She had changed her position, lying on her belly and went back to sleep. When she woke up, she had puffy eyes. The corners of her mouth sunk. She felt a terrible urge to take action although she had no clue what she was supposed to do.

You must do it, this is the right time! You’re running out of time!
These thoughts were spinning around her head.

She had made breakfast off-hand, given him a quick kiss—muah, muah—and jumped into her car. It was getting terribly late and it was obvious that she wasn’t going to be on time for her own activity assessment meeting. The general manager and the human resources manager were expecting her, already pissed off, in the Red Conference Room.

Following an apparent benevolent introduction, during which they allowed her to brag about how smooth things in her department were going, the man showed his teeth. As sharp behind those pursed lips, as her intuition had fortold. “I’m afraid that the situation doesn’t look so good!” he said making a pause for the dramatic effect.

Why on earth did they let me talk so much about it?
the woman was thinking while trying to remember what had scared her so deeply in her sleep.

“According to your colleagues’ assessments, you are having difficulties in the strategic thinking department. Communication does not look good either. I can give you some examples, if you want.”

She nodded. No, she did not want any.

You are an idiot. We haven’t had a proper talk in a year,
she answered in her mind.
And now you’re assessing my work relying on judgement made by some idiots whose only purpose in life, beside work, is to buy clothes at Top Shop and get wasted in pubs!

“You have six months to improve your performance. Then, we’ll have a new meeting and draw a conclusion. I believe in your talent and I also know that everybody has bad days every now and again,” concluded the boss.

You bloody corporatist,
she thought.
He doesn’t give a damn. He does not even prepare himself, he just takes a five-minute look at that crap written by others and poses as a good guy, giving me six months to come to my senses. In case the idea of asking for a raise was crossing my mind!

She felt both guilty and exposed. She admitted that she had had her head in the clouds lately. She would come to the office, lacking excitement and dedication, do her job mechanically and rush out the door as soon as working hours ended. Those times when she stayed until late, her eyes in the computer screen, adding final changes to elaborate power point presentations, were gone. She seemed to have lost it.

“There is something else,” the human resources woman broke her musing. “You are late every day. It seems to me a lack of respect for your colleagues.”

Hearing this, the general manager stood up and excused himself, saying he had to attend another meeting. It seemed like the conversation was turning into a girl quarrel and he avoided being part of it. It was typical for someone like him, who had always kept a distance and was being a bit awkward in her presence.

“Maybe they don’t mind but I take it personally,” the manager-woman went on, after blandly saying good-bye to her superior. “Especially considering that I have a husband and a child I take to the kindergarten every morning and you don’t!”

Sure. You also have thick legs and a weak mind. You wear cotton underwear, three sizes bigger than my mother’s
—and my mother’s are XL. Your husband must have been probably dead drunk when he got you pregnant,
she was thinking while stating out loud that she understood her point of view and that she didn’t ever plan it. Being late, of course.

This time she felt humiliated. It was as if the other woman was bragging about the wonderful family she had despite her poor looks, while pointing at her, so beautiful, so gracious, with perfect abs and round, hard buttocks and yet a failure in her personal life, yet unmarried. Under such circumstances, the only way to be accepted and absolved by society was to serve the corporation as good as she could, with all her might. To work from dawn until dusk, from Monday to Friday. Sometimes, even Saturdays and Sundays. Go out and get wasted every weekend. Until she would have injured her spine, her belly would swell big with too much junk food and her butt sagged. Bleah!

That very instant, she knew what she had wanted to do that moment when she woke up earlier. As soon as she left the meeting room, she filled up the application for holiday leave and put it on her colleague’s desk. It was barely noon but she got into her car, without even checking her emails, and drove away, smoking her tires. Back home, she grabbed a few things and put them in a bag. She scribbled a few words on a post-it—
Off on a business trip. Possible signal loss. Don’t know when
—but then she crossed the word
“when”
and wrote
“if
,”
if I get back,
and placed it on the fridge door. She smiled imagining the bewilderment on his face while reading this note. He took her for granted; it was the right time to make him come to his senses. Not going back to him, this would have been a surprise.

As soon as she entered the highway, she forgot about her boss, her lover and even about the human resources manager’s huge underwear. Her future was uncertain. Most likely, she would lose both her job and her man, but God it felt wonderful. The simple and yet so complicated gesture of making a decision, based on an inner impulse, made her feel empowered and free.

She reached the anglers’ village at dusk. She pulled near the edge of the seawall, so near that one might have thought she planned to ditch the car by pushing it into the abyss.

La Prison was quiet and empty. Nobody would normally visit on a Monday off-season. She was standing still, next to her car, leaning against the driver’s door, her eyes wandering up high. In fact, not that high because the sky seemed to have come closer, almost at an arm’s length, splashing bright, shiny stars on her.

A street lamp lightened behind her and a shadow came forth, to the middle of the main alley.

“Are you the city lady I spoke to this afternoon?” a deep voice asked.

“That would be me!” she answered with a smile, walking away from the stars to her regret.

“I thought you would never get here!” the shadow said, revealing itself bit by bit. “We’re not used to receiving guests at such late hours.”

She finally saw a short but well-built man. He was wearing a white shirt, made of thick cloth, and a pair of deep blue corduroy trousers, adorned with braces. He had a scarf around his neck and a cap on his head, pulled over his eyes. His round, pointed, stumpy shoes were more appropriate for the rough tracks on the mountains than the fine sand of the beach. While helping her with the luggage, she also noticed his sunburnt arms.