The Blue Line (3 page)

Just as in her trance, it all happened very quickly. The twins began to feel seasick, and the captain sent them to the prow. Anna wanted to help them and began to make her way to the front, gripping the rail. The boat pitched dangerously, and the captain left the tiller to secure the front hold. Their father took his place.

It was at that precise moment that a giant wave surged up and crashed with the sound of thunder across the deck. The captain had just enough time to snap on his safety harness, grab hold of the twins, and pull them to him. Anna went overboard. The roar of the wave drowned out Julia's screams. She was still gripping her string of bottles and cans. Left alone at the controls, her father yelled with fear, unable to steer the
boat and thrown into a further panic by his wife's hysterical shrieks as Anna disappeared into the hollow of the wave. The boat had filled with water and the captain was frantically attempting to bail it out in order to escape disaster, all the while bellowing instructions to Julia's father, who seemed incapable of understanding him.

The twins hesitated for no more than a second. They exchanged a meaningful glance, launched themselves at Julia, grabbed her string of bottles, and jumped overboard. The last thing Julia saw before she passed out was Anna's head bobbing like a cork in the trough between two waves.

MAMA FINA

Austral Summer

1962

J
ulia remembers every moment of her life from her first “journey” onward. She knows she hadn't yet turned six, because they celebrated her sixth birthday at her grandmother's house sometime after. Looking back, she thinks it was probably then that she became an adult.

Her grandmother had a lot to do with it. Hers was the first face Julia saw when she came to after the boat incident. She had never met this grandmother from Buenos Aires her father talked about so often. She remembers immediately feeling safe with her.

“Anna and the twins are alive,” her grandmother told her. Julia stared at the unfamiliar face and then instantly fell asleep again, but this time into a child's deep sleep. She spent her convalescence in a bright room that opened onto an inner
courtyard with an endlessly cooing stone fountain at its center. She could hear her mother's voice and the shouts of the twins from outside, like an echo. But it was her grandmother who was always there, all the time, right beside her.

Mama Fina had clear gray eyes so gentle you could lose yourself in them. Her voice, in contrast, was deep, rasping, even, almost masculine. She sat patiently by Julia's bedside for hours on end. From time to time she would lean forward to stroke her face and Julia would feel the touch of her hands, the skin as rough as a cat's tongue.

Julia thought Mama Fina was beautiful, with her hair in a heavy braid across her shoulder and her large, full-lipped Neapolitan mouth. Julia's father had inherited her transparent eyes, but the rest of her features had skipped a generation. In adulthood Julia would be pleased to see a younger version of Mama Fina looking back at her in the mirror. She was the image of her, except for the large, dark eyes she had inherited from her own mother.

Julia didn't speak during her convalescence. As the days passed, she became increasingly fascinated by Mama Fina. Her words were enchanting. They transported Julia to another country and another time. Mama Fina told her how she had left Italy when she was not much older than Julia, about the ship, her family, the starry sea under the heavens, the forbidden races on the first-class deck, and the games of hide-and-seek in the engine room. And the arrival in Argentina: different smells, a different language that she could understand but not
speak. Mama Fina described her trials with all the words she needed that kept eluding her and playing tricks on her. Identical words that meant one thing in Italian and another in Spanish. She was told to watch out for the
burro
, and she'd be looking around for the butter when they were talking about the donkey. And Julia laughed. For the first time ever, she laughed a real child's laugh. Finally she understood her own mistake with the Río de la Plata.

Mama Fina's stories penetrated deep into her like balm. She explained to Julia what had actually happened on the night of the storm. Thanks to her bottles and cans, the twins had been able to save Anna. Julia sensed that, oddly enough, it was she Mama Fina was most proud of.

Mama Fina's description of what happened was better than if she'd seen it with her own eyes. The twins had jumped into the sea in order to disprove Julia's prophecy that blamed them for the death of their big sister. The swell prevented them from seeing where Anna was, but she had managed to stay afloat, certain the twins would come after her because she too realized that Julia had prepared them. Hanging on to their containers, the twins had spotted Anna's head above the water several times, only to see her disappear the next moment, getting farther away each time. They were half-dead from their exertions when suddenly she appeared, like a vision, suspended on the crest of a wave just above them. Crying out, they fought through the swell and managed to catch hold of Anna as she came down. She grabbed onto the floats; only
then did she nearly pass out. But the boys had no intention of letting go of her. Adrift in a raging sea in the middle of the night, the three children hung on.

At last the wind let up and the captain managed to turn the boat around. Instinctively calculating a possible drift, he tried to track them down. All of a sudden, their mother thought she heard cries. The captain shut down the engine. She hadn't been mistaken.

—

Once Julia had recovered, everyone noticed she wasn't quite the same. There was something precocious in her eyes, almost painful, like a scar.

One day, when the family was gathered for lunch, Julia's father made an announcement: their house was finally ready and they could move in over the next few days. He told them it was in an attractive neighborhood in the western suburbs of Buenos Aires, with parks, flower-decked balconies, and lots of children. The twins began to race around the table in excitement, and Anna was overjoyed. Only Julia didn't look up from her plate. Her mother, noticing her silence, tried to cheer her up by pointing out that there were four bedrooms. As there was no question of separating the twins, Julia would have her own room. But there was no convincing her.

Mama Fina got up to clear the table and disappeared into the kitchen. An embarrassed silence fell. Anna stared uncomprehendingly at her little sister. Their father tried to explain
that La Boca, the noisy neighborhood where Mama Fina lived, with its old port and nightlife, wasn't really suitable for children. Julia held her older sister's gaze for a long moment, as if to give herself courage. Then, in a clear and final voice, she said, “I'm staying here.”

It was the first adult decision of her life.

Anna sided with her little sister. In a way, she understood better than anyone just how much Julia needed her own space. She also sensed intuitively that Julia would blossom at Mama Fina's.

The family moved into their house. By way of marking the beginning of their new life together, Mama Fina enrolled Julia in the parish school and took her to the cinema for the first time to see a Cantinflas film. The movie theater seemed enormous to Julia, with its white pillars flanking the entrance and its heavy red velvet curtain with gold tassels. The film posters showed a funny little man with a ridiculous mustache and baggy pants who seemed to be inviting her in. Mama Fina had made her wear a sailor dress for the occasion and a white coat. Julia was worried she would get it dirty. She also had on a round hat with a trailing dark blue ribbon that tickled her neck. A gaggle of similarly dressed children were racing around the lobby and jumping from the grand staircase as they waited for their parents to finish buying candy.

A man wearing a small flat hat and a red uniform decorated with a long row of gold buttons went past, ringing a bell. The gaggle of children dispersed, and Mama Fina led Julia into the
darkness of the huge air-conditioned theater. She handed her a little paper bag filled with popcorn, which Julia didn't want because she was thirsty more than anything. The beam of a flashlight directed them to two seats in the center of the theater. They slipped into their places, apologizing. The giant screen lit up and Julia felt overwhelmed by its presence. Hypnotized, she followed the movements of the little man with the silly mustache, unable to understand why the other children were laughing when she felt like crying.

“Did you like it?” Mama Fina asked as they walked out of the theater.

Julia thought for a moment, then turned to her and asked solemnly, “Was it real, Mama Fina?”

“No, it's a movie.”

“But when I see movies . . . they become real afterward.”

“We'll have to have a proper talk about this!”

—

One evening, when Julia had finished her homework, Mama Fina took her by the hand. “Come with me. I want to have a word with you.”

She led Julia through the narrow streets of La Boca, along a familiar route that led to the church. They sat down on the low wall at the entrance. Intimidated by the solemnity of the occasion, Julia didn't dare open her mouth. After several long minutes of reflection, Mama Fina turned to Julia, looked her straight in the eye, and began, weighing her words: “This is a
very important moment, in your life as well as mine. I'm going to tell you a big secret—the one my father's mother told me sixty years ago, before we left Italy. I was exactly the same age as you, because you'll be six in a few days' time.

“You told me that before the boat accident, when you were playing on the steps, you fell into the ‘silver water.' You were very scared because you couldn't breathe, and then you saw things in your head that scared you even more. You were very angry because nobody seemed to understand.

“What happened to you, my grandmother used to call it the ‘inner eye.' It's a gift. Like a special present. Only a few girls in our family receive it. . . . I did, and so have you, but nobody else. We don't know who gives us this gift; we only know it's always a bit difficult to pass it on.

“If you want to give your gift to someone else, for example, first you have to become a mommy and have a boy. Sometimes mommies have little girls and sometimes they have little boys. But in your case, to pass the gift on, you have to have a boy.

“So you see, Julia, it's not all that easy, because we don't choose. Do you understand?”

“So the mommies don't say what they want when the baby is in their tummy?”

“No, not the mommies or the daddies. It's a surprise.”

Julia began to swing her legs, hitting her heels against the wall. “And I'll give my inner eye to my son? Like you gave your eyes to Daddy?”

“Yes, but the gift skips a generation. That means your
daddy has the gift, but he can't use it. The daddy has to have little girls, and then one of his little girls will receive the gift and can use it.”

“Like me. It's your gift that you gave to Daddy, and now it's mine.”

“Exactly.”

“But why did Daddy give it to me?”

“You know, that's a big secret. Your daddy doesn't know the inner eye exists.”

“Why not?”

“Because it's a secret.”

“But why is it me who has the inner eye and not Anna?”

“Because usually it's not the eldest girl who inherits the gift.”

“Why not?”

“Because nobody should be able to guess who will have it. That way it's a real secret.”

“So nobody knows I have the inner eye?”

“Nobody except me. Because I have it too, so I can recognize it. You didn't know either, Julia, even though you have the gift. Now that you're a big girl, I can tell you about it and you can keep it a secret.”

Julia drank in her words, enchanted. She wasn't sad anymore; she wasn't angry. Mama Fina had put into words the thing she hadn't been able to understand. She felt herself coming out of chaos.

Her grandmother paused, searching Julia's face, then
carried on, fixing her with her translucent eyes: “Do you understand what the inner eye is?”

“It's a present nobody knows about.”

“Yes, but the main thing is that it's a gift. It means you have a talent for something. Everybody has a gift of some kind. Some people are better at singing, other people at drawing, some at talking, others at listening. Sometimes it's a tiny gift, like being good at organizing a closet. Sometimes it's a very big gift, like being able to understand the stars. This gift can be wasted. Or it can be used to make other people happy. If I die before I've had the time to teach you everything, remember this above all else: we were given our gift so we can help others.”

Mama Fina broke off and said in a schoolmistress voice, “Julia, repeat what I just said.”

Julia took a deep breath and recited carefully: “We were given our gift so we can help others.”

Mama Fina smiled, patted Julia on the cheek, and carried on. “Our gift is different. It's secret because it's unique. Other people don't understand, and they might be scared. The way our inner eye works is a bit like looking through a keyhole: we can see things, but nobody knows we can see them. It's like when we went to the movies to see Cantinflas, remember? We sat in our seats and we watched the story, but we weren't in the story.”

“That was why the children were laughing, wasn't it, Mama Fina? Because they weren't in it.”

“The difficult thing for us is to figure out who it is who's lending us their eyes. . . . Remember, when you saw Anna falling out of the boat, you guessed it was your mommy.”

“Yes, because I was scrrrrratching Daddy with Mommy's hands,” Julia said, screwing up her face in an effort to mimic the gesture.

“You weren't scratching Daddy. You were using Mommy's eyes to see, and you recognized the hands that went with the eyes. They were Mommy's hands.”

Julia looked puzzled. Her grandmother paused, then whispered in a sympathetic tone: “I know,
mi amor
, it's difficult for us to imagine. Your mother asked you for help without knowing it, and you saw what was going to happen through her eyes.”

“Mommy never asks me to help her,” Julia said sulkily.