he chirped, his face beaming.
Miranda hoisted him off Carmen’s hip and transferred him to her own, nestling him there as naturally as if he were her own child.“Hola, muchacho,” she said, and then repeated the greeting in English: “Hey, dude. How’s my little dude, huh?” She punctuated each word with a wet, smacking kiss, and laughter burbled up out of the boy. The pure, musical sound brought a smile to my face and, I was happy to see, to Carmen’s as well. Tomás pointed at a staircase in the hallway, and Miranda clambered over the safety gate and headed upstairs with him.
“I just made a pot of tea,” Carmen said. “Would you like a cup? Come, let’s sit.” She turned and led us around a corner into a large, open room in the shape of a semicircle. A galley-style kitchen ran the length of the one straight wall; on the other side of a full-length butcher-block counter, a long, curving wall of windows defined the living room. I walked to the center of the room and looked around me. It was now fully dark outside, so the arc of windows acted as mirrors, reflecting ten images of myself back at me.
“What an amazing house,” I said, and when I spoke, my voice sounded as if it were coming not just from within me but from slightly in front of me, too. “And the acoustics are interesting.” The effect was similar to hearing my voice amplified by a microphone and a high-fidelity speaker.
“Yes,” said Carmen. “It’s because you’re standing right at the center of that curve. It’s like the—oh, what’s the English term forpunto focal ?—the focal point of a lens. A lens of sound. Eddie and Tomás love the way it makes the sound big. I find it a little bit…um, haunting? Spooky?”
For someone born and raised in South America, Carmen spoke English with remarkable fluency.
“Spooky sounds right. Sorry to spook you.”
She fluttered her fingers at me to dismiss the apology. “No, don’t be silly, Bill. If you stand there and talk for an hour, you will make me crazy, but for now enjoy it.”
I hummed, changing position slightly to move in and out of the acoustic sweet spot at the center of the semicircle. As I did, my voice got louder and softer. I switched from humming to clapping, and Carmen laughed. “That’s just what Eddie and Tomás love to do,” she said. Then, suddenly, Carmen was weeping, staring stricken at my hands. My hands froze in the air, and my heart went out to her as I saw a wave of grief crash over her. “Oh, Carmen,” I said, “I’m so sorry about all this.” I reached out to give her shoulder a squeeze, and when I did, she crumpled against me like a child. Her breath was ragged, half choked. “Oh, Bill, I don’t know if I can bear it,” she cried. “What will become of Eddie? What will become of me? How do we go on?”
“I don’t know, Carmen,” I said. “I wish I did, but I don’t.” She began to sob—keening, shuddering sobs—and she clung to me. “I’m so sorry,” I repeated, wrapping my arms around her slight frame, stroking the back of her head with my right hand, the way I’d soothed my son when he was small. “So very sorry.”
As her sobs subsided, she reached up and took hold of my right hand with both of hers. I thought she was starting to disentangle herself, but instead her fingers began to trace my own, one after another, as if she were a blind woman taking the measure of an unknown object.My God, I realized,these are exotic things to her now: the hands of a man. The realization saddened me for both her and Eddie.
“Your husband is a very fine man,” I said. “And a very brave one, too.” I locked eyes with her. “I’m proud to be his friend,” I added. “And yours.” I kissed her on the forehead, then eased away. “I don’t know exactly how, but I believe that Eddie can get past this, and I believe you can, too. One thing I’m sure of: He has a lot better chance of reclaiming his health and his work—of reclaiming a life that’s worth living—with his family standing beside him.” Her eyes pooled again. “I see the light and the pride in his eyes whenever he talks about you and Tomás, Carmen. You both mean so much to him.”
She drew a deep breath, then another, blowing them out through pursed lips. She rubbed her face with her hands, then wiped her hands on her jeans. Stepping to the kitchen counter, she took a paper napkin from a stack and dabbed at her eyes, then blew her nose. It honked, and she laughed tiredly. “God,” she said, “I didn’t know I had any tears left in me. I was so afraid when he nearly died, and so sad when he lost so much of his hands.” She wiped and blew again. “I’ve cried so much, I hoped I was finished.”