I know. Go on.
She wipes away her tears with her knuckles, and her gold bracelets jangle. I had never seen you, but when I’d mentioned to Mr. Geser, the caretaker of our rental house, that I’d made friends with Carla, he asked right away if I’d met you yet. Then Carla says: “He was mine. Not anymore.”
I look at her, confused.
“He doesn’t belong to me anymore.”
“Carla, children are forever.”
“No, dear,” she says. She has long nails, and she points at me, her finger level with my eyes.
Then I remember my husband’s cigarettes, and I open the glove compartment and hand them to her with a lighter. She practically snatches them from my hand, and the perfume of her sunscreen wafts between us.
“When David was born, he was the light of my life, he was my sun.”
“Of course he was,” I say, and I realize I need to be quiet now.
“The first time they put him in my arms, I was so anxious. I was convinced he was missing a finger.” She holds the cigarette between her lips, smiling at the memory, and she lights it. “The nurse said sometimes that happens with the anesthesia, it can make you a little paranoid. I swear, until I counted all ten of his fingers twice, I wasn’t convinced everything had turned out all right. What I wouldn’t give now for David to simply be missing a finger.”
“What’s wrong with David?”
“But back then he was a delight, Amanda, I’m telling you: my moon and stars. He smiled all day long. His favorite thing was to be outside. He was crazy about the playground, even when he was tiny. You see how around here you can’t go for a walk with a stroller. In town you can, but from here to the playground you have to go between the big estates and the shanties along the train tracks. It’s a mess with all the mud, but he liked going so much that until he was three I’d carry him there, all twelve blocks. When he caught sight of the slide he’d start to shout. Where’s the ashtray in this car?”
It’s under the dashboard. I pull out the base and hand it to her.
“Then David got sick, when he was that age, more or less, about six years ago. It was a difficult time. I’d started working at Sotomayor’s farm. It was the first job I’d worked in my life. I did the accounting, which really wasn’t anything like accounting. I just filed papers and helped him add, but it kept me entertained. I went around town on errands, all dressed up. It’s different for you, coming from the capital, but around here you need an excuse for a little glamour, and the job was the perfect pretext.”
“What about your husband?”
“Omar bred horses. Yes, that’s right. He was a different guy back then, Omar.”