Whatever it takes, please.
I could, but it won’t do any good.
Please, David. And that’s the last thing I can say, I know it is the last thing, I know it a second before I say it. Everything is silent, finally. A long and tonal silence. Now there are no blades or ceiling fan. Now there is no nurse. Carla is gone. The sheets aren’t here, nor the bed, nor the room. Things are no longer happening. Only my body is here. David?
What?
I’m so tired. What is the important thing, David? I need you to say it, because the ordeal is ending, right? I need you to say it, and then I want everything to stay quiet.
I’m going to push you now. I push the ducks, I push Mr. Geser’s dog, and the horses.
And the girl from House & Home. Is this about the poison? It’s everywhere, isn’t it, David?
The poison was always there.
Is it about something else, then? Is it because I did something wrong? Was I a bad mother? Is it something I caused? The rescue distance.
The pain comes and goes.
When Nina and I were on the lawn, among the barrels. It was the rescue distance: it didn’t work, I didn’t see the danger. And now there is something else in my body, something that activates again or maybe it deactivates, something sharp and bright.
It’s the pain.
Why don’t I feel it anymore?
It pierces the stomach.
Yes, it bores in and rips it open, but I don’t feel it. It reaches me with a cold, white vibration, it reaches my eyes.
I’m touching your hands, I’m right here.
And now the rope, the rope of the rescue distance.
Yes.
It’s as if it were tied to my stomach from outside. It pulls tight.
Don’t be scared.
It’s crushing, David.
It’s going to break.
No, that can’t happen. The rope cannot break, because I am Nina’s mother and Nina is my daughter.
Did you ever think about my father?
Your father? Something pulls harder at the rope and it tightens around my stomach. It’s going to slice my stomach in two.
It will break first. Breathe.
This rope can’t break, Nina is my daughter. But yes, my God, it’s broken.
Now there is very little time left.
Am I dying?
Yes. There are seconds left, but you could still understand the important thing. I’m going to push you ahead so you can listen to my father.
Why your father?
He seems rough and simple to you, but that’s because he is a man who has lost his horses.
Something falls away.
The rope.
There is no more tension. But I feel the rope, it still exists.
Yes, but there’s not much time left. There will be only a few seconds of clarity. When my father speaks, don’t get distracted.
Your voice is weak, I can’t hear you very well now.
Pay attention, Amanda, it will last only a few seconds. Do you see something now?
It’s my husband.
I’m pushing you forward. Do you see?
Yes.
This is going to be the last effort. This is the last thing that will happen.
Yes, I see him. It’s my husband, he’s driving our car. He’s entering the town now. Is this really happening?
Don’t interrupt the story.
I see him clear and bright.
Don’t turn back.
It’s my husband.
At the end, I won’t be here anymore.
But David . . .
Don’t waste any more time talking to me.
He takes the boulevard and drives slowly forward. I see everything so clearly. The stoplight is red and he stops. It’s the town’s only stoplight, and two old people cross the street and look at him. But he is distracted, he looks forward, he doesn’t take his eyes from the road. He passes the plaza, the supermarket, and the service station. He passes the emergency clinic. He takes the gravel road, to the right. He drives slowly and in a straight line. He doesn’t drive around the potholes, or the small speed bumps. Beyond the town, Mr. Geser’s dogs come running out and bark at the tires, but he maintains his speed. He passes the house I rented with Nina. He doesn’t look at it. He leaves the house behind, and then Carla’s house comes into view. He takes the dirt road and goes up the hill. He leaves the car next to the trees and turns the motor off. He opens the car door. He is aware of how loud things are: when he closes the door, the slam echoes back from the fields. He looks at the dirty old house, the places where the roof was mended with tin. Behind it the sky is dark, and though it’s noon, some lights are on inside. He is nervous, and he knows someone might be watching him. Still without going up the three wooden steps, he looks at the open door and the plastic curtain tied across it. A small bell hangs from the roof, but he doesn’t pull the rope that hangs from it. Instead he knocks twice, and from inside a deep voice says, “Come in.” A man the same age as him is in the kitchen; he is looking for something in the cupboards and he pays no attention to my husband. It’s Omar, your father, but they don’t seem to know each other.