7.
DANTE FERRAZ
“They know.”
Aurora said it before I had even crossed the threshold the following morning.
I stopped.
“You told them.”
“They asked.”
“How did they react?”
“Elisa decided you were silly. Tomás liked the idea of having a father. Cecília was afraid you would take them away.”
The last sentence cut deepest.
“I would never do that.”
“I told her.”
“I want to speak to all three.”
“You’re going to speak to me first.”
Aurora allowed me inside.
The children were not yet in the room.
I sat in the chair she indicated.
“Rules,” she announced.
I nodded.
“You will not ask them to call you Daddy.”
“Agreed.”
“You will not tell them you love them.”
I frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you don’t know them.”
“They’re my children.”
“Love isn’t a biological reflex.”
“I felt something as soon as I saw them.”
“Guilt, shock, recognition. Don’t call everything love.”
Her severity was necessary.
I knew that.
Even so, it hurt.
“All right.”
“You will not promise to stay forever.”
“But I will stay.”
“Don’t promise it.”
“Aurora…”
“Three-year-olds do not understand ‘unexpected circumstances,’ ‘meeting,’ ‘business emergency,’ or ‘canceled flight.’ They understand that someone said he would come and then didn’t.”
“I won’t miss anything.”
“Even so, don’t promise.”
“All right.”
“You do not correct the way I raise them.”
“Agreed.”
“You do not offer them food without asking. Tomás is allergic to cashews.”
I memorized the information.
“Tomás. Cashews.”
“Cecília doesn’t tolerate too much milk.”
“All right.”
“Elisa puts small objects in her mouth when she’s distracted, even though she knows she shouldn’t.”
“All right.”
“None of them knows how to swim.”
“All right.”
“Tomás runs into the street.”
“All right.”
“Cecília hides when she is frightened. You need to check closets, curtains, and beneath tables.”
“All right.”
“Elisa talks to strangers.”
“All right.”
“Do not take your eyes off them.”
“I won’t.”
Aurora breathed.
“And don’t expect gratitude.”
“I don’t.”
“Not from me either.”
“Least of all from you.”
Her eyes met mine.
For a moment, something passed between us.
Not forgiveness.
Something more dangerous.
Recognition.
Aurora looked away first.
“Children.”
All three appeared in the hallway.
Elisa came first.
Tomás behind her.
Cecília held her mother’s hand.
They stared at me.
I had faced less difficult negotiations.
I knelt.
“Good morning.”
“You’re our daddy,” Elisa said.
“I am.”
“Mommy told us.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you come before?”
Aurora closed her eyes.
She had not expected the question so quickly.
Neither had I.
“Because I made a mistake.”
“What mistake?”
“I believed something that wasn’t true.”
“That Mommy was bad?”
“Yes.”
Elisa made a face.
“She’s not.”
“I know that now.”
“Took you long.”
“Very long.”
Tomás approached.
“You my daddy too?”
“I am.”
“And Cecí’s?”
“Hers too.”
He thought about it.
“Three?”
“Three.”
“Lots of children.”
“Quite a lot.”
Elisa pointed at me.
“You live far away?”
“I did.”
Aurora raised her eyes.
“Did?”
“I rented a house.”
“What?”
“Not here,” I corrected. “Not yet. I’m looking.”
“We need to talk.”
“Later.”
Elisa touched my knee.
“Got toys at your house?”
“No.”
“Then it’s a bad house.”
Tomás agreed.
“Needs cars.”
Cecília remained beside Aurora.
I looked at her.
“Hello, Cecília.”
She did not respond.
“You don’t have to speak to me.”
Her fingers tightened around her mother’s hand.
“He leaving?” she asked Aurora.
“In two hours.”
“Then comes back?”
“Another day.”
Cecília looked at me.
“You go?”
“I leave when your mother tells me to.”
“Why?”
“Because that’s the rule.”
“You obey?”
The question nearly made me smile.
“I’m learning.”
She released Aurora’s hand.
She did not approach me.
She merely sat on the rug.
It was her first concession.
We spent the morning in the backyard.
Aurora needed to varnish a piece and did not want the children near the fumes.
Elisa decided I should participate in an imaginary party.
Tomás wanted to dig a hole beside the wall.
Cecília stacked stones.
Within twenty minutes, Elisa was serving leaves inside plastic cups.
“It’s soup,” she explained.
“It looks like salad.”
“It’s soup.”
“Right.”
“You gotta eat.”
I pretended to taste it.
“It’s good.”
She frowned.
“You didn’t eat.”
“I did.”
“Didn’t open your mouth.”
I tried again.
She appeared satisfied.
Tomás approached covered in dirt.
“Look.”
“What are you doing?”
“Hole.”
“What for?”
“Put thing in it.”
“What thing?”
“Dunno yet.”
I looked toward the wall.
The hole was at least twenty centimeters deep.
“Did your mother allow this?”
His eyes widened and he ran.
I interpreted that as no.
“Tomás.”
I followed him.
He was fast.
Very fast.
He passed along the side of the house and headed toward the gate.
“Stop.”
He did not stop.
The gate stood partially open.
I ran.
I reached him at the instant he was about to step onto the sidewalk.
I caught him around the waist.
Tomás screamed.
“Let go!”
My heart beat violently.
“You can’t run into the street.”
“Want street.”
“Not without an adult.”
“I’m adult.”
“You are not.”
He struggled.
“Mommy!”
Aurora appeared in the doorway.
“What happened?”
“He ran toward the gate.”
She hurried over.
“Tomás, I have told you that you cannot leave.”
“He grabbed me.”
“Because you ran.”
“It hurt.”
I released him immediately.
“Did I hurt you?”
Aurora examined his waist.
There was no mark.
“He’s fine.”
“He squeezed.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was frightened you would run into the street.”
Tomás stared at me with tears in his eyes.
“I don’t like you.”
“I know.”
“Go away.”
The sentence struck me.
Aurora lifted him into her arms.
“He’s frightened,” she said.
I nodded.
“I’ll leave.”
“You don’t need to.”
“He asked me to.”
“Children say things when they’re angry.”
“Even so.”
Tomás buried his face against her neck.
I returned to the backyard.
Elisa was still occupied with her soup.
Cecília watched me.
I sat on the bench.
My hands were trembling.
Within two seconds, he could have reached the street.
A car could have passed.
Something could have happened.
The idea was unbearable.
Cecília approached.
She stopped a meter away.
“T?mas runs.”
“He does.”
“Mommy gets mad.”
“She’s right.”
“You got scared?”
I looked at her.
“Very.”
Cecília held a small stone.
“He comes back.”
“I hope so.”
She took another step closer.
“He says go away, but comes back.”
The sentence seemed to be more about her than her brother.
“I want to come back too.”
“Tomorrow?”
I remembered the rule.
“When your mother allows me.”
Cecília nodded.
Then she placed the stone on the bench near my hand.
“It’s yours.”
“A present?”
“No. A rock.”
“Right.”
She returned to where she had been playing.
I picked up the stone.
It was uneven, grayish, and completely without value.
I placed it in my pocket as if it were the most precious thing I had ever received.