Chapter 42
Doctor Lobo kisses Mother’s hand upon greeting her, and she smiles brightly at him, cheeks flushed. My soul leaves my body and hovers near the ceiling, and that is the place from which I watch her bat her eyes at him.
As we head to the table, Doctor Lobo tells of visiting my grandmother in such a convincing way that for a moment I wonder if he really did. As I listen, I am more and more confounded. This can only be a lie. Why go so far with the charade? It’s like this is entertainment to him.
As I watch Mother make her plate, I’m terror struck that she’s forgotten how to chew or swallow or that if she does swallow, her digestive system won’t work properly. Will the food become lodged in her esophagus, or fail to break down inside her body?
But she barely pays attention to the food, being instead so focused on Doctor Lobo’s stories about Vienna that she hardly seems to notice what she’s putting in her mouth.
She eats and chews and swallows without problem, while nodding and smiling at Doctor Lobo.
She sits up with a straight posture and covers her mouth when she laughs, which is distinctly unlike Mother, who doesn’t laugh much at all.
The two of them fall into a natural rapport.
In fact, they are entranced with each other, brazenly flirting at times.
I cannot fathom how the same woman I knew could behave this way.
What if Mother never returns to normal? The passion fruit juice goes down the wrong pipe and I start having a coughing fit, which halts their conversation, and after a bout of hacking, I regain my composure. My silence, that is.
Because I don’t say much. I am frightened to open my mouth.
I sit there and watch them, vexed by the spectacle before me.
I know I am being unsociable, unpleasant perhaps, but it is better this way.
If I say the wrong thing I can trigger the stupor.
Besides, what have I to say to this stranger who wears Mother’s body like a cloak?
This strange Madalena.
“What about you, Leandro?” Strange Madalena turns to me with a frozen smile. “Do you have stories to share from your time in Europe?”
Stories from Europe. Father completed advanced studies in Europe because he had the means and station in life to do so.
But that would never be in the cards for me, and Mother, the real one, would know that.
I open my mouth, and nothing comes out but air.
I take a sip of the wine and let the silence hang.
I know the smile has faded from her lips, and everyone is watching me.
“Oh, and have I told you about…” Doctor Lobo deftly changes the subject, picking up the conversation where they left off before she spoke to me.
They carry on as though I was never addressed in the first place, as though I am merely a candle at their private dinner for two.
When, later, she asks me how renovations are going—I have no idea what she’s talking about—I excuse myself to use the chamber pot.
When I return to the table, I catch Strange Madalena whispering to Doctor Lobo about me. She startles when she sees me and stills. It is uncanny to see her confiding in this man she barely knows over me. I sink into my chair and stare at the ticking seconds on the pendulum wall clock.
Doctor Lobo veers into a discussion about recent developments in the study of the mind. He talks about the “unconscious mind” and the idea that people often have suppressed memories and latent knowledge they are not aware of.
“Trauma that solidified in the psyche as repressed memories and thoughts. These patterns of thinking, though unconscious, can cause diseases in the mind well into adulthood.”
“Repressed…” I mutter. A shiver rolls through my flesh. That is the word he used to describe Mother’s missing memories.
Patterns of thinking lodged deep within the inner world, inaccessible to conscious awareness.
The past nineteen years of her life are trapped in her subconscious.
And me. I am the repressed thought.
“What can be done about it?” I ask.
“There is one technique most effective at retrieving repressed thoughts. The alienist induces a mesmeric trance, and the patient enters a state where they are neither awake nor asleep, neither conscious nor unconscious. It is called hypnotism. From this place, latent knowledge can surface.”
I lean in. Could this possibly work on Mother?
Mother’s expression darkens as she listens. Maybe this will trigger something, a fleeting recognition, a spark of self-awareness. When she speaks, it is with an intensity I recognize. “And what is the treatment for the affliction of modern men who worship knowledge instead of God?”
She pauses to let the forceful words hang, and fixes us with a stare that stirs within me deep-rooted feelings of guilt. Her voice is now full of conviction, harsh and terrifying. Her eyes flash with might. Her jaw squares.
She sounds like herself again.
“ ‘You were dead in your transgression and sins,’ ” she recites, “ ‘in which you used to live when you followed the ways of this world and of the ruler of the kingdom of the air, the spirit who is now at work in those who are disobedient,’ ” she continues, reciting a biblical passage.
“All of us also lived among them at one time, gratifying the cravings of our flesh, and following its desires and thoughts. Like the rest, we were by nature deserving of wrath.”
I am stunned. For the first time, it feels that Mother is here.
“Ephesians,” I mutter, having memorized all of her favorite Bible quotes from how frequently she recites them.
She nods. But her gaze scrapes over the surface of me.
“When people find themselves lost,” Mother says, “it’s always because of separation from God.
That is the cause of all ills, and love of God is the cure.
The idea that lost memories from childhood have the power to cause diseases in the mind is only the folly of modern men who think themselves beyond good and evil. ”
When she looks at me there isn’t a spark of recognition, though I seek it, hope for it still. Her real personality flashed, yet the memories remain absent.
Doctor Lobo switches topics and Strange Madalena returns with her polite smile, and soon she’s back to laughing at every little comment he makes.
I am shaken to the core.
Now I know—Mother is still in there somewhere.
It is not only the past nineteen years of her life and me that are trapped in her subconscious. It is Mother herself.