46
I didn”t even remember that I still had this journal.
I found it in the attic in an old suitcase, along with the four things I brought with me to Bled after the liberation of Ljubljana. Today, as fate would have it, I started rummaging through my old belongings while fantasizing about packing once and for all.
Thirty years. Thirty years of my life have faded into nothingness, working in my mother-in-law’s inn. She took me in out of charity and for the sake of her grandson. Thirty years passed without pain or glory, every day just like the next. My only joy has been Martin, who is now a full-fledged man.
I read these pages and feel as if I’m snooping through a stranger”s belongings.
I”m getting old, dear diary. The body reminds me, even if the mind forgets.
But today is a strange day, which has brought many ghosts out of their graves.
While I was serving lunch, a guest told me that Francisco Franco had died in Spain. We turned on the television, and the whole room fell silent to listen to the announcement.
I, at first, couldn’t believe it.
So many years of exile, living a borrowed life in a place where I don”t belong. And finally, a ray of light, a glimmer of hope, sneaking into the dining room of the hotel when I no longer thought it possible.
When I told my mother-in-law about it, she took it badly, even accusing me of rejoicing in other people”s misfortune.
“Other people”s misfortune?” I repeated, unable to believe that she’d said such a thing. “Didn”t his existence cause me enough misfortune of my own?”
“Your eyes say it all,” Ria said to me with disdain. “You can”t wait to get out of here. All this time, I”ve taken care of you and your son, but that means nothing to you. You’re ungrateful, Marija. You were never ours. You were just waiting for a chance to leave.”
“My name is Carmen,” I said, slamming the kitchen door.
I”m sick of everyone calling me Marija. I”m sick of Marija herself. Today, for a moment, I became Carmen again, and I liked it. Marija is submissive, obedient. Marija makes the beds in the mornings and serves dinner in the evenings. Marija is an anonymous Yugoslavian widow with no aspirations for the future.
But, silenced by Carmen, Marija is about to die.
“Are you going to leave?” my mother-in-law asked.
“I don”t know yet. We’ll have to wait and see what happens. They say that Franco appointed a successor, and everything may stay the same.”
“So what if nothing changes? Aren”t you happy here? What else do you need, Marija?”
“Ria, you know what I need, but I can never get that back. Why is it wrong for me to dream of returning to my homeland? I have a sister I haven”t seen for forty years. I hardly know anything about her life. I miss my country. My language. Is that so strange?”
“This is your only homeland. Martin and I are your only family.”
When she said it, it sounded cruel, but now, after thinking about it, I realize that she isn’t wrong. After all, my parents died shortly after Vicent, and I haven”t received any letters from Teresa for a long time. Since she married that fascist, her messages trickled off. But I also know that Ria, my mother-in-law, is afraid of being left alone. She worries I’ll take her grandson away from her. She’s a good woman, but this town is her world, this hotel, and the paltry income she receives from the tourists.
When Martin came home, I told him everything.
As absurd as it sounds, Martin reminds me of Jakob almost as much as he reminds me of Enzo. Maybe it”s his accent or his ability to give me hope in my darkest moments. He still lives with me and his grandmother, even though he’s old enough to live alone. He hasn”t been lucky in love and has brooded ever since he broke up with Zora after so many years together. We thought they’d get married, but she found someone else. I think Martin could use a change even more than I could.
“You know, Mother,” he said, in his strange and somewhat child-like Spanish, learned only from me, “My father promised to take you back home. Well, now that he’s no longer here...” He smiled, taking my hand in his, tanned from working in the fields, “Now I’ll be able to fulfill that promise for him.”