My room, halfway between the servant caste and the family members, perfectly represented my place in that realm. Though it was never said out loud, at dinnertime I could sense a general disapproval of my table manners. My aunt was always criticizing my cousins, the younger one especially, for talking with their mouths full and having their elbows on the table. To me, however, she didn’t say a word, and that only increased the animosity I felt from them. It was the main reason I began eating at different times. When I got home from school I’d go up to my room to do my homework and go down to the kitchen just as Isabel was about to put the leftovers in the fridge. I’d also wait until the dining room was empty before coming down, even though sometimes it wasn’t so easy resisting the aromas of food wafting up to the terrace. When they had all gone, I’d turn on the lights and make myself a sandwich and drink the hot chocolate Isabel would leave by the stove for me. I ate alone, like a ghost whose life unfolds alongside the living but is uninterrupted by them. I liked the silence and stillness of those moments. Now and again, as I slurped down my chocolate, I would find some trace of Isabel—a grocery list, a pamphlet from the Evangelical church, a soap opera digest. It was funny to see the papers, the girl’s clumsy handwriting, her orthographic indecision. After eating I’d wash my plate and utensils and go up to the maid’s bathroom which Isabel and her mother would leave full of steam and smelling of Nivea cream.

On Saturdays, while my cousins played tennis at the club, I’d go to the La Merced market with Isabel to do the shopping for the week. We’d take the bus that stopped a few blocks from the house and then another that took us down Vértiz Avenue. The market at La Merced was far more interesting than the little grocery on the same street as my parents’ studio, where I used to shop. What I most enjoyed about those outings with Isabel was riding the bus through the city and the characters who rode with us. People of every age and social class, all bumping around and into one another. Also different kinds of beggars, from crippled children to housewives with a venerable air about them. One time I even got to see a clown commit armed robbery; he threatened the driver while we all put our money into his accomplice’s bag. Isabel also liked doing the shopping. As soon as she left the house her spirits would lift and she’d talk with me about the things we saw. She’d haggle with the vendors with that same effective cheerfulness.