Of all the lives lived in that house, Clemencia’s was undoubtedly the most guarded. More so even than mine. She spoke to no one, avoided the members of the family, and if by chance she ran into one of my cousins on the back staircase, she wouldn’t say a word to him. Only at night could she be heard whispering with her daughter in their room. There were times, though, especially if she saw that I was sad or anxious, pacing the terrace as was my custom, when she’d offer me one of the cigarettes she smoked, unbeknownst to Isabel, a few feet away from the gas tanks. I never accepted but would remain by her side while she smoked. The smell of her unfiltered Delicados reminded me of my parents’ studio.

I don’t know if it was Isabel’s exquisite seasoning, the abundance of goodies in the kitchen, or that the sporadic snacking just wasn’t enough for me, but at my aunt’s house I became a food fanatic. It wasn’t only once in a while that I’d leave my room to get food, but several times a night I’d go down for a Coke, a packet of cookies, a yogurt with fruit. It didn’t matter how late it was. I remember perfectly how free I felt, to be moving about that house unseen, unheard, and I suspect that from those days came my habit of walking flush to the wall that I mentioned earlier.

In one of these early morning hours in which I’d go downstairs to pour myself a glass of milk I discovered a cockroach, dark brown in color, at a standstill in front of the cupboard. It was like that insect was looking at me, and in its eyes I recognized the same surprise and suspicion that I felt toward it. Then it began running around helter-skelter. Its nervousness disgusted me, and yet, it also felt familiar. Or was it the feeling of familiarity that repulsed me? I can’t say. What I do know is that I left my glass on the table and ran terrified to my bedroom. But I couldn’t sleep. There were two things on my mind: my cowardly behavior at the sight of a miserable bug and the glass of milk that I’d left on the table. After thinking about it for some time I mustered enough courage to go back downstairs. I found the insect still on the floor. This time it wasn’t fear I felt, but an unbounded loathing. I lifted my foot and with the bottom of my sandal stamped it into the tile. The impact produced a crunch that sounded deafening in the dead silence. I started to head back upstairs when I heard the appalled voice of Clemencia, a few feet away.