“Are you mad at me?”

“No, son, I’m just in a bad mood. When you finish eating, we’ll go swimming.”

Gaspar had cried all morning, until they came down to breakfast. Ever since his mother died, he had cried every day when he woke up. Sometimes he cried just because, sometimes he got angry over some silly thing, sometimes he said his head hurt or he was tired or hot. He dreamed about her, Juan knew; usually, he dreamed that her death had been a dream. Sometimes Juan let him cry alone, sometimes he sat silently beside him, sometimes he splashed cold water on his face, but he never really knew what to do. That morning, when Gaspar had calmed down after a fit of wailing and sobbing, pulling his own hair and even punching his pillow, Juan had suggested that they go to the beach. Gaspar had asked if the water was cold like at Mar del Plata. Juan explained that no, this was a river and rivers were different, more like swimming pools. It was a lie, but it worked. Juan was the one who needed to swim, and it was high time he improved on the very basic technique he’d taught his son. He himself had learned at eight years old, and then only thanks to his brother’s irresponsibility; Luis hadn’t known how to keep his little brother entertained when he took him on outings, and one day he’d brought him to a public pool. Juan knew swimming was forbidden—his doctor, Jorge Bradford, had told him he couldn’t do any intense exercise. Bradford had never found out about the afternoons at the pool, or if he had, he’d played dumb: the doctor always had contradictory attitudes, gestures of extreme generosity alternating with stinginess, and he was often unpredictable.

Bradford had taught Juan how to close himself off when he was six years old and in recovery from a cardiac crisis: many of the most important things in his life had happened in a hospital bed, amid pain, anesthesia, and fear. Doctor Bradford used the same method Juan had taught Gaspar the night before. Doctor Bradford, who had operated on him after he’d been declared a lost cause, who had visited him every day, and who would later adopt him under the pretext of giving him the care he needed. An elegant abduction. A purchase: he had paid money for Juan. It’s a miracle, Bradford had told Juan’s parents, a miracle he’s still alive, and he needs treatments and care that you, unfortunately, in your economic situation, cannot offer him. Juan’s parents had agreed.