When the news came that Leandra had cancer, my mother clapped and celebrated with those little steps she always does when she’s euphoric, one hand over her belly and the other in the air, like in a tango. Then she dropped on to a sofa and told us, me and my father: You two are some real cowards, you never dare to get rid of what bothers you. Just look at that kid Jorge’s got his mind set on—I’ve already gotten rid of his mother.

And just how does Leandra bother you? Dad asked her.

That squaw doesn’t bother me in the slightest, replied my mother. My father told me to go to my room, but Mercedes said: Let Rosario stay, let her listen, she has to learn—you all just teach her little stories and nonsense. Your Indian lover, Adolfo, is irrelevant to me. But you care about her. I’ll let you sleep with all the whores in this country, but I cannot allow you to care about any of them. You want to know, Rosario, how I made Leandra sick? You want to know how I made your dying little friend’s mother sick? Come visit me tonight and I’ll tell you. It’s time you learned who you really are. This bunch of sissies coddle you too much.

I never went to her room to learn how she had made Leandra and Juan’s mother sick. When she tired of waiting for me, Mercedes went out: she put on lipstick and high heels and went across to the hotel sweet shop she liked, and she celebrated with champagne. She wouldn’t let me go visit Tali in Corrientes, and Tali never came back to Buenos Aires. My father gave up on his plans to educate her in the capital, and he responded to my pleas with a convincing argument: If your mother starts gunning for Tali, you’ve seen what will happen.

My mother sent me to the Chascomús house that summer, alone. I knew it was a punishment, but at first I didn’t really understand how it could be. I had always liked the countryside, the horses, running with the dogs, nights around the bonfire, all the stories I could write down in my notebook, the smell of smoke at dusk. I begged to have someone come with me, Juan or Tali or some friend from school, even Betty, but Mercedes refused and slapped me with her ring-covered hand until she drew blood from my cheeks. Make friends with the paupers who work there, she told me. You always get along with those people, you little brat.