Plus, during those days, Laura and Stephen and Juan had managed to communicate in secret. Laura called it pishogue. They couldn’t use it often, and never without Juan, because it emanated from him: it was the result of the seal he had drawn on his scalp in the Other Place, when he’d requested the capacity to have secrets. It had to do with altering other people’s perception so they would see and hear whatever he wanted them to. A blinking of reality. They spoke, and other people heard something else. They did it right in front of me, with no consideration at all, and it was infuriating. Juan had taught me the method in detail, but it just didn’t work for me, though we tried many times, for hours, until I got fed up and locked myself in the bathroom to cry. I couldn’t do it, nor could I get pregnant and guarantee the continuation of the blood. Stephen couldn’t have children, and Eddie was still missing, and I couldn’t or didn’t know how to acquire any ability aside from the same old chalk circles. I didn’t feel like studying. All I wanted to do was go to the Other Place and take one of the dead hands clutching the tree trunks in the forest. But Juan refused to go with me. I was frustrated and furious. I even said to him, what if it’s you who’s impotent? But he wasn’t offended in the slightest. It’s possible, he said. We’ll have to ask Jorge to examine us.

The thing is, my dear friend, it’s not like riding a bike, Stephen told me. It’s like playing the piano. Take Juan out of the conversation, because he’s different from us. If you don’t learn certain things when you’re little, you’ll never reach the level you need for this. Laura and I received instruction as children. You did too, but of another kind. You should thank your father, because it’s not right to use kids like that. Mercedes always accused me of being useless and sterile, and she was right, I said. Your mother is never right. You will be a mother, Rosario. And Juan loves you. I have my scars, sure, but they’re all I have.