I didn’t like arguing, but if it wasn’t with him, I didn’t have anyone to talk to about my son and what awaited him. Before he was born, I wanted the unlikely to happen: for him to inherit his father’s abilities. I really believed it could happen, and that Gaspar would be a different kind of medium. I had conceived him on the correct date and under the correct signs. Juan hadn’t opposed it, at least not actively. My pregnancy was incredibly easy. I only had nausea and discomfort during the first month. After that, it was as if I’d been injected with light. I worked every day; I was so full of energy. Ideas, writing, interviews in the jungle, even fights with my father over the yerba fields. Along with Tali and Betty, who was totally dedicated to politics and sometimes visited us—her partner Eduardo was a leftist militant who felt enormous contempt for our family—we had practically forced the yerbatal to formalize its workers. They earned a pittance now, but at least they earned something. And that’s how it was every day, from then on: I didn’t even feel tired, just ferociously hungry. I was fat and I cried about being fat, which made Juan laugh. But I was never unhappy: my excitement wouldn’t allow it.