How many times had he thought, “I want to be just like him?” The way he’d told Gaspar while they rode in the car, you have to always be respectful with girls, even if you’re not interested in them. The way, after he got mad about something and raised his voice and shouted, he always gave in to a joke and laughed and shook his head. The twins were going to forget him, they would miss out: the permission to do their homework on the patio, the races down the dirt road, the grilled fish at the beach, the what you wrote is really good, that teacher must be kind of dumb, she doesn’t have to understand everything but it’s a shame she didn’t understand this, because it’s so well written, and long!, and the words you use!, they were going to miss out on having him always accept them even when they messed up, even if they had ridiculous mental emotional psychiatric problems, they’d miss out on knowing there was someone who would never abandon them, would never back down, they could beat their heads against the wall until they broke their heads and the wall, and he would be right behind them, arms crossed, saying well then, shall we start by fixing your bones, your anger, or the bricks? You choose.

Gaspar paid a minuscule amount of money to the taxi driver who dropped him off at Ezeiza Airport, and he waited for the flight in silence, his backpack between his feet. He wasn’t bringing much, and if he needed anything he could buy it where he was going. It was his first time on a plane alone. He didn’t want to think about the previous times, which were few and always with Luis. The flight was short but they still served food, though he didn’t touch it because he couldn’t eat; he didn’t know if he would ever eat again. He remembered Pablo’s face when he saw him come out of the hospital: he’d almost asked him to come. Pablo would have done it. Vicky had to stay with Luis. They would follow him, he thought. Both of them. They knew where he was going.