Furthermore—but I only grasped this once I myself was an adult—he understood Mamá’s fears better than I did, the risk of helplessness and impoverishment.

Poor Mauricio. I do so little for him, for his children.

Maybe if he makes it and comes home I’d have another chance. I’d take him somewhere and introduce him—“This is my older brother”—in a way that would show him how proud I am that he’s always been so good to Mamá and to me.

I look at him.

He could die.

If it weren’t for that I might not have realized I love him.

Later Mamá arrives and I wake Susana up. Then the doctor comes in with a nurse and sends us out. He examines him and is about to leave when my mother, her tears beginning to well up, asks him for hope.

Before answering he looks at her for a moment and I perceive his hesitation. He chooses the truth, saying, cruelly, “Whatever can be done has been done, señora.” And he escapes from the pain of another.

“No,” says Mamá, “not everything.” And she falls to her knees to do what remains to be done: pray.

Susana kneels beside her, desperate with faith. I feel a surge of compassion.

If there were anyone out there to accept the deal, I think I’d say, “My life for Mauricio’s”—which, rationally, isn’t a bargain that could ever be made. Still, I’d do anything for him.

•

That afternoon I call the agency from the sanatorium and the boss tells me I don’t need to give him any explanations, in these situations family comes first. And by the way, when will I get back to work.

I ask Marcela if there’s any news and she tells me she now has pictures of the dog. “Emilia hasn’t been back?” “Who?” “The Candé girl.” No, she hasn’t come back.

There’s nothing on my part and nothing in Marcela’s voice to bring back the memory of her in my arms.

Later, Mauricio takes a turn for the better.

I insist that Susana go home, get some rest, and spend time with her children. This pleases my brother and during the night—he can’t sleep normally yet—we converse.

Strangely, our reconnection happens entirely through childhood memories; the raging river, my blue swim trunks that they stole from me, the two of us as Boy Scouts, Tío Fernando’s race car, Papá.

We share memories of him, from the happy times.

•

Near midday, Susana returns and sends me off—now she’s the one giving orders—to bathe, change clothes, have lunch with my mother.

Mauricio is making a double recovery, from illness and from an old injury to his love for his brother.

At home, while Mamá cooks, I let the kids entertain me. Marianita has trapped a sparrow and is keeping it in a cage.