Selected Cronicas

FAMILY OUTING

On Sunday evenings, the entire family would go to the pier to watch the ships. They would lean over the parapet and, if Father were alive today, perhaps he would still be watching those oily waters which he used to examine so intently. His daughters would become vaguely uneasy, they would summon him to come and look at something more interesting: look at the ships, Daddy! they would point out to him impatiently. As darkness fell, the illuminated city turned into a great metropolis with high revolving stools in every café. The youngest daughter insisted upon sitting on one of those high stools and Father found this amusing. This was great fun. Then she would try to be even more entertaining just to please him, and that was not so amusing. She chose something to drink which was not expensive, although the revolving stool increased the price of everything. The rest of the family stood around, watching this ritual of pleasure. A child’s timid but voracious pursuit of happiness. This was when she discovered the Ovaltine they served in cafés. Never before had she experienced such luxury whipped up in a tall glass, made all the taller because of the froth on top, the stool high and wobbly, as she sat on top of the world. Everyone was watching. The first mouthfuls almost made her sick, but she forced herself to empty the glass. The disturbing responsibility of an unfortunate choice; forcing herself to enjoy what must be enjoyed, and thus adding the indecisiveness of a rabbit to her other weaknesses. There was also the terrifying suspicion that Ovaltine is good: it is I who am no good. She fibbed, insisting that her drink was delicious because the others were standing there watching her enjoy the luxury of happiness which cost money. Did it depend on her whether they believed or not in a better world? But she was extricated from this problem by her father, and she felt safe within this intimate circle, where to stroll holding hands constituted the family. On the way home, her father remarked: Without really doing anything, we have spent so much money.

Before falling asleep, lying in bed in the dark. Through the window, on the white wall: the huge, swaying shadows of the branches, looking as if they belonged to.some enormous tree which did not actually exist in the patio. All that grew there was a straggly shrub: or perhaps it was the moon’s shadow. Sunday was always that immense, contemplative night which gave existence to all future Sundays and produced cargo ships and oily waters and produced a milky drink with froth and the moon and the gigantic shadow of a tiny fragile tree. Just like me.