The Childhood of Jesus

Chapter 12

He has vowed to keep his woes to himself, but when Álvaro asks a second time what has become of the boy (‘I miss him — we all miss him’), the whole story comes pouring out.

‘We went searching for his mother and — behold! — we found her,’ he says. ‘Now the two of them are reunited, and they are very happy together. Unfortunately the kind of life Inés has in mind for him doesn’t include hanging around the docks with the menfolk. It includes nice clothes and good manners and regular meals. Which is fair enough, I suppose.’

Of course it is fair enough. What right has he to complain?

‘It must come as a blow to you,’ says Álvaro. ‘The youngster is special. Anyone can see that. And you and he were close.’

‘Yes, we were close. But it’s not as if I won’t see him again. It’s just that his mother feels that he and she will restore their bond more easily if I stay out of the picture for a while. Which, again, is fair enough.’

‘Indeed,’ says Álvaro. ‘But it does ignore the urgings of the heart, doesn’t it?’

The urgings of the heart: who would have thought Álvaro had it in him to talk like that? A man strong and true. A comrade. Why can he not bare his heart frankly to Álvaro? But no: ‘I have no right to make demands,’ he hears himself say. Hypocrite! ‘Besides, the rights of the child always trump the rights of grown-ups. Isn’t that a principle in law? The rights of the child as bearer of the future.’

Álvaro gives him a sceptical look. ‘I’ve never heard of such a principle.’

‘A law of nature then. Blood is thicker than water. A child belongs with his mother. Particularly a young child. By comparison, my claims are very abstract, very artificial.’

‘You love him. He loves you. That isn’t artificial. It’s the law that is artificial. He should be with you. He needs you.’

‘It’s good of you to say so, Álvaro, but does he truly need me? Perhaps the truth is, I am the one who needs him. Perhaps I lean on him more than he leans on me. Who knows how we elect those we love anyway? It is all a great mystery.’

That afternoon he has a surprise visitor: young Fidel, who arrives at the docks on his bicycle, bearing a scrawled note: We have been expecting you. I hope there is nothing wrong. Would you like to come to dinner this evening? Elena.

‘Say to your mother, Thank you, I’ll be there,’ he tells Fidel.

‘Is this your work?’ asks Fidel.

‘Yes, this is what I do. I help to load and unload ships like this one. I’m sorry I can’t take you on board, but it is a bit dangerous. One day when you are older, perhaps.’

‘Is it a galleon?’

‘No, it doesn’t have sails so it can’t qualify as a galleon. It is what we call a coal-fired ship. That means it burns coal to work the engines that make it go. Tomorrow they will be loading coal for the return voyage. That will be done at Wharf Ten, not here. I won’t be involved. I’m glad of it. It’s a nasty job.’

‘Why?’

‘Because coal leaves black dust all over you, including in your hair. Also because coal is very heavy to carry.’

‘Why can’t David play with me?’

‘It’s not that he can’t play with you, Fidel. It’s just that his mother wants him to herself for a while. She hasn’t seen him in a long time.’

‘I thought you said she had never seen him.’

‘In a manner of speaking. She saw him in her dreams. She knew he was coming. She was waiting for him. Now he has come, and she is overjoyed. Her heart is full.’

The boy is silent.

‘Fidel, I have to get back to work now. I’ll see you and your mother this evening.’

‘Is her name Inés?’

‘David’s mother? Yes, her name is Inés.’

‘I don’t like her. She’s got a dog.’

‘You don’t know her. Once you get to know her you will like her.’

‘I won’t. It’s a fierce dog. I’m scared of it.’

‘I have seen the dog. Its name is Bolívar, and I agree, you should steer clear of it. It is an Alsatian. Alsatians tend to be unpredictable. I’m surprised she has brought it to the Blocks.’

‘Does it bite?’

‘It can.’

‘And where exactly are you living,’ asks Elena, ‘now that you have given up your nice apartment?’

‘I told you: I have taken a room near the docks.’

‘Yes, but where exactly? In a boarding house?’

‘No. It doesn’t matter where it is or what kind of room. It is good enough for my purposes.’

‘Does it have cooking facilities?’

‘I don’t need cooking facilities. I wouldn’t use them if I had them.’

‘So you are living on bread and water. I thought you were sick of bread and water.’

‘Bread is the staff of life. He who has bread shall not want. Elena, please stop this interrogation. I am perfectly capable of caring for myself.’

‘I doubt that. I doubt it very much. Can the people at the arrivals centre not find you a new apartment?’

‘As far as the Centre is aware, I am still happily situated in my old apartment. They are not about to award me a secondary residence.’

‘And Inés — did you not say that Inés has rooms at La Residencia? Why can’t she and the child stay there?’

‘Because children aren’t allowed at La Residencia. La Residencia is a kind of resort, as far as I can work out.’

‘I know La Residencia. I have visited there. Do you know she has brought a dog with her? It’s one thing keeping a small dog in an apartment, but this is a great big wolfhound. It’s not hygienic.’

‘It’s not a wolfhound, it’s an Alsatian. I admit, it makes me nervous. I’ve warned David to be careful. I’ve warned Fidel too.’

‘I will certainly not allow Fidel anywhere near it. Are you sure you have done the right thing, giving your child away to a woman like that?’

‘To a woman with a dog?’

‘To a childless woman in her thirties. A woman who spends her time playing sports with men. A woman who keeps dogs.’

‘Inés plays tennis. Lots of women play tennis. It’s enjoyable. It keeps you fit. And she has only one dog.’

‘Has she told you anything about her background, her past?’

‘No. I didn’t ask her.’

‘Well, in my opinion you are out of your mind, handing over your child to a stranger who for all you know has a dubious past.’

‘That’s nonsense, Elena. Inés has no past, none that counts. None of us has a past. We start anew here. We start with a blank slate, a virgin slate. And Inés is not a stranger. I recognized her as soon as I set eyes on her, which means I must have some kind of prior knowledge.’

‘You arrive here with no memories, with a blank slate, yet you claim to recognize faces from the past. It makes no sense.’

‘It is true: I have no memories. But images still persist, shades of images. How that is I can’t explain. Something deeper persists too, which I call the memory of having a memory. It is not from the past that I recognize Inés but from elsewhere. It is as if the image of her were embedded in me. I have no doubts about her, no second thoughts. At least, I have no doubt that she is the boy’s true mother.’

‘Then what doubts do you have?’

‘I only hope she will be good for him.’