his desk still littered with papers, his chair in front of the television, maybe even his toothbrush, or worse still the empty space where his toothbrush had once been. But I had not reckoned on Lisette.
‘Álvaro!’ I opened the gate with the remote control, but she was already standing outside the front door waiting for me, as though she had heard the car. ‘It’s so lovely to see you!’
I gazed up at her for a moment for the simple pleasure of looking at her. Then, as I bounded up the half-dozen steps to the front porch, I wondered how she would greet me. In front of my mother, Lisette always addressed me formally and referred to me as ‘señorito Álvaro’; in front of my wife, Lisette talked to me as a friend but did not kiss me when we met. That afternoon she kissed me on both cheeks, as she always did when it was just the two of us, and then hugged me, rocking me like a mother comforting her child.
‘How are you, niño ?’
‘Fine,’ I said, but my smile faded as I realised what she meant. ‘Well . . .’
‘I know . . .’ Slowly she let the palms of her hands slide down the back of my neck before stepping away. ‘I know . . .’
‘Your mother called to say you would be coming,’ she said as she walked into the house and headed towards the living room. ‘I’ve made you some sandwiches and a little salad . . .’
‘Thanks, Lisette, but I ate something at the university before I came.’
‘Oh,’ she seemed disappointed, ‘so I suppose you won’t want some crème caramel after all the trouble I went to learning how to make it?’
‘OK, then,’ I smiled finally, ‘I’ll have some of that.’
Lisette herself was as rich and intense, as syrupy and golden, as the crème caramel she now offered me. She had the face of an exotic doll, almond-shaped eyes with just a touch of make-up, full crimson lips, her body small and slender yet curvaceous with soft, velvety skin the colour of milky coffee. ‘Have you seen Mamá’s new maid, the one from Santo Domingo?’ my brother Julio had asked me at one of his kids’ birthdays, and when I told him I hadn’t, he put his face in his hands. ‘Jesus, she’s sex on legs.’
At that point I burst out laughing, although I didn’t particularly pay him any attention since my brother was the kind of man who tripped over gorgeous women at least twice a day, even if he only went out to walk the dog. But when I saw Lisette I had to admit that, despite his somewhat shallow and indiscriminate taste, this time my brother had not been exaggerating. ‘Hey,’ I said when I next saw him, back when my father still wanted us all to go to a restaurant for Sunday lunch, ‘you were right!’ ‘Right about what?’ Julio asked. ‘That thing you said about the Caribbean,’ I replied, even though it was just us and Rafa at the bar and none of the women could overhear. ‘I was right?’ I nodded. ‘Boy were you right!’ ‘Well, I did warn you,’ he shot back. ‘Incredible,’ I said. ‘Fucking incredible,’ he stressed. ‘Could you two just stop all that bullshit?’ interrupted Rafa, who, according to Julio, had always been appropriately interested in women, that is to say, not very interested, ‘you sound like a couple of horny schoolboys.’ ‘Not schoolboys,’ Julio burst out laughing, ‘but definitely horny,’ and I laughed with him.
I liked women a lot more than Rafa did, but I was less obsessive than Julio. I didn’t go looking for them, I didn’t run around after them, I didn’t chat them up in bars or chase after them at traffic lights. To me, women had always seemed to be a sort of gift, an extraordinary goodness that floated far above my head and rained down on me from time to time. I never felt that I had done anything to deserve the attention that some of them lavished on me, perhaps because, although I found them beautiful, funny, gentle, and infinitely arousing, I also found women strange. I never bothered to try to fathom the
‘Álvaro!’ I opened the gate with the remote control, but she was already standing outside the front door waiting for me, as though she had heard the car. ‘It’s so lovely to see you!’
I gazed up at her for a moment for the simple pleasure of looking at her. Then, as I bounded up the half-dozen steps to the front porch, I wondered how she would greet me. In front of my mother, Lisette always addressed me formally and referred to me as ‘señorito Álvaro’; in front of my wife, Lisette talked to me as a friend but did not kiss me when we met. That afternoon she kissed me on both cheeks, as she always did when it was just the two of us, and then hugged me, rocking me like a mother comforting her child.
‘How are you, niño ?’
‘Fine,’ I said, but my smile faded as I realised what she meant. ‘Well . . .’
‘I know . . .’ Slowly she let the palms of her hands slide down the back of my neck before stepping away. ‘I know . . .’
‘Your mother called to say you would be coming,’ she said as she walked into the house and headed towards the living room. ‘I’ve made you some sandwiches and a little salad . . .’
‘Thanks, Lisette, but I ate something at the university before I came.’
‘Oh,’ she seemed disappointed, ‘so I suppose you won’t want some crème caramel after all the trouble I went to learning how to make it?’
‘OK, then,’ I smiled finally, ‘I’ll have some of that.’
Lisette herself was as rich and intense, as syrupy and golden, as the crème caramel she now offered me. She had the face of an exotic doll, almond-shaped eyes with just a touch of make-up, full crimson lips, her body small and slender yet curvaceous with soft, velvety skin the colour of milky coffee. ‘Have you seen Mamá’s new maid, the one from Santo Domingo?’ my brother Julio had asked me at one of his kids’ birthdays, and when I told him I hadn’t, he put his face in his hands. ‘Jesus, she’s sex on legs.’
At that point I burst out laughing, although I didn’t particularly pay him any attention since my brother was the kind of man who tripped over gorgeous women at least twice a day, even if he only went out to walk the dog. But when I saw Lisette I had to admit that, despite his somewhat shallow and indiscriminate taste, this time my brother had not been exaggerating. ‘Hey,’ I said when I next saw him, back when my father still wanted us all to go to a restaurant for Sunday lunch, ‘you were right!’ ‘Right about what?’ Julio asked. ‘That thing you said about the Caribbean,’ I replied, even though it was just us and Rafa at the bar and none of the women could overhear. ‘I was right?’ I nodded. ‘Boy were you right!’ ‘Well, I did warn you,’ he shot back. ‘Incredible,’ I said. ‘Fucking incredible,’ he stressed. ‘Could you two just stop all that bullshit?’ interrupted Rafa, who, according to Julio, had always been appropriately interested in women, that is to say, not very interested, ‘you sound like a couple of horny schoolboys.’ ‘Not schoolboys,’ Julio burst out laughing, ‘but definitely horny,’ and I laughed with him.
I liked women a lot more than Rafa did, but I was less obsessive than Julio. I didn’t go looking for them, I didn’t run around after them, I didn’t chat them up in bars or chase after them at traffic lights. To me, women had always seemed to be a sort of gift, an extraordinary goodness that floated far above my head and rained down on me from time to time. I never felt that I had done anything to deserve the attention that some of them lavished on me, perhaps because, although I found them beautiful, funny, gentle, and infinitely arousing, I also found women strange. I never bothered to try to fathom the
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