The Sickness by Alberto Barrera Tyszka Page B

sentence.”
    â€œAnd one sentence was enough to give you a face like that?” asks Adelaida, astonished.
    It isn’t just fear that Karina feels, she feels disappointed too. Up until now, Durán has been a gentle mystery, not threatening in the least. He could even be seen as picturesque or slightly eccentric, but never dangerous. The opening sentence of this third e-mail was a wakeup call, alarm bells had suddenly started ringing inside her. She felt unsure now; perhaps everything was far less romantic than she imagined. Perhaps Ernesto Durán wasn’t just a lonely man with a fear of fainting and a desperate need to relate to someone. Perhaps he’s a madman, someone with serious mental problems. Karina takes the letter out of her handbag and shows it to Adelaida.

    â€œRead the opening sentence,” she says, holding it out for her friend to see.
    Dr. Miranda,
    I have a confession to make: I’m following you.
    Andrés ought to go to his father, show him the X-rays, tell him the truth, tell him exactly what’s happening; he should, moreover, explain that further tests are needed, that from now on, his relationship with medicine will become uncomfortably close, so close he’ll grow to loathe it; he should go to his father and tell him that it’s hopeless, that there’s not a thing they can do about it, that he has cancer and doesn’t have much longer to live. How long exactly? Medical calendars tend to be vague: not much longer. Which always means less.
    But he doesn’t do any of these things. Postponing duties, especially when those duties are painful ones, is also a temporary way of surviving. The poet William Carlos Williams was also a doctor. He wrote: “Many a time a man must watch the patient’s mind as it watches him, distrusting him . . .” Andrés didn’t know how his father would react when he found out the truth. He distrusted both his and his father’s minds because he wasn’t at all sure about himself, about how he would react once he’d told his father the truth. He’d decided to confront the situation, however tragic, head on and talk to his father; but when the moment came, he didn’t know how to, he felt invaded by thousands of tiny fears that raced around
in his mind like trapped lizards and always led him to postpone that duty yet again: he should talk to his father, but not just then, later.
    This morning, he again manages to distract himself from the task in hand. He has spent whole days using the same method. In order to ease his feelings of guilt, for he knows he doesn’t have much time, he keeps himself busy with matters related to his father’s illness, but which help him to avoid speaking to him directly. Now he’s trying to negotiate with Merny. She’s the woman who cleans Javier Miranda’s apartment twice a week. On Thursdays, she cleans the place thoroughly, and on Tuesdays she merely tidies up a little and does any ironing. Andrés has left his father at the movies with the children so that he can come and talk to her. He tells her everything, sparing her no detail, but warns that his father doesn’t yet know, that he knows nothing. When Merny hears this, she seems slightly surprised, but she’s never been one to show her feelings. She’s a reserved woman. She doesn’t ask many questions. Sometimes, it’s not easy to guess what she’s thinking, not, at least, for Andrés. When he suggests that she starts coming to the apartment every day, from Monday to Friday, Merny doesn’t answer, she looks uncomfortable and eyes him rather warily. Andrés makes it clear that he’s not asking her to be his father’s nurse. He’ll hire a nurse himself. He just wants her support, to know that she’ll be there all the time to do the cooking every day and pop out to the pharmacy or the market if necessary. “What do you think, Merny?” he