His uncle smiled.
“I heard you talked to Mónica in Brazil. Your dad asked me not to come until he called me. You know your dad isn’t an easy person. Nor is it easy to get divorced.”
“I bet,” said Gaspar. His uncle’s voice was soothing. It was the same one he’d heard so many times on the phone, on his birthday, at Christmas, sometimes for Three Kings Day, every year for as long as he could remember. Luis didn’t feel like a stranger, though he’d only ever seen him in photos. He hadn’t called for the World Cup, and that was odd. He asked his uncle about it.
“I did call!” Luis said, and he laughed the laugh that Gaspar also recognized, a short and pretty loud peal of laughter, a little like a shout. “But there was never anyone here during the games.”
“Dad was here, I think, but he wasn’t about to answer. I watched at a friend’s house for good luck.”
“Too bad, I would have liked to talk to you.”
Gaspar spilled a little milk when he poured it into his coffee. He thought it was strange that his uncle drank coffee without sugar, but he said nothing.
“Did you break your arm?”
Gaspar was expecting the question because his arm was still partly immobilized. He’d be getting the stitches out soon. He didn’t want to talk to his uncle about his injury. From repeating the lie so much, someday he might just end up believing it.
“I cut myself badly falling on the stairs. I’ll show you later, the staircase has a window and I slipped and put my arm through the glass. They operated and everything.”
“Really? Your dad didn’t tell me anything.”
Of course not, thought Gaspar. The scar itched, pulled; he scratched carefully over the bandage. His uncle sipped his coffee: he wasn’t suspicious, he’d believed the story of the accident. And why would he suspect anything? Just in case, Gaspar kept talking. He told Luis how he’d be going back to school next Monday and he still wasn’t allowed to play soccer, though he didn’t understand why, when there were players who did it after injecting themselves with worse things.
He wasn’t able to finish his tale or receive a reply because he was interrupted by his father’s footsteps in the living room. Gaspar was surprised to see him enter the kitchen: it was unusual for him to get out of bed. And it was with even more surprise that he took in their hug, the emotion in his uncle’s eyes, his father’s tall body that seemed so fragile as it made that affectionate gesture. The two of them left the kitchen; Luis gestured to indicate he’d be back in a while, and his father didn’t even glance at him. Gaspar started to wash the mugs one-handed, because he couldn’t get his wounded arm wet.
Vicky was surprised to come home from school and find Gaspar’s uncle Luis drinking mate with her mother in the messy living room of her house; Lidia was off from the hospital that day and the next. Her mom introduced her as “one of Gaspar’s best friends,” and Luis said he’d heard about her. Vicky thought he was like an older and nicer version of Gaspar’s dad. The important conversation was over, Vicky realized, because now they were talking about Luis’s life in Brazil. A neighborhood called Gamboa, near Santa Teresa. How lovely, her mother was saying, and Luis replied: More or less. Maybe I didn’t think it was so beautiful anymore because I missed home. They talked about exile, and Luis said he’d missed the smells, the food, that Río was a wonderful city, but also very melancholic. And this return is also sad, he said, and here they both looked at Vicky, but she reached for a pastry filled with dulce de leche and stayed put.
“He’d be much more comfortable in a hospital,” said Lidia suddenly.
“So they tell me, but he wants to be at home as long as possible. They’re going to hospitalize him soon.”
Gaspar’s house was already like a hospital. Vicky had only been by once, recently, but she’d noticed the change. It was warm, with the heaters turned on. She’d gotten a look into Juan’s room: they’d bought a new bed that would make it easier to tend to him, tall, with railings and a lever to raise the head, and she’d seen all the medicines neatly organized on a bedside table. The nurse slept there, and the doctor almost always did too. Vicky’s mom also helped out on her days off from the hospital. That was all fine, Vicky thought, but she realized that in the meantime, no one was paying much attention to Gaspar, who rode his bike around the streets or went swimming or to the movies, where he watched one film after another. He looked so sad, so skinny, and he didn’t even seem happy when he was watching soccer anymore. Plus, he was skipping school.
“Gaspar is doing really bad,” said Vicky.
Luis looked at her, the mate straw between his lips, his turquoise eyes very attentive. He set the gourd on the table, poured hot water in, and handed it to Vicky.
“He’s really messed up, it’s true, because of his dad. And on top of that he had two accidents in a few months, poor thing’s had some bad luck.”
“Still, they don’t really get along.”
“My brother was never an easy guy, and I think Gaspar is having a hard time accepting that he’s going to have to say goodbye to his dad.”
Vicky was taken aback by this man who spoke to her so seriously, like she was an adult, who looked at her so frankly, and who made great mate.
“Are you going to adopt him?”
“I already started the process. I’m now Gaspar’s guardian.”
“What’s that?”
“It means I’m the adult in charge of taking care of him.”
“Then maybe you should pay a little more attention, because you sure aren’t taking very good care of him.”
Luis folded his hands on his lap and thought for a bit before answering.
“Look, Vicky. What you’re saying is true. I would like for Gaspar to listen to me more, spend more time at home. He’s still little. Everyone deals with the death of their father or mother as best they can. My mom died when I was just a little older than Gaspar. It was a very ugly illness and I rebelled a little, too. I’m sure that you all, as his friends, can help him better than I can, because you know him better.”
Vicky crossed her legs on the sofa; she was wearing her gym sweatpants.
“I don’t know how,” she said.
“See what I mean?” said Luis. “No one knows.”
It was late when Gaspar got home. His father was in the hospital now and things were calmer at the house, no bustling nurses, no need to be silent. He didn’t know if his uncle was there; he divided his time between the clinic and trying to be there for Gaspar. There was pizza in the oven, and though it was cold and several slices were missing, he ate it standing at the kitchen counter. It was a stroke of luck: the café in the park had closed without warning, and he was really hungry after spending the afternoon at the movies. The bedroom door was cracked open and for a moment he thought he saw his dad’s shape in the bed, but it was just a movement of the shadows.
He heard keys in the door. The steps that followed were his uncle’s: decisive, fast, sneakered. They headed straight for the kitchen, and when Gaspar saw his face, tired and frowning, an expression between worried and sad, he thought: there’s a talk coming. The talk.