Juan crushed the cigarette in the ashtray on the bedside table and kissed Tali; behind the nicotine and lemon verbena, she tasted the salt of his tears and the chemical aftertaste of his medication. I’m going to find Gaspar, he said, and he left, barefoot and shirtless, mud still spattered on his legs. After a while Tali heard him talking to Gaspar near the bedroom window. They were still discussing the goddess of night and her twin sons death and sleep, so similar and so different.
Tali moved over for Juan when he got into her bed that night. He’d left Gaspar asleep in the living room: the kid wanted to put the mattress there and not in a bedroom, and there was no point in arguing, he could sleep where he wanted. Juan had taken a bath, and he had that stand-offish air she knew well, so she didn’t touch him. Soon he was asleep, his back to her. In the semidarkness, she could see the scar that started at his ribs and ended on his back, the mark of one of his childhood operations. The first time she had seen him naked, she’d been so shocked by the scars that she’d almost rejected him; plus, she was older, what was she doing sleeping with a sick teenager? It had been at Puerto Reyes, in one of the mansion’s many guest bedrooms. Tali remembered that first time as a careful thing; he was a virgin, and though he was as hormone-charged as any boy his age, he kept a certain distance, as if he were capable of studying the situation and avoiding adolescent nerves. And, in a way, he was. It was the illness, he’d explained to her later. Each thing he did was a negotiation, a calculation. As if he were tasked with carrying and caring for a delicate crystal treasure that he could never set aside, not even in a safe place, and that had to be moved gingerly so as not to damage or break it, so that he had to think out every movement in advance, always tiptoeing, always wondering if this jolt would bring the disaster, the final break.
That summer, Tali had been initiated into the Order by Adolfo Reyes, her father, and she was invited to the Ceremonial. When she saw Juan in the place of power, she fainted. No one noticed, they were all in some kind of trance. The fear didn’t last long. Her father had talked to her about the Order for years, and he’d told her the stories of the mediums. But she never expected the medium to be Juan. They’d hidden it very well; even Rosario, who was so close to her, had hidden it from her for years, and Tali understood why.
A little over a year later, Juan went to London for an operation and to see Rosario. He stayed living in England for some time, but disaster brought him back. Tali hadn’t gotten angry when she found out he and Rosario were together, because she knew that’s how it had to be. She merely cried, then tried to forget him; she couldn’t.
Tali fell asleep at dawn, and when she woke up just a few hours later, Juan and Gaspar were in the kitchen making breakfast. She put on a fresh dress and went over to the counter to help them. We’re making something yummy, Gaspar told her. And for a moment she thought, why not? Why not take her sister’s place and look after her widower and her son?
“Good morning, boys,” she said.
Gaspar was spreading butter with extreme care on to toast that was a little burned but perfectly edible. Juan told her:
“The protection on your temple is a disaster.”
There was that contemptuous tone she hated, the superiority that always irritated her.
“I don’t have your skills.”
“That’s quite clear. I’ll take care of it later.”
Gaspar handed her a piece of toast. It had a lot of jam, but Tali ate it anyway. Juan went on preparing the mate. Tali decided not to argue.
“Should we go to the lake today?” she suggested.
“Yeah! Let’s go!” cried Gaspar. “I know how to swim now.”
“He’s learning,” said Juan.
“We could go, there are no more palometas.”
“What are palometas?”
“They’re fish that are a lot like piranhas. But they only bite you, they won’t eat you.”
Gaspar’s eyes opened wide.
“Maybe you’ll get lucky and see one,” said Juan.
“But I don’t want them to bite me.”
“Don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of you.”
“Can I watch TV?”
Tali said sure and brought his milk and cookies to the living room. When she came back to the kitchen, Juan was sitting at the table, smoking.
“Did you get up early?”
“I try to get up first because Gaspar wakes up crying.”
He looked her in the eyes, and she saw a rage so deep it frightened her. He put out the cigarette in a mug, took a notebook from his bag, and told her we have to get that temple fixed. We’re going to take a walk outside, he told his son, we’ll be back in a bit. The kid nodded, hypnotized by the morning cartoons even though the image was filled with vertical lines and snow, thanks to the precarious aerial. Outside, Juan stood for a while in Tali’s garden, which was small but had passionflowers, chrysanthemums, dahlias, forget-me-nots, wisteria that climbed up tall ferns and reached the house and ascended up the walls to the roof, purple foxgloves that looked like hoods, and some orchids hanging from the trunk of a peach tree.
Tali followed Juan to the temple, which she kept locked with a padlock. She didn’t open the place much—almost all the faithful came in August, with offerings. If anyone had a special request, they came to her first, and then she would set a date for the ritual.
“Do you want to go in?”
“Not yet.”
Juan had opened his notebook and was drawing with a very small pencil, or at least one that looked very small between his large fingers. When he drew standing up he always bent his body, pushing his hips forward and curving his back. It didn’t take him long, and when he was finished he lifted up his sunglasses to see if the final product was satisfactory. He wiped his damp forehead with his shirt, then approached the door of the temple and touched it, caressed it.
“Come here, Tali,” he said.
He asked her to hold the notebook so he could see the drawing, and then pulled a razor blade from his back pocket. He cut the middle finger of his right hand from the tip to the knuckle and then let his hand hang down. When the blood started to flow, he used the finger like a pen to reproduce the image in the notebook on the white-painted door. Tali looked at the seal he’d drawn. It was delicate and had the geometrical correctness typical of Juan. Only as she was admiring the design of the protection, which looked simple but provoked an ambiguous repulsion even in her, did Tali notice the silence.
“With this you’ll never need another protection again. You could leave the door unlocked if you wanted.” He fell silent and looked into Tali’s eyes. “It’s a seal that was recently given to me.”
“Are you asking for protection?”
Juan looked at the bandage on his hand, soiled with blood and sweat.
“I’m seeking protection and it’s offered to me, slowly, as always. As you well know, I still haven’t received what I really want.”
Then he motioned with his good hand for her to give him the notebook.
“If you want to swim, I’ll make you a good bandage so you can get in the water.”
Later on, Tali cleaned Juan’s wound in the bathroom, thinking of the dirty door and Juan’s fragility; she knew an infection would be very dangerous. He let her work, and only asked her to wrap the bandage more tightly.