Beyond the Ties of Blood (31 page)

“Are you all right? You seem really tired.” Ignacio kept hold of her elbow as he turned to give Laura a more formal peck on the cheek.

“Well, I didn't sleep much, but that's not the problem,” Eugenia answered. “It's just that the police in the booths … well, they look pretty much the same as when we left.”

Looking up, Ignacio nodded, then turned back and led them off to the left side with a hand under each woman's elbow, stopping for a moment by the wall. “Absolutely right. But that's not where we're going. I have copies of all your documents, duly stamped. Do you have Laura's passport and visa handy?”

As Ignacio reached into the inside pocket of his coat and took out an official-looking envelope, Eugenia removed Laura's papers from her purse. Ignacio folded them into the same envelope, then escorted the two women to an exit along the left wall. He handed the envelope and his own pass to a guard standing there. The man looked through all the materials carefully and then nodded, waving them through. Before Eugenia could catch her breath, they were in the baggage area. A porter took her luggage tickets and collected their bags from the carousel. They went off to the side again, and Ignacio showed his pass to the customs guard standing there. Within minutes they were out in the greeting area where hundreds of people stood waiting for their loved ones, bouquets of roses and carnations splashing the crowd with red.

“There are a number of returnees arriving on your flight,” Ignacio said, noticing Eugenia's stare. “Most of them haven't seen their family in nearly twenty years. In this group you were one of two without some kind of valid passport. The Commission is also sponsoring the other person, but I made sure I was assigned to be your welcome committee.”

Eugenia looked up as Ignacio's hand tightened slightly on her arm, feeling the warmth spread up into her chest. Their eyes held for a moment. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I—”

“Chenyita! Oh my God! Chenyita! Laurita!” They were enveloped in the overpowering scent of red roses combined with Chanel N° 5. It was her mother.
Doña
Isabel's milk-white hair was pulled modishly back into a french twist, the pearls in her ears matching a single, flawless string around her neck. She wore a soft cashmere jacket in a muted houndstooth pattern.

“Chenyita! I can't believe it! My God! Oh, and Laurita! Look at you! A young lady already, why the last time I …” Her mother interrupted herself as she looked up and caught sight of Ignacio. “
Buenos días
, young man.” Her voice took on a more formal, proper tone and she looked at her daughter expectantly, her arms slowly dropping to her sides. A pile of roses now lay on the floor around their feet. Laura had managed to hold on to about half a dozen. Eugenia stepped carefully over the red-rose carpet and took Ignacio by the hand, bringing him back into the circle.

“Mamita,” she said, “this is Ignacio Pérez. He's the lawyer with the Truth Commission who arranged my return. Ignacio, this is my mother, María Isabel Valenzuela de Aldunate.”

“
Señora
.” Ignacio took her hand formally in both of his, bowing slightly.

“A pleasure, young man,” she fluttered. “Though you don't look old enough to have graduated from the university, much less to be a prominent lawyer. Pérez. And your mother's last name?”

“Mama!” Eugenia admonished.

“Don't worry, Eugenia,” Ignacio chuckled. “You know,
señora
,” he added smoothly, “people often comment on my youthful looks, which is why I always dress formally when I'm working. You see, I graduated from high school in 1974 at the age of sixteen, and went straight into the law program at the university. So I became a lawyer and went overseas in 1984 and took a Master's degree in human-rights law. After I returned in 1986, I joined a firm here in Santiago that had begun working with recently returned exiles, and I'd been with them for four years when I was asked to join the Commission on Truth and Reconciliation. I'm actually thirty-two years old,
señora
, and my mother's last name is Letelier.”

As smoothly as he had dealt with her questions, Ignacio began collecting the red roses from the floor. Between him and Laura, they gathered them into two large bunches. After motioning to the still-waiting porter to follow them, Ignacio piled his bouquet on top of Laura's, took Eugenia's and her mother's arms and moved the group toward the street. Her face peeking out from behind the combined rose bouquets, Laura brought up the rear.

The automatic doors opened to reveal a uniformed chauffeur standing beside a late-model black sedan. Ignacio motioned to him, and gave the porter a tip while the other man hoisted the bags into the open trunk of the car.

“Wait a minute, Ignacio. Of course my daughter and granddaughter are staying with me. I thought I could just get a taxi and …”

Ignacio gently patted
doña
Isabel's forearm. “Of course,
señora
Isabel,” he answered. “Eugenia and Laura will stay with you. But please allow me to spare you the inconvenience of a taxi. There's always a line, you know, and the rate just went up. There's no point. So once we're all comfortable and on the way out, you can just give Custodio here the address and we'll have you home as soon as possible.”

In a matter of minutes everyone was settled, Ignacio in the front seat next to the driver,
doña
Isabel in the back between her daughter and granddaughter. And they were off into the drizzle and heavy morning traffic, dense smog covering the
cordillera
that only a couple of hours before had brought tears to Eugenia's eyes.

The house looked just the same, though when
doña
Isabel rang the doorbell the young girl who ran out to open the dark wrought-iron gate, thin brown legs pumping quickly beneath a formal black and white maid's uniform, was unfamiliar. The maid struggled with the suitcases Custodio passed her and managed to drag them up the walk, then up the three tile stairs to the front entrance.

“Don't worry, Rosa,”
doña
Isabel said after the young maid had propped up all four bags next to the door. “The gardener should be here soon. I'll ask him to carry them upstairs to the bedrooms. This is my daughter Eugenia and my granddaughter Laura,” she continued. “They will be staying with me now.” And to Eugenia, as if she had heard her daughter's unspoken question, “Teresa went back to her family in the South. You know, she never really was the same after you disappeared. Once we found you and Irene got you out of the country, she decided she'd had enough. She packed her bag and went home.”

Eugenia went back toward the gate to say goodbye to Ignacio. As he moved forward to take her in his arms, the moist smog enveloped trees and buildings in a somber veil, suffocating all hope of sun.

“Don't worry. Everything will be fine,” he whispered. “I'll let you get settled and call you tomorrow morning. If you need to talk before then, I also wrote my car phone number on the back,” he said, pressing a card into her hand. With the fleeting touch of a thumb against her right cheekbone and a wave to her mother and daughter, he was gone.

Eugenia walked slowly up the steps to where Laura stood, sheltered from the rain under the ledge that overhung the front door. Luckily the entrance was large enough for her and the bags.
Doña
Isabel had just gone inside and could be heard giving orders to Rosa about lunch. Eugenia squeezed in under the overhang and put her arm around her daughter's shoulders, trying to gauge, more from touch than sight, how she was feeling. At first Laura pulled away from her, a tightness spreading through her shoulders. But when Eugenia insisted, gently rubbing her fingers over a cord of muscles gathering into a hard braid along the side of Laura's neck, her daughter relented.

“Well, then, I guess it's true,” Eugenia said.

“What's that?” Laura asked.

“We're back. But as they say, you can't go home again.”

Laura let her mother's fingers work on the knot along the top of her shoulder. “So this is the house where you grew up,” she said.

“Yes,
m'hijita.
”

“Was it always this gloomy?”

Eugenia let the question settle between them, heavy in the damp air.

“Well, it is different when the sun is out.”

“That's not what I meant.”

“I know. But I'm not sure. Maybe it was after my papa, and then Irene, moved out that things changed.”

“But you left, too.”

“You're right. That's a triple dose, then.”

“Do we have to stay here?”

“Not forever.”

“But for how long?”

“I'm not sure.”

“I don't like the feel of it.”

“Look, I promise we won't stay longer than we have to. In the meantime, though, can you give your grandmother a chance? You're the only grandchild she has.” Laura nodded slowly, as if measuring the size of the request. Then the two women turned and walked into the marble-floored front hall.

As they entered, they were caught in the middle of a frenetic wave of activity.
Doña
Isabel was running back and forth at a speed that seemed implausible for any human being. She flitted through the swinging door to the kitchen, shouting instructions to Rosa, then moved back out and into the bathroom, arranging the soap and towels, peering out the window to check for the gardener.

“Why isn't Demetrio here yet? He's usually here by eleven, and it's half past already. Do you think the traffic, or maybe the rain … Rosa, have we decided what to cook with the roast for lunch? Do you think some fried potatoes, or better yet, mashed? Is the avocado ripe? We could stuff it with the chicken salad I made last—” She caught herself as she turned and saw her guests. She literally skidded to a halt in front of them, her heels squeaking on the marble tiles.

“Oh. Chenyita, Laurita, you're inside. Good. It seems like it's going to keep raining. Thank goodness the bags are under the ledge. I don't know what's keeping Demetrio, but once he gets here and takes your bags up I'll show you where you're sleeping. Are you tired? Thirsty? Can I—”

Eugenia stopped her mother with a hand on the shoulder. “Mamita, there's no hurry. We're not going anywhere today, and nobody is coming here, at least that I know of. So let's just sit down for a moment in the living room, and when Demetrio gets here, maybe we can unpack before lunch. You know, I could stand a shower at some point, it's been more than twenty-four hours. And maybe a nap later, I didn't get much sleep on the plane.”

As she talked, Eugenia put her arm through her mother's and the three of them moved slowly toward the living room. They crossed the deep oriental rug and sat on the tapestried old couch next to the French doors.
Doña
Isabel let out a deep breath.

“My goodness. I don't know what came over me,” she said. “I guess with all the excitement … Laurita,” she continued, reaching across her daughter to take her granddaughter's hand, “come over and sit by me. Let me get a good look at you.”

Laura sat down next to her grandmother. The older woman ran her hands softly over Laura's hair, checking the texture and length of it, smoothing a rebellious strand or two off the forehead. Then she moved on to the shoulders and across the back, ending by holding the young girl's two hands in hers.

“Well, my dear, you've certainly grown into a beautiful young girl. Such long eyelashes, don't you think, Chenyita? And her eyes. Such a dark, dark brown. The hair, it's almost black, isn't it? I remember my mama talking about an aunt of hers with that dramatic Spanish coloring. The Moorish influence, no? Or maybe she takes after her father.”

Laura stiffened. Eugenia stood up and moved over, sitting down on Laura's other side and freeing one of her hands from her mother's grip. “Actually not, Mamita,” she said, “since her father had red curly hair and grey eyes. Maybe someone else in his family, though. I guess we'll find out pretty soon, won't we. Oh, look,” she added. “There's Demetrio.”

Eugenia was glad that, in the excitement that followed, her mother's attention moved away from Laura. As they clambered up the stairs behind a puffing Demetrio,
doña
Isabel made sure the right bags were in the right rooms, checked to see the water heater was on, and was then distracted by the gardener who commented that, with the rain, he wasn't sure he could be doing much outside today. “
Doña
Chelita,” as he called her, disagreed, so the two of them made their way down the stairs, still arguing over what would be possible, and whether or not the rain might stop. In the ensuing silence, Eugenia followed her daughter back to her room and watched her unzip her bags, open the closet door, and begin hanging the clothes she had brought.

“She hasn't seen you since you were a month old,” she said.

Laura looked up from the sweater she was refolding. “She made me feel like a piece of meat.”