Alberto's Lost Birthday (24 page)

Chita has been important during my time here. She has helped me learn to be a wife, to look after our home and my new husband. We have never spoken of it, but it’s clear she knows that I
never had to work in the home before. She is patient and kind to me, and I appreciate her friendship.

She tidies up a little while I make the coffee; then we sit at the table. It’s an indulgent feeling. Usually at this time in the morning, we would be working through the day’s
chores.

‘So,’ says Chita, ‘have you been thinking of names?’

‘If it’s a girl,’ I reply, ‘we will call her after my sister.’

‘I didn’t know you had a sister,’ says Chita with interest.

‘And if it’s a boy,’ I carry on quickly, ‘we are still having discussions.’

Raúl and I have promised we won’t speak of our family here. We agreed that we have started our lives anew. Our old lives are behind us.

But I miss my sister, Mercedes. She and I used to be so close. I know I am the one to have created a distance between us, but I wish we could return to the way things were. Maybe one day
we’ll go back and I can make amends.

‘Discussions?’ says Chita. ‘It sounds as if you don’t agree.’

‘Raúl thinks a boy should be named after him – Raulito. If not, he likes Jesús.’

‘Well, what’s wrong with those names? It is tradition for your firstborn to take his father’s name.’

‘I think it’s confusing to have two people in the same house with the same name. I know everyone does it, but I’ve always thought it was strange. But also, what if we have
another boy? Won’t he feel bad that he hasn’t got his papá’s name?’

Chita smiles. She clearly thinks I’m being ridiculous. ‘And what is the reason for rejecting our good Lord’s name?’ she asks.

I sigh. I can’t tell Chita that I have rejected not just his name, but the good Lord himself.

‘There are just other names that I prefer.’

‘Such as?’

‘For most of my pregnancy, I’ve liked the name Eduardo,’ I say. Chita nods approvingly. ‘But,’ I continue, ‘lately I’ve been thinking about another
name. I don’t know where it came from – it just popped into my head one day.’

‘What is it?’

‘Alberto.’

‘Alberto,’ says Chita, trying it out. ‘Yes, it’s a good name. What does Raúl think?’

‘He says when the baby comes, we’ll know which name is right.’

‘Well, he’s correct,’ says Chita.

Suddenly, the pain stabs again and I grasp the table. Chita reaches out and takes my hand.

‘How long since the last pain?’ she asks when I get my breath back.

‘About twenty minutes.’

‘And was this pain stronger than the last?’

‘Yes, a bit. Has it started?’ I ask nervously.

‘Maybe,’ she says, smiling and sitting back. ‘I’ll stay a while longer and we’ll see what happens.’

I nod, feeling a little fluttering of fear in my stomach.

‘Chita, will you do me a favour? Raúl is so anxious; I don’t want him to be worried unnecessarily. Please don’t tell him until the baby has arrived.’

Chita nods seriously. ‘Unless,’ she says, raising her finger at me, ‘unless it is necessary to tell him.’

I realize she is suggesting that something may go wrong, and if my life is in danger, she will call him.

‘Of course,’ I agree cautiously.

‘Perhaps,’ says Chita, her face softening, ‘you should have something else to eat. You need to keep your strength up.’

‘I have some
magdalenas
in the pantry,’ I smile, rising to fetch the plate of fluffy sponge cakes.

‘I have noticed,’ laughs Chita, ‘that you only eat for two when it comes to cakes!’

I lean back into the pillow, panting hard. The last contraction was stronger than the others. Since my waters broke an hour ago, everything has changed.

Chita had immediately sent a boy to the town to fetch the midwife. Then she called for a girl to prepare lunch for the Quinteros and Raúl. When she had organized everything, she helped me
into my nightdress and busied herself preparing the bed and collecting linen.

And now here I am, lying in the bed. I have been watching the clock to count the time between the pains. It is now only five minutes between each one.

There is a knock on the door and Chita opens it. A tiny lady dressed in black, her face creased with smile lines, enters the room.

‘Hello, beautiful girl,’ she greets me. ‘Are you ready for the arrival of your precious little one?’

I nod, unable not to smile at this woman despite the pain.

‘My name is María Teresa,’ she says, handing a wicker basket to Chita.

‘Señora?’ I ask, confused. I cannot call someone so elderly whom I have never met before by their given name.

‘Dear,’ she says patiently, ‘we are going to be intimately acquainted by the end of this. Let us be less formal from the beginning.’

‘Oh,’ I say uneasily.

Chita takes her to the kitchen, where I hear them murmuring quietly.

When they return, María Teresa is wearing an apron and has her sleeves rolled up. ‘Shall we see where we are, dear?’ she asks.

I nod and let her examine me.

‘Ooh,’ she says with delight. ‘All’s going well. It shouldn’t be too much longer now, and then you’ll have your special little gift.’

I feel myself relax a tiny amount. But the moment is brief and I feel another wave of pain coming fast.

‘Now, dear,’ says the old woman, grasping my hand, ‘breathe. That’s it. Breathe. And think of something lovely.’

I squint at her in disbelief.

‘Yes, yes,’ she nods gleefully. ‘Close your eyes and think of something, or someone, that makes you happy.’

I try, but all I can think of is the pain. When it is over, María Teresa pushes my hair away from my damp face and says, ‘I know it’s difficult, dear, but it will help. Think
of a place where you feel relaxed. Or perhaps being with your husband. Or a food that you adore. If you can think of that, and not the pain, it will bring you some relief.’

‘I’ll try,’ I say.

‘Very good,’ says María Teresa brightly as she bustles into the kitchen.

Chita returns with a bowl of water. Sitting beside me, she sets the bowl on the side table and dips a cloth in it. After wringing it out, she lays the cool cloth on my forehead.

‘Thank you, Chita,’ I smile at her.

Chita looks sadly at me and says, ‘I’m sorry that your mother cannot be here with you. This is a time to be with your daughter.’

I haven’t thought of my mother in weeks. We were never close, but it has been easier than I expected to dispel her from my thoughts. I know Raúl misses his family a great deal, but
apart from Mercedes, I do not.

The thought of my mother in this room fills me with horror. Oh no, the last thing I would want right now is my mother by my bedside. Warmth and support do not come naturally to her. She would
certainly not approve of the cheery midwife – serious things must be conducted seriously in her opinion.

If my mother knew of my affair, and of this baby, I truly don’t know what she would do. Perhaps she would shun me instantly. Turn her back on me and refuse to let any member of my family
ever speak to me again. Or she might insist that we tell everyone that the baby was born early, yet remind me regularly that my child is a bastard. And she would insist a child born of sin was
instantly baptized to save it from the flames of hell.

It will be difficult enough for me to dissuade Raúl from baptizing the baby. In the past few months, I have been considering this. While I have my opinion about the Church and religion,
is it my place to impose it on a baby? My resolution has been that when it is old enough, we must let the child decide independently. I shall have problems explaining this to Raúl, though, I
know, as he is more religious than even he realizes.

It is most likely that the child will be influenced by the Catholic society all around us, and want to be a part of it as opposed to excluded from it. And if that’s enough, to feel part of
something, then so be it. I’ll be happy to support that decision. But I shall never return to the Church. It has caused me too much pain, and shown me it is an institution of suffering, not
love. It repels me with its oppression and cruelty. As I think of what the Church has done to me, I feel a rage stir within me.

‘Another one?’ asks Chita, gently patting my head with the cloth.

I realize that the pain is returning and I nod.

María Teresa told me to think of something that makes me happy. I close my eyes tight and think of Raúl. I see his smiling face. I feel nothing but the pain. I try again and
remember a day a few months ago when Raúl and I went out in the car. We took a picnic to a field full of wild lavender and we lay in the sun and the scent-filled air.

But still the pain is unbearable. In desperation, I think of the face that I only rarely allow myself to see. He appears in front of me. His earnest look breaks into an easy smile and I see him
chuckle. There is a light in his eyes that makes his face glow and I feel myself smile back at him.

‘Well,’ exclaims María Teresa, ‘whatever you’re thinking of is working, isn’t it?’

Puffing through the fading pain, I nod at the old woman and hope that she doesn’t ask me what I’m thinking of.

And so it continues. The pain comes and I think of my lover and the thought of him eases the pain.

Over the hours, I think of the time we spent together. I remember when we first met. The fragrance of incense, the murmuring of the congregation and that handsome face as he leant towards me. It
was clear we both felt something when we looked on one another for the first time. He stumbled over his blessing and I nearly choked on the host. Then our new priest smiled the tiniest of smiles at
me and I knew I had to see that smile again.

As the pain rushes in again, I recall our first kiss. I had asked him to hear my confession, and confessed my feelings for him. He told me to pray for the Almighty’s forgiveness. Then,
because it was late, he offered to walk me home. As we crossed the dark, empty park, I stopped and tried to kiss him. At first, he pushed me away, but then, as we looked into each other’s
eyes, he pulled me to him and kissed me passionately.

The next time the pain comes, I remember our first night together. In his small, musty-smelling room, we hid under the covers. He held me tight and we whispered our love. We were so comfortable
with one another, it was as if we had known each other all our lives. Without his robes, he was a man like any other. And yet a man unlike any other I had met.

And then, when there seems to be no respite from the pain, María Teresa tells me to push. As I do, I imagine it is not Chita holding my hand, but Antonio. It is Antonio who whispers in my
ear that the baby’s head is appearing. His warm voice telling me that I must keep bearing down. I squeeze his hand tightly and scream while he tells me I’m doing well and our baby is
nearly with us. When I think I can bear it no longer, I hear Antonio say that our boy has arrived, and it is over.

Chita wraps the bloody bundle in soft cloths, then lifts it towards me. I see the tiny baby screw up his face and release a cry that to me sounds like music. I feel such an incredible surge of
love for this tiny being that I can barely breathe. I hold him gently and his warm head falls on my chest.

‘It’s a boy,’ says Chita, wiping my forehead.

‘I know,’ I say, gazing into my child’s face. ‘His name is Alberto.’

Chita smiles at me kindly until María Teresa nudges her and whispers urgently.

Ignoring them, I continue to look at my baby, drinking in his face, his tiny tuft of sticky hair, his wrinkled fingers.

I am vaguely aware of Chita quickly leaving the room and returning with fresh towels and sheets. I see her gather bloodstained sheets and rush out of the room with them. I hear the door open and
Chita calls for a boy. I hear her speak quickly and quietly to whoever comes before closing the door again.

For a tiny moment, I break my gaze from my beautiful baby to look at María Teresa. Her face is worried and stern. She sees me looking at her and instantly a smile lights her face.

‘Nothing to worry about, lovely. There’s just a bit too much blood. Chita has sent for the doctor, but I’m sure everything will be fine. You enjoy your gorgeous boy.’

My gorgeous boy squeezes his eyes shut and shakes his head. I sense the figure of Antonio by my side, and the faint scent of incense.

‘Welcome, Alberto,’ I say quietly to him. ‘Your father and I are so pleased you’re here.’

Chita comes back to me, a worried look on her face. It snaps me back to reality. Of course I know that Antonio is not here. And the expression on Chita’s face makes me say to her,
‘Please tell Raúl.’

She nods and dashes out of the room. I hear the door slam and turn back to Alberto, who squirms in his swaddling cloths. ‘Albertino,’ I whisper to him, ‘you must know that you
were born out of the truest of loves. Whatever happens, I will always be with you.’

I realize that tears are streaming down my face. The pain is returning, but this time it is too much and I cannot divert my mind from it.

Chita returns to my side, and she speaks. But it’s as if she is speaking from a very long distance and I have to strain to hear her. She says that Raúl is outside and the doctor is
on his way. I suddenly feel very drowsy and struggle to keep my eyes open. As I strain to look at Alberto, he is gently taken from my arms. I want to object. I want to cry,
No –
don’t take my baby!
but the desire to sleep is too strong and I succumb.

As I drift away, I see Antonio. I reach out to touch him, but then I see an anxious look on his gaunt face. Looking around, I see Raúl is beside me, smiling. My mother and father stand
just behind me. With a sinking feeling I realize what I see is my wedding day.

The man I am in love with, the love of my life, stands before me, reading the scripture. The man that I love, who told me that our love could not be, that it was impossible for us to be
together, that what had happened between us was a mortal sin. The man that I love, who chose God above me.

I remember him telling me it was over. All of my pleading and wailing had come to nothing. He had stood firm, pale and miserable, and insisted that God was his one true love.