Read Online The Wind From the East by Almudena Grandes - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Almudena Grandes
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else tumbling down. Starting at a new hospital didn’t worry him too much, because all hospitals were alike. He knew it was possible that news of his friendship with the head of department might have preceded him and provoked some envy or suspicion, but he was confident that his abilities and lack of bureaucratic ambition would soon dispel any enmity. He was also aware that the opposite could happen: that once word spread that there was a new doctor in Orthopedics—unmarried, apparently single, who didn’t appear to be gay—the atmosphere could become stifling.
But he’d spent many years in the same situation, and he was sure it wouldn’t be much of a problem compared with everything else that might befall him.
He was much more concerned about leaving Tamara alone in the house for so long, however much Maribel, who seemed very efficient, assured him that she’d drop in to check on her first thing every morning, on her way to number thirty-one, and that she’d have the little girl’s lunch ready by the time she and her son got back from the swimming pool. Ostensibly Tamara would only be on her own for about two weeks, until term began, but Juan knew that, deep down, her loneliness would last much longer; in fact he couldn’t see an end to it.The blows his niece had had to endure—the death of her mother, then her father soon afterwards—had turned her relationship with him into an almost unhealthy dependency, a form of permanent emotional blackmail, more like that of a baby than a child her age. Juan realized that she was afraid of losing him as well, because he was all she had left, but he felt uncomfortable as a hostage to her love, not so much because it limited the freedom he’d become so accustomed to, having lived alone for so many years. No, it was because the anxiety that made the child’s eyes grow wide every time she saw him start up the car was only a glimpse of the monstrous solitude that stalked her like a shadow.
And yet Juan was convinced that life was beginning to improve for the child, whilst he couldn’t be so sure about Alfonso. It was his brother who worried him most, who was constantly on his mind. When, on the first of September, at seven in the morning, he went into Alfonso’s room and found him sleeping on his back, with the bedclothes thrown off and his pajama top all twisted around his body, he regretted not having a god of any kind to pray to. He sat down beside his brother, called his name and shook him, gently at first, then a little more energetically.Alfonso kicked him a few times before he finally sat up and the first thing he said, in his strained, nasal voice, was that he didn’t want to go. But he gave in to his older brother’s authority as Juan made him get out of bed, straightened his pajamas, and led him downstairs to the kitchen. There, Juan listened to Alfonso complaining while he prepared breakfast.
“I don’t want to go,” Alfonso said over and over, waving a finger for emphasis. “No, no, no. I’m staying here. Home sweet home, home sweet home.”
Spreading a slice of toast with butter, Juan said nothing, concentrating on somehow filling the hole that had opened up where his stomach used to be, stunned by the mixture of pity, fear, anger, love and sadness he felt every time he had to force his brother to do something he didn’t want to do.
“Look, Juanito, look at my tears.They’re running down here, and here. I don’t want to go, don’t want to, don’t want to . . . don’t, and that’s that.”
“Why not, Alfonso?” Juan said at last, putting a cup of hot chocolate before him and sitting down. “What do you want to do? Stay in the house all day on your own? You’d be bored.”
“I wouldn’t. I’d watch TV. I know how to change channels.” And he held out his right hand, tapping with his index finger as if he were pressing on a remote control. “Zap, zap, zap! See? I can change channels myself. Like
But he’d spent many years in the same situation, and he was sure it wouldn’t be much of a problem compared with everything else that might befall him.
He was much more concerned about leaving Tamara alone in the house for so long, however much Maribel, who seemed very efficient, assured him that she’d drop in to check on her first thing every morning, on her way to number thirty-one, and that she’d have the little girl’s lunch ready by the time she and her son got back from the swimming pool. Ostensibly Tamara would only be on her own for about two weeks, until term began, but Juan knew that, deep down, her loneliness would last much longer; in fact he couldn’t see an end to it.The blows his niece had had to endure—the death of her mother, then her father soon afterwards—had turned her relationship with him into an almost unhealthy dependency, a form of permanent emotional blackmail, more like that of a baby than a child her age. Juan realized that she was afraid of losing him as well, because he was all she had left, but he felt uncomfortable as a hostage to her love, not so much because it limited the freedom he’d become so accustomed to, having lived alone for so many years. No, it was because the anxiety that made the child’s eyes grow wide every time she saw him start up the car was only a glimpse of the monstrous solitude that stalked her like a shadow.
And yet Juan was convinced that life was beginning to improve for the child, whilst he couldn’t be so sure about Alfonso. It was his brother who worried him most, who was constantly on his mind. When, on the first of September, at seven in the morning, he went into Alfonso’s room and found him sleeping on his back, with the bedclothes thrown off and his pajama top all twisted around his body, he regretted not having a god of any kind to pray to. He sat down beside his brother, called his name and shook him, gently at first, then a little more energetically.Alfonso kicked him a few times before he finally sat up and the first thing he said, in his strained, nasal voice, was that he didn’t want to go. But he gave in to his older brother’s authority as Juan made him get out of bed, straightened his pajamas, and led him downstairs to the kitchen. There, Juan listened to Alfonso complaining while he prepared breakfast.
“I don’t want to go,” Alfonso said over and over, waving a finger for emphasis. “No, no, no. I’m staying here. Home sweet home, home sweet home.”
Spreading a slice of toast with butter, Juan said nothing, concentrating on somehow filling the hole that had opened up where his stomach used to be, stunned by the mixture of pity, fear, anger, love and sadness he felt every time he had to force his brother to do something he didn’t want to do.
“Look, Juanito, look at my tears.They’re running down here, and here. I don’t want to go, don’t want to, don’t want to . . . don’t, and that’s that.”
“Why not, Alfonso?” Juan said at last, putting a cup of hot chocolate before him and sitting down. “What do you want to do? Stay in the house all day on your own? You’d be bored.”
“I wouldn’t. I’d watch TV. I know how to change channels.” And he held out his right hand, tapping with his index finger as if he were pressing on a remote control. “Zap, zap, zap! See? I can change channels myself. Like
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