Work Text:
time is temporal, we are eternal
time is temporal, yet we are eternal
pruning seconds after seconds,
arranging it like flowers
until one day
we forget why
"but time is temporal, aren't they?"
we are eternal.
-sapardi djoko damono, time is temporal (yang fana adalah waktu, tr. by me)
One of the many, many effects of having the power to predict the future was that you lost grasp of the time. You were either in the future, seeing what may have come, in the present, trying to make sense of it all, or even in the past, where the future became constant and the present became this confusing reality that you felt as if you were not living in it.
That, and constant migraines. Of the things that are unpredictable (heh!) in his life, migraines were the ones that always came back. He despised it, and every time he got one, he wanted to bash his head on the nearest rock. The thought of Julieta and Pepa's crying face were the only things that stopped him.
Then, Mirabel's ceremony came. Then he hid on the wall. Tending to the cracks. Talking to the rats I checked the time and watched the years roll by.
He watched, agonizingly, his nieces and nephews grow. The girl became a woman. The kids become teenagers. His sister's hair was greying. Time felt like it moved fast, but also never moved.
Stuck. Time had him stuck. Then it gave him a routine. Then, oddly, peace, even if it is tinged by loneliness. by the occasional pang of his chest whenever he heard the family's cheers. He was alone, yet he was not alone.
Time had stuck him in the present, and he wished to go back to the past. He never intended to know about the future, yet it keeps knocking.
***
And one day, it was not a knock, it was a very firm, very persistent kick at his door. That persistent future that followed him inside the walls. The one that said, "I want to know the truth."
It seems like the future, in the shape of his niece, Mirabel, wanted justice. But when you were a messenger of what could have been and what if, you questioned your own judgement. After all, if the future you see is always bad, what are the chances that it will be good this time?
But he had done it anyway. And as it turns out, the future is a finicky, delicate thing that is open to interpretation. He had forgotten about the interpretation part. Ten years without being intimate with time would do that to you.
And then, as if time was mocking them, not long after Mirabel said goodbye, Casita collapsed.
***
Bruno knew exactly how many days they spent when they rebuilt Casita. because he had been present . Sure, he was not the most social, but he was present . Not lost in time, not retrieving messages from the future. He was simply there .
He existed. And that was enough.
The problem was, everyone else also existed, and that meant he had to actually talk about why, for ten years, he made them think he wasn't. He dreaded that talk, that explanation.
Julieta came first. She held his hand, and he could feel the callouses on hers. He could feel every minor burn and cut that couldn't be healed away. Julieta's hands are the hands of labor and love. Warm but full of scars.
"Thank you," she said, her eyes wide and brimming with tears. Those eyes also betrayed her because he knew what she truly wanted to say. She wanted to ask why. She wanted to know how. She wished she could've done something to fix this—any of this.
So he voiced what her eyes questioned.
"I don't want you to choose, Julieta. That's why."
"I wouldn't. I have enough love in my heart to love my brother and my daughter."
Why didn't you trust me? went unsaid. And it's not like Bruno didn't trust her. He knew that she and Agustn would fight for their daughter. He just hoped that by not knowing what would happen, the future would stall. He knew it wouldn't, so he left. to protect Mirabel.
"I'm sorry," he said. He understands that now. Intention was not the same as action. Sure, his intention might be good, but the effect ... The cracks he saw on Casita that week alone (mostly caused by his sister's tears) made him shudder.
She held his hand tighter and went to smooth his curls. She didn't say anything for a while, simply taking his form, as if she was still afraid he would disappear again.
"I'm not sure if I should be angry, or sad, or ... I don't know how to feel except I'm glad you are here."
"Then I'll be here."
Always , what was left unsaid.
***
Pepa found them later, Bruno's head on Julieta's lap, the latter stroking it peacefully. Her heart clenched. Bruno was here. They were together again, finally. After ten years, Ten years of worrying, longing, and grief. ten years of never being able to utter his name.
But now he was back. So she shouted at the top of her lungs.
"BRUNO!"
That felt good. That felt great. That also startled both of her siblings. Pepa smirked, Good. She didn't come here in peace, she came in storms, and she wanted them to know that she came here with the storms, weather changing power or not.
Julieta was the one who responded. "Pepa, you're going to give me a heart attack," she said. Pepa grinned.
"I forget you're old already," she simply said, then placed her head on Julieta's shoulder, while the other woman just stared at her in disbelief. Not without consequences, though. Julieta's fingers were quick to pinch her sides, and Pepa laughed, begging for mercy. Those hands that kneaded the dough were not playing, after all.
For a moment after that, they were silent. Julieta's hand was intertwined with Pepa's, and the other on Bruno's head. Pepa circled her hand behind Julieta's back and held Bruno's. They were together.
Then she took a look at Bruno. Bruno is sickly pale. His complexion got better, and his hair definitely grew bouncier, but he was still skinny. and definitely had a little to no sleep. Ten years of longing and fifty years of being his sister, Pepa couldn't help but comment.
"You look terrible," she said, with no heat behind those words. Bruno didn't even hesitate when he replied.
"So do you. Who told you to wear pink? It clashes horribly with your hair. "
There was a hint of teasing on that note, and Pepa missed it. She missed the heat, the petty argument, and even the fight. She missed her brother. On the surface, though, she scowled.
Julieta pinched the bridge of her nose, then sighed. She knew where this would end up. But no one could stop Pepa and Bruno in the middle of a verbal argument, not even Julieta.
(Not that she wanted to; it's free entertainment, after all.)
As they banter back and forth, they lose track of the time. Noon soon became evening, but none of them wanted to get up. Time felt like liquor, and they drank it all, thirsty and longing.
"Bruno," Pepa said, in a serious tone this time. Then she hesitated. What should she have said? She missed him. She hated him for a while. She didn't hate him. She wanted to cry when he was gone. She thought he had died. She loved him. She was glad he was here . So many things, and yet, what she said was,
"Don't you ever leave again."
Please , was left unsaid. She wanted him to understand that she was not begging (though she was.) This was an order. from a big sister to a little brother.
"I won't."
I promise , it was unsaid. Bruno didn't want to make a promise yet. He was afraid that, unlike prophecy, he couldn't fulfill them.
***
Time was fake and a cheater, Bruno decided. The rebuilding of Casita took three months, precisely 135 days. Three months without gifts and magic, three months without vision and a calling to the future. He could be three months where he is now.
Then the doorknob connected, and the magic roared alive. He could feel it inside him, the calling to the future. The knowing. The knowing was the worst part because it felt like cheating. Like something no ordinary human should have access to. But he had it.
The party was going in full swing, and for the first time, he saw everyone truly happy. He opted out of the dancing for now, though, wanting to merely observe what had happened. He noticed a little too late that his mother was sitting beside him, holding his hand.
They didn't say anything. They had talked over the months, and she had apologized. She apologizes for her views, her insistence on the vision, her policy of not talking about him. He was stunned. He was still learning to accept the apology, and he was also learning to not blame himself.
Baby steps.
So he took her hand and, with every bit of courage, asked her to dance. She laughed, and then, quite literally, dragged him to the party. Upon seeing their mother having a dance with their brother, each of the sisters demanded that he dance with them too.
He accused time of being a cheater and a thief when the party was deemed over.
***
Time was a joke, he told himself. How come Dolore, the sweet, little Dolores, who showed him her drawings and always spoke so sweetly and gently, is getting married next week?
"You cried more than Papá and Mámá combined," Dolores teased.
He huffed and sniffed. Okay, he might cry a little, but one of his nieces is going to be married, okay? He couldn't help being emotional.
"Am I not allowed to?" he asked, and Dolores softened. Of course, he is allowed to cry. But Dolores has seen everyone cry, save for Isa, who took revenge for her earlier comments of five babies by telling Mariano that Dolores wanted ten babies. Dolores loved Isa, sure, but she really wanted to hit her head with a shoe. Or a small cactus. Maybe the cactus would look more natural and accidental.
"It's just, due to my 'self-imposed exile', as you put it, I missed a lot of things being an uncle. And now. Now you get married, Dolores," he said. Time felt like a cruel joke at that moment. It moved way too fast.
Dolores hummed, then said, "Then don't miss it, Tío."
He didn't.
***
Time moves rapidly. The older kids graduated. They sought internships in town. They complained about balancing their work and their responsibilities. They fell in love, they got their hearts broken. They laughed and cried, bickered and fought.
And they come to Bruno. always come to him as if they were afraid he would be gone again. He felt like they always had a reason to include him in something, and honestly, he didn't mind. It was nice to know that they wanted him to be here. It was always a relief.
One day, after a particularly heated debate at a book club meeting (that consists of him, Camilo, Dolores, Mirabel, and Pepa and Félix this time, because the book they're reading was not for Antonio's age, not Isabela's taste, too sad for Luisa and Agustín) A question from Camilo makes him ponder something.
"Why does time feel so short when we are doing this? I swear the clock's ticking faster!" he grumbled. Camilo, as Bruno sees, has a fascination with literature. It's likely from his mom. Pepa was a devoted reader. She devoured books at such an alarmingly fast pace that she scared the local librarians and booksellers.
"Time always goes faster when you do the thing you love," he answered. They all went silent after that, and after a call from Mirabel to dinner, the group was dispersed.
***
Years later, looking back at the events that took place in Casita, having its population doubled, Bruno thought of that question. He was always working with time, but even he never understood time. Past, present, and future. What was the flow? Who decided on them?
Maybe time was temporal, Bruno decided. Maybe we, the people, are the ones that are eternal. After all, we were the ones who took measurements and assigned meaning to them.
He heard his name being called (not actually his name, he is an Abuelo now.) and went downstairs. He eyed his family; more grey hairs, more children, more ambitious dreams and families. More laughter and jokes. More happiness.
Time was temporal, but we were eternal, he thought as he sat down to eat his meal. Our presence made a mark on the passage of time, and we made it memorable byー
His line of thought was cut off by a strange taste on his tongue. Someone apparently switched the salt and sugar. Someone was definitely Pepa, who was grinning across from him.
Well, we were eternal, indeed. He thought as he switched the salt and sugar again, then threw it on his back, regretting that he couldn't hit his sister while doing so.
***
Time was temporal, but we were eternal, he thought as he was running away, laughing, from his raging sisters. One was waving a rolling pin dangerously. He remembered doing this as a child. As a teenager.
His sister finally cornered him, and he mock-surrendered, laughing all the way.
Time was temporal, he thought, as he carefully stored the memory of his laughing sisters, of their children and grandchildren, and of his own family.
We were eternal.
***