Work Text:
Prophecies in major key
I.
« How could you think of it?»
«I’m sorry, really–»
«Saying such a thing to my daughter! Your niece! How could you?»
«Pepa, there's no guarantee that–»
There are thunders in the kitchen and for a while I can't hear anything else.
I should have guessed sooner.
When I begun to consciously search for his voice through the chaos, I immediately known that I had already done that a thousand times before without even realizing it. That whole time I had given myself the simplest explanation: Mariano speaks aloud, loud and clear. He just stands out, no matter the situation: alone while he sings, at home with his mother or among the crowd, Mariano speaks and gets to me, exceeds all the noises of the world and I always listen to him.
Only him.
It's never been an accident.
«Clear skies, clear skies, clear skies.»
«Could be a wrong reading, that is...»
«Do me a favor, yes? Shut. Up.»
«Give her some space, Bruno. Let her breathe.»
«Oh, y-yes, yes. Sorry.»
Mom’s just mad, Tío Bruno, don’t worry, she’ll get over it. She just loves me so much.
Part of me hoped that Tío Bruno was wrong, that Mariano would have notice me and that everything would have been fine. That I would have reached that happiness that no one in the family would have ever bet on again.
I’ve never been so deluded in my entire life.
«I’ll talk to Dolores, okay?»
«Would you really do that?»
«Right away, mi vida.»
«Can I–?»
«Don’t you even dare to finish!»
«No, Bruno, better not. Not now, at least... I want to see how she's doing, before.»
«Of course, of course. Just tell her... That... that I didn’t want... that I only want her good, really...»
«I'll tell her.»
Dad keeps his word and tells me for real: he knows himself that Bruno is sincere and that’s enough for us.
Dad knows. He knew right away. He didn’t tell anyone, not even mom, not even me, but all he had to do was hug me harder than usual on any day to make me understand.
He made me an infusion right after. One of his, herbal, fresh and fragrant. One of those he gives to mom when she is in the middle of a crisis – when Abuela asks her to make the rain and lightning in the house stop. A rainbow always comes out of the clouds when she drinks them. When I was a child, dad told me that the miracle of the Madrigals had also given him a talent, in secret: he could prepare his infusions with love, and that's why they worked so well. Something a bit like Tía Julieta, but only for mom.
«Drink, querida. It'll cheer you up.»
Dad has become like Tía Julieta to me, too.
II.
«Your life will be exactly as you want it. Nothing will let you down. Nothing! Do you understand, Isa? Are you happy?»
The image of a very happy little girl clapping her hands and then tying her arms around her uncle’s neck in a whirlwind of flowers comes to your mind before you can even realize that you ended up again in the memory of that morning, fifteen, sixteen years ago, when you thought you’d make all your dreams come true.
You forgot them, the dreams you made when you were a kid.
Who knows what color had, for that child, the life Bruno promised you.
(The life Bruno deceived you with.)
Who knows whether you were thinking about a wedding and five kids when you covered casita in daisies out of excitement.
(When Abuela told you to stop, 'cause the chaos in the house was too much.)
You really don’t remember, but your stomach still twists, tangling around the ghost of something you miss, that you don’t have anymore, or maybe never had.
You close your eyes and inhale hard from the nose. You remain alone with your body, with the fragrant air that tickles your nostrils and throat, with the velvety texture of petals that pampers your hands...
An affectionate, delicate caress.
Cozy.
«You will become very strong! Your power will grow, you'll see, and you'll have everything you want!»
Perfect.
(Is this your greatest power?
Is this all you're capable of?
That’s all you want?)
You realize that you have torn a handful of flowers, those that you now squeeze, ruined and dead, in a rapacious, possessive grip only when you feel your nails press against the palm of your hand.
A beat passes while a thought intrudes on your mind and takes form.
What if...?
(But you can’t be that selfish, can you?
You can’t do that to your family, can you?)
A blink of an eye and the hypothesis lingers just as a sensation, an emptiness in the stomach, a barely disconnected breath. Your flickering hand is the only tangible sign of the yielding. A moment and that’s gone too: the flowers come alive on your palm, beautiful as ever.
Your extraordinary routine.
A smile appears on your face, but something inside you cracks anyway.
It's the anticipation.
(You’ve become a very good liar, Isabela. You lie even to yourself.
Especially to yourself.)
You walk out of your room and don’t look back: Mariano will be there any minute now, and you must be ready to receive him.
III.
Psss. Psss. Psss.
Dolores has
had the gift for a week, and she already can’t take it
anymore.
She
follows the annoying sound until it is it the one that follows her. She
would have sworn until moments before it came from the kitchen, but
now she’s not sure – maybe it got around her.
She has
to make it stop or she'll go crazy.
She breathes, closes the
eyes, focuses.
She looks for it. She finds it. Here, that's
it... It's
Behind her!
She squeaks when she sees Isabela
who, half hidden behind a column, chuckles, mouth covered by her
hands.
«What was that? You call me like a cat?!»
«It is
true, then: you really hear everything.»
Dolores goes for arguing – how dared she? – but Isabela blows on her fingers and hits her right in the face with a whiff of little flowers before running away. This time the laughter is ringing, Dolores has to tighten her eyes for a moment before chasing her, but she laughs in turn: the irritation does not exist anymore.
-
No one notices, but Isabela is shaking from head to toe and her heart is pounding. The remains of the vase she broke are still there, in the middle of the corridor, and she has no idea how much longer she can endure under Abuela’s inquisitor gaze. She swore she wasn’t the one who destroyed it, she's a golden child, but she hasn’t been allowed back into her room yet. They suspect, she can tell. Her mother looks at her apprehensively and her father even said that that was just a vase, never mind.
They know.
«Please, please, please.»
Dolores meets her gaze and raises an eyebrow at the very moment her heart sinks: she believed she just thought that, instead she murmured, that is as if she had screamed for Dolores.
Now she knows too.
No, just a minute: Dolores always knew!
It’s over. She’ll tell everyone and–
«Camilo did it.»
Isabela breathes again while her little cousin is scolded for her.
«It is true, then, that you are not as perfect as it seems.»
She should be offended, really offended, but Dolores’s mischievous smirk makes her smile in return.
«Sometimes it happens.»
-
«You’re the only one who doesn't have a clue, you know?»
«What?»
Dolores winks and Isa looks back with matching amusement.
«Well, nothing... Only that Mariano Guzmán has eyes only for you!»
She believed that if she could have joked about it, everything would have been more bearable.
She fooled herself.
Her heart crumbles a little more.
She knew the time would come.
She feared that.
But...
«You're wrong. Surely.»
«Nah, I don’t think so.»
Anyone, but him.
How can she do this to her?
How?
«Let's not think about it now.»
Never again.
-
«You know, if I were you I wouldn’t touch it: it’s carnivorous. Maybe I should notify it.»
«... Maybe, but... it’s magnificent! There’s so much in you!»
«Have you always known?»
«Obviously.»
«Dolores, I... I’m sorry. I never wanted to hurt you.»
«I know. But we’re happy now.»
«Yes. We are now.»