Dalia mentioned that her little sister was looking for work.
Her little sister. Someone close, trustworthy. Good idea.
She’s got two other sisters. Older ones. But I don’t think they live nearby. And they’ve got kids.
Let’s write a note, a letter. Make it look like Dalia wrote it. We’ll say we found it in her room. A letter to her family. I suppose sooner or later they’ll be worried about her.
What will we say?
The truth. That she’s gone off with that boy who used to come by at nights. That he’s taken her to the big city. That they want to live together, or at least try to. That’s enough. And it’s not as if we know any more about it. We don’t know any more. Simple, but true. I’ll deliver the letter to her sister and I’ll take the opportunity to ask if she wants to work in the house. Can you remember her name?
Sara or Sandra, I’m not sure. I could do it.
Go and see Sara or Sandra?
Take care of the house.
It’s not your job. I don’t want you to have to bother with the house after a day’s work. I’ll have finished with my client in two hours. Let’s write the letter when I come back.
I like taking care of the house. It’s relaxing.
You find gardening relaxing. The rest is a real pain. You’d tire yourself out immediately. You’re not twenty.
And what if we looked for someone else? I’d prefer a man.
Why?
You wouldn’t fall for a man. Not like with Dalia.
Wouldn’t I?
No.
Explain to me why not.
Because it would be a man.
I don’t get you. What’s the difference?
Aldo.
I’m serious. And let’s be clear about this – she fell for me, not the other way round. And, as I recall, it was you who put the idea into her head.
The above sample taken from the translation Origami by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
I find it unusual. That you call her by her first name.
Her name’s Claudia.
It’s not that common, between mother and son.
I know. I didn’t expect you to understand.
Don’t treat me like a baby. I’m a good listener, and we’re the same age.
Really?
The same age. We went to school together.
Did you find the fruit bowl?
Yes.
I never went to school.
We were very little.
I don’t remember a Dora.
Were you in the same class?
What about Dorita? A little girl always clutching her white blanket. A white blanket. Linen.
Dorita.
I used to cry if I lost my blanket. Or when they took it. Everyone used to like stealing it. You used to fight with them. You gave it back to me.
You’re Dorita.
Yes.
You never told me about her.
We were very, very small. Children don’t realise anything at that age. Thoughtless minds in a pure state.
Did my husband teach you?
Yes. Mr Wind. I still have some of his paper shapes. He would teach us how to make them when it rained and we couldn’t go outside to play. During recess.
I came to his classes once. I don’t remember you. I liked his classes. His voice was captivating. I loved him a lot.
Don’t laugh, Claudia, but my first kiss was with Aldo.
I don’t remember.
The above sample taken from the translation Origami by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Let me go!
All right, all right. Claudia, listen to me. You have to leave this house.
No.
Claudia.
Everything I do, I do it for my son. His life is my life. It was given to me when his father died. I hold it in my arms. His life. Have you ever felt a life there? In your lap? Against your chest? It’s a very … strange feeling … You can feel how fragile it is. All of it. I felt his life. I had his life. Now, I must give him mine.
Claudia, please.
This is a clear case of Stockholm syndrome.
Don’t talk nonsense! This isn’t any sort of syndrome! He’s my son!
Your son stops being your son when he doesn’t respect you as a person.
Your son is a monster.
I didn’t say he was the one who burns me!
He’s a monster!
If you’d prefer, we’ll make a complaint against him.
You don’t understand. I told you, I had his life. And I chose. I chose everything that’s happened to me. I’m a human being. I’m free to choose. I know what’s happening to me.
Nobody in their right mind would let themselves be burned by cigarettes.
In their right mind? And who decides that? You two? People out there? It’s been years since I set foot out there. If I went outside, I’d catch so many ills I’d die before I could even draw breath to scream. Have you ever allowed yourself to actually see what’s out there?
The above sample taken from the translation Origami by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
What’s it about?
Have you ever woken up one day and thought about not going to work?
All the time. Every day.
And have you ever thought about disobeying your boss because he’s asked you to do something you didn’t feel like doing? Or that you thought you shouldn’t do?
On occasion, I’ve thought about it. But I always end up following orders.
And have you ever thought about throwing yourself on the tracks as a train goes by?
Never.
Of sleeping with your girlfriend’s best friend? Or with your sister?
Have you never imagined that?
Of not making your bed one day? Of drinking one more glass? Jumping a red light? Accelerating not braking? Changing jobs? Buying a woman’s body or selling your own? Have you always chosen the right path?
I’m talking about those fleeting thoughts that last a tenth, a thousandth of a millisecond. About possibilities. Choices.
When you’re born, your life is a blank page. And then the clock starts ticking. And you fold, you bend, you crumple, you twist … This way and that, inside and out. Everything can happen. The possibilities are endless.
The above sample taken from the translation Origami by Gwynneth Dowling is licensed under a Creative Commons License.
Entry written by Gwynneth Dowling. Last updated on 30 November 2011.