The Ship of the Alvares Family

me back You can’t even claim openly that you don’t need us, not out of fear, but because you are uncertain that you even have a need of yourself. You live in a vague mist, Lazaro. For forty years you have walked through people and they have walked through you, but you can’t even get in touch. It is only me who managed to steal a couple of months from your life – jus enough as to give birth to our three daughters. Stay with yourself, Lazaro Alvares. I am leaving. Then Sophia dispersed in the air like a bursting soap bubble and flew off. Bulgaria is this way, the man said and stirred. He walked around his daughters’ room, their family bedroom, the kitchen – the only thing he could discover was the album and his youngest daughter’s drawing which was signed: with love for Dad from Melissa.

I couldn’t stop them, he confided to Toni later, after his fourth glass of rum.

You certainly miss them? cautiously the barman asked.

I have to learn how to live.

I learned that after I have lost ten centimetres of my leg.

So, I am better off than you. I have only missed eight years of my life.

And Carry, he had an urge to add, but stopped himself. He wasn’t sure.

In this state of uncertainty in himself as well as in the world he populated Lazaro Alvares left the pub and disappeared into the night.

 

The next eight years of his life proceeded uneventfully, just like the previous ones. Lacking in emotions. The blue-checkered upholstery wore out completely, the yellow sofa turned the colour of a god forsaken moon, the TV roared, the taps leaked, and the walls of the two shower cubicles had formed countless weblike yellowish and brownish layers.

As soon as the temperature dropped to 15C and the Havana wind started blowing back to Miami the smell of sun oil and sunburnt girls, Lazaro took his trenchcoat out of the closet, putting it on in the mornings before he left his home. In the evening he took it off and hung it carefully on the very same hanger Sophia has assigned him so many years ago. So when somebody in the office asked him: how is your wife doing, Lazaro? he went on as ever, replying with a smile, thank you, my friend, she watches TV and smokes cigarettes, she has started to smoke excessively. And your daughters, Lazaro, won’t they be soon getting married? Don’t you say so, my friend, they are still little girls. Especially Melissa – she’s too young for such things, they are still having bread and jam for breakfast and drink a glass of milk before they go to bed, what weddings, for Christ sake, are you talking about.

So his colleagues smiled and walked away, because, as everybody knew, nothing could shake up the calm ship of the Alvares family.