Difficult Light by Tomas Gonzalez & Andrea Rosenberg

Author:Tomas Gonzalez & Andrea Rosenberg
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2020-08-10T16:00:00+00:00

Sixteen

I went to Bogotá for an eye exam. Sara and I had bought an automatic station wagon with dual-clutch transmission and comfortable seats, totally luxurious. She was the one who drove it, and she’d wanted a big car since she often had to transport bags of manure and other things for the garden. I also saw her load stones and bricks into that glorious car.

The only place I drove was in Miami, since there was no other way to get around that city: it has almost no public transport, and I was always going to the Keys to paint and take photos. A terrible driver. I learned at the age of forty-five, so I drove as if I were ninety: slow and gripping the wheel with both hands, just in case. In New York I traveled by train with all my gear, or, if I had to, I took a taxi.

After the accident, Pablo bought a pickup truck to help drive Jacobo around. In a way, he started living for his brother. I don’t mean that he stopped having a life of his own, but he took Jacobo into account in every decision he made. For example, he turned down the scholarship offered to him by a university in Massachusetts, rejecting out of hand any possible separation, and instead studied film and photography at an excellent, but less prestigious, university in New York. Because he’s so talented, the genius of the family, it ultimately led to the same place, and he’s had a fair bit of success in his work.

When Sara passed away, I hired Ángela’s eldest son as a driver, and when I have to go to Bogotá or want to take a trip to Girardot – a somewhat dilapidated but charming city that swelters on the banks of the Magdalena River about two hours from La Mesa – I go with him and Ángela. We always stay in a five-star hotel there; Ángela and her son each have their own room and I have another. I’m very fond of the two of them, and I love seeing their admiring and slightly awed response to such luxury. Money has to be good for something, since in most of its other manifestations, like fame, it is unpleasant, aesthetically hideous or even revolting.

Like most doctors, my doctor in Bogotá didn’t tell me anything new. He didn’t know why my blindness was progressing so rapidly, since my macular degeneration wasn’t the worst type. And when I asked how long I would at least be able to write, he told me he didn’t know, that when I couldn’t write anymore it would be because I couldn’t write anymore, and that I should always make sure I had plenty of light when I wrote. As if I were doing it in the dark! In short, as I said earlier: I don’t know anything, you don’t know anything, nobody knows anything. The world is only cadence and form.

After the exam, which was both thorough and

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