In Praise of the Stepmother by Mario Vargas Llosa

Author:Mario Vargas Llosa [Llosa, Mario Vargas]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, General
ISBN: 9780571268184
Publisher: Faber & Faber
Published: 1990-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Eight.

The Salt of His Tears

Justiniana’s eyes were as big as saucers and she was gesticulating wildly. Her hands looked like the vanes of a windmill.

“Little Alfonso says he’s going to kill himself! Because you don’t love him anymore, he says!” she exclaimed, blinking in terror. “He’s writing a farewell letter, señora.”

“Is this another one of those wild notions that…” Doña Lucrecia stammered, looking at her in the mirror of the dressing table. “More twittering from that birdbrain of yours?”

But the maidservant’s face was dead serious and Doña Lucrecia, who was plucking her eyebrows, dropped the tweezers on the floor, and without further questions headed off down the stairs at a run followed by Justiniana. The boy’s bedroom door was locked. His stepmother knocked: “Alfonso, Alfonsito!” There was no answer and not a sound could be heard inside.

“Foncho! Fonchito!” Doña Lucrecia called out insistently, knocking on the door once more. Her back felt ice-cold. “Open the door! Are you all right? Why don’t you answer me, Alfonso!”

The key turned with a creak in the lock, but the door did not open. Doña Lucrecia drew a deep breath. The ground beneath her feet was solid again, the world was righting itself after a dizzying slide into chaos.

“Leave me alone with him,” she ordered Justiniana.

She entered the room, closing the door behind her. She did her best to repress the indignation that was gradually getting the better of her, now that the scare she had had was over.

Alfonso, still dressed in his school uniform, was sitting at his desk, his head bent. He raised it and looked at her, not moving, sad-faced, more beautiful than ever. Though daylight was still coming in through the window, his study lamp was turned on and in the golden circle falling on the green desk blotter Doña Lucrecia spied a half-finished letter, the ink still glistening, an uncapped pen lying alongside his little hand with inkstained fingers.

She crossed the room slowly and halted beside him. “What are you doing?” she murmured.

Her voice and her hands were trembling, her breast heaving.

“Writing a letter,” the boy replied, in a firm voice. “To you.”

“To me?” She smiled, making an effort to appear pleased. “May I read it?”

Alfonso put his hand over the paper. His hair was touseled, his face grave. “Not yet.” There was an adult determination in his eyes and his tone of voice was defiant. “It’s a farewell letter.”

“A farewell letter? Does that mean, then, that you’re going off somewhere, Fonchito?”

“I’m going to kill myself,” Doña Lucrecia heard him say, his gaze riveted on her, not moving a muscle. Yet, after a few seconds, his composure suddenly left him and his eyes brimmed with tears. “Because you don’t love me anymore, stepmother.”

Hearing herself told that in this way, half in grief and half in anger, the boy’s little face puckering into a pout that he tried in vain to control, in the words of a dejected lover which sounded so incongruous coming from this beardless figure in knee pants, left Doña Lucrecia dumbfounded.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.