The Rhythm of Memory by Alyson Richman

Author:Alyson Richman [Richman, Alyson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101611708
Publisher: Penguin Group
Published: 2012-10-02T06:00:00+00:00

PART II

Thirty-four

SANTIAGO, CHILE

JANUARY 1974

Seconds after the dark van sped from the driveway, Rafael rushed through the house to find his father. He discovered him on the patio, his chest rising and falling with sleep.

“Papa,” the little boy uttered to him, flicking the daily paper that covered Octavio’s eyes. “Mama’s gone.”

“Where has she gone, Rafaelito?” he asked as he drowsily readjusted himself in his chair.

“Three men…they…they took her.”

“What?” Octavio cried, nearly leaping from his chair. “What men?”

“The men who came to our door.”

“When, Rafael? When did they come?”

“Just now, Papa.”

Octavio ran through the garden and into the house. Rafael followed him, crying out, “Villa Grimaldi, Papa! Villa Grimaldi!”

But Octavio was not listening to the boy now. He was searching the house, hoping that his son was mistaken and that Salomé was busying herself in one of its many rooms.

“This can’t be!” Octavio cried, his fist clutched to his mouth. “Why would they take her again?” He was in shock. His face was red, his black hair wild and high. They had taken her while he lay napping.

“Papa,” Rafael softly said again. He stood next to his father. His trousers were rolled above his knees and his red T-shirt was soiled from his having spent the afternoon playing in the garden. “Mama told me to tell you something…” He paused and scrunched his face in concentration. “Villa Grimaldi.”

“What?”

“Yes, Papa. She whispered it to me right before she left.”

“But what does that mean? Are you sure, Rafael?”

“Yes, I’m sure. She told me not to forget.”

Rafael stood in front of him, his voice shaking, as he clearly saw that the words that his mother had last spoken to him caused his father great concern and worry.

“Papa, what is it?” he asked as his boyish eyebrows wiggled like two soft caterpillars. “Will Mommy be all right?”

Octavio tried to mask his fear for his young son, but the shock of awakening to find his wife abducted was too much for even an accomplished actor to hide.

“Go and get your father a glass of water,” he ordered his son.

As the boy ran back into the house, Octavio raised his fists to his face. “Bastards!” he cried, his eyes pink with anger. He was sitting on the edge of the lounge chair, his back curved with despair, when Rafael returned. Holding a glass of water in his trembling hand, he overheard his father mumbling to himself, his head bowed to his knees, “I was the one they should have taken. They should have taken me!”

Octavio prayed each of the first few nights after Salomé was abducted, hoping that she might be returned. He lay in their canopied bed and extended his arm to the side where his wife always slept. The empty space brought tears to his eyes.

“What have I done to my family?” he said aloud, knotting his knuckles into his temples. The reality of his wife’s kidnapping weighed so heavily on him that his once smooth skin disappeared, replaced by a furrowed forehead and twisted brows. He felt as though he had failed in his role as father and protector.

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