As long as Alicia could remember, it had been an unwritten house rule that the library belonged to Mr. Mendoza. Rules, however, were made to be broken, and Alicia was the biggest offender. There was something uniquely comforting about a room filled with books, and Alicia had always felt drawn to this place. Celebrated Argentine author Jorge Luis Borges once said that he could not sleep unless surrounded by books, a sentiment that sang to Alicia from the country of her birth. Just a quick glance at the titles was like a trip down memory lane, a reminder of the various stages of her life-Alice in Wonderland, Don Quixote, The Great Gatsby. Her prized collection of Argentine comic strip Mafalda, however, had disappeared years ago. Apparently, Mr. Mendoza didn’t like the political leanings of the artist who created the smart little girl that couldn’t help speaking her mind. Still, so many times over the years, the library had been Alicia’s escape, and she could still feel some of the magic within these four walls. No other place on earth had the power to suppress the negativity of the past week. Had she succumbed to that power or magic or whatever it was that energized this roomful of memories, she might have found a better place-an emotional equilibrium where, despite everything that she’d learned recently about her father, it would have saddened her to see the empty chair behind his desk. She would have remembered climbing up into his lap as a little girl and promising to go to bed if he would read her just one more story. She might have even smiled at the sight of the humidor on the credenza, recalling the only time in her life that he’d offered her a cigar. It was on the night she’d graduated from the academy, and she would never forget the look on his face when she took it. They laughed and drank twenty-year-old scotch until the Monte Cristos were reduced to a pair of smoldering nubs.
Strange, but those memories didn’t even seem to belong to her anymore. They felt more like somebody else’s musings about a man very different from the one her father had turned out to be.
The door opened, stirring Alicia from her thoughts. It was her mother, still wearing her black hat and veil.
“There are people here you should see,” she said.
“Can we talk for a minute?”
Her mother balked. All week long, she had been dodging a one-on-one conversation, which Alicia figured was the reason she’d given the okay to invite Vince along for the family-only events. “But we have guests.”
“They can wait a few minutes,” said Alicia.
The older woman paused to consider it. A houseful of guests offered her the perfect excuse to cut things short, but she seemed to recognize that she’d put off Alicia long enough. “What is it that you want to talk about?”
At Alicia’s lead, they sat in the matching leather armchairs in the center of the room, separated by an antique marble pedestal that had been in the family for generations and that now served as a cocktail table. As a young girl, Alicia got into serious trouble for wrapping herself in a bedsheet, covering her body with talcum powder, and then climbing up on the pedestal with arms pinned behind her back a la Venus de Milo. This room was so full of conflicting emotions.
She looked at her mother directly and said, “Do you think I should forgive Papi?”
“For what?”
“Surely you don’t need me to answer that.”
“Your father loved you more than most men love their own natural offspring.”
“His whole life was a lie, and he made me the center of it.”
“His love for you was not a lie.”
“That’s not the point,” said Alicia.
“What else matters?”
“Truth,” said Alicia. “The truth matters.”
“The truth is that your father was destroyed by some crazy terrorists who exploded a bomb near a crowded cafe and murdered his wife and daughter. It took him a long time to find a reason to go on living, and he found it in you and me.”
More of those conflicting emotions. Alicia backed off just a bit, her tone softening. “Why did you adopt?”
“We desperately wanted a child. We tried on our own, but I couldn’t get pregnant.”
“Did you know about my parents?”
“Of course not. I thought you came through normal adoption channels.”
“But Papi knew everything.”
She struggled, as if the answer were better left unstated. “Like I said, those people destroyed his life. He must have justified it that way.”
“Wait a second. Are you saying that my biological parents planted that bomb that killed his family?”
“No, no. I don’t know anything about them or what they did. But they were part of the insurgency.”
“Guilty by association, is that it?”
Her mother didn’t answer, but Alicia waited, refusing to let it drop. Finally, her mother said, “You have to understand the times. I’m sure your father’s only thought was that he was providing a loving home and a bright future for the innocent child of not-so-innocent parents.”
Alicia nodded, not because she agreed with what her mother was saying but because she understood her position. “For the moment, let’s put aside the question of whether that rationalization holds water or not. I still have a real problem with what you’re telling me.”
There was a sudden uptick in the noise level outside the closed doors. More guests were arriving, and apparently, no one was leaving. “We really should get back,” her mother said.
“I’m almost finished.”
“We can talk more about this later,” Graciela said, rising.
“No, I want to talk about it now.”
The stern voice made her mother do a double take, and it surprised even Alicia. Until this day, she’d told herself and others that there were certain things she just didn’t want to know. But now she was in a different place. Her real grandmother was no longer an abstraction. She’d also been affected deeply by Jack’s mention of the innocent woman who had sacrificed herself to expose the truth. Alicia couldn’t stop thinking about the midwife who’d heard a numbered prisoner shout out her real name, who’d followed her conscience and sought out the baby’s grandmother, only to pay the price with her own life. Alicia was tired of hiding behind lies.
Her mother lowered herself back into the armchair.
Alicia asked, “Do you remember the videotapes of those Argentine cartoons Papi and I used to watch together? The ones about the witch?”
“La Bruja de la Cachavacha. Of course I remember.”
“My biological parents were held in a detention center called La Cacha. It was named after that cartoon, because of the witch who could make people disappear.”
Her mother looked down. “That’s a very macabre coincidence.”
“Unless it’s not a coincidence.”
“Oh, come on now, Alicia. There is no way that your father could have known the name of the detention center.”
“Why not?”
“How could he-how could anyone sit down with a little girl and watch those cartoons knowing that her parents had disappeared from La Cacha? That just wouldn’t be human.”
“I agree.”
“Your father would have to have been some kind of sociopath.”
“Yes,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “He would.”
Her mother took her meaning and nearly erupted from her chair. “This conversation has gone on long enough. After all that’s been said this past week, and after all that you’ve been through, I can understand that you would have some questions. But I won’t have you dishonoring your father like this on the day he was laid to rest.”
“I also have some questions about the woman he married.”
“You’re going to insult me now, too?”
“The birth certificate. It said I was two years old when I was really just two weeks old.”
The older woman covered her ears. “I don’t have to listen to this.”
“That means Papi knew it was false.”
“I’m leaving now,” Graciela said as she started toward the door.
“And so did you.”
Alicia’s final accusation stopped Mrs. Mendoza cold in her tracks. She stood there for almost a full minute, saying not a word, her back to Alicia.
