Beyond the Ties of Blood by Florencia Mallon Read Free Book Online Page A

never asked myself this question. Excuse me just a second.” She picked up the earthenware mug she kept filled with water on her desk and took a long swallow. “Once or twice I’ve wondered about the connection, though,” she continued in what felt like a more normal tone. “I have to say that the only thing that occurs to me might seem a bit obvious. I’m sure you know that I was arrested in Chile after the coup and spent some time in jail. My daughter’s father was disappeared by the military. Perhaps it’s just this commonality of experience that generates a natural empathy.”
    For a while Elena just sat there looking at Eugenia, a puzzled, vaguely disappointed look on her face. “But Professor Aldunate,” she said, almost apologetically, “in class you always tell us that being a good cross-cultural reporter doesn’t require that you have the same experience as the people you write about. Why, last semester you said that if this were necessary, there would be no point in communicating beyond our own culture. You said that—”
    â€œI’m sorry, Elena.” Eugenia cut her off, standing up and looking at her watch. “I have another appointment right now that I can’t miss. This is really fascinating, and I hope we can continue the conversation another day. My apologies.”
    After she closed the door behind the retreating student, Eugenia returned to her chair and sat down. Her mouth felt very dry. She reached for her water and found that her hands were trembling as she brought the mug to her mouth. After taking a couple of shaky swallows she put it back on her desk, stood up, and walked across the room. She turned off the lights, locked the door, and went back to her chair.
    Santiago, 1971
    After they made love, Eugenia began spending more and more time at Manuel’s apartment. The new socialist government was in its honeymoon period, and so were they. She no longer felt like such an impostor in the radical crowd. Not that she really understood the politics, and she didn’t join a student organization. But the fact that they were a couple somehow made everything better. When she saw those radical hippie girls with the see-through blouses and no bra, she no longer felt inferior, because everyone could see Manuel had chosen her.
    Irene came back from Boston and took up a research position at the University of Chile, renting an apartment downtown near her lab. Although their mother was disappointed at not having Irene back in the house, Eugenia found that Irene’s apartment provided a good excuse when she decided to stay over with Manuel. She was gripped by an irresistible urge to redecorate his one-room flat, and when she did not have classes she roamed the secondhand stores and flea markets looking for suitable items.
    She managed to make the most of the space available, sprucing up his old couch with a batik bedspread she bought from a young girl with henna-tinted braids at an open-air market downtown. A week later she went back and bought a second one, using it to make curtains for the one large window facing the street. But she was proudest of the Andean rug in earthen shades that matched the brick-colored lines in the batiks, which she bought secondhand along with a small battered coffee table that she sanded and refinished by hand. By the time the cold of winter took hold of the city in the second half of June, she had created a small, warm oasis where she and Manuel could hide out and make love under warm quilts.
    â€œYou’ve really made some changes in this apartment,” he said one afternoon when they were sitting at the kitchen table drinking tea and eating fresh rolls from the corner bakery.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, don’t you like them?”
    â€œSure,” he said after a pause. “You’ve put a lot of work into them, and I like the fact you want to make us a comfortable place to