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

live.”
    â€œBut?”
    He ran a finger along the edge of his mug. “I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just that the place feels really different.”
    â€œIsn’t change good sometimes?”
    â€œYeah. But don’t get me wrong. Especially when you put up the curtains, you made me think of my mother.”
    Eugenia stood up from the table and walked over to the window framed by the offending curtains. She looked out at the tree that was now completely denuded of leaves.
    â€œNow you’re mad,” he said. She was silent. “I told you not to get me wrong,” he continued. “But quite frankly, I don’t think the time and money you’ve been spending on this is really worth it. There are a lot of other things to be done right now that are more important.”
    She turned to look at him. “That might be,” she said. “But I’m not an activist. All I wanted to do was to make us more comfortable. I haven’t spent a lot of money, and even if I had, it’s mine, not yours.”
    He stood up and came over to her, trying to put his arms around her. She pulled away. “Okay,” he said. “I get it. I’m sorry.”
    Though she knew Manuel was with the Revolutionary Left, and there were nights when he didn’t come home until very late, reeking of cheap wine, Eugenia hadn’t wanted to get involved. Though sometimes she wondered what he was doing late at night, why he came home drunk, mainly she’d seen his politics as through a veil, vague outlines and figures with a certain mystery to them that she had never been able to figure out. That changed one night in July, right before winter vacation. She’d been feeling guilty about not going to the country house with her mother over the upcoming break, so she’d gone home to spend the weekend with her. When they got into a fight, she had decided to go back to the apartment and surprise Manuel.
    She could hear the noise from the ground floor as soon as she let herself in. She climbed the stairs. When she opened the door the stench of sweat, black tobacco, and cheap wine was like an uppercut to the jaw. She stood there for a moment. The floor of their one-room apartment, newly swept only a few hours before, was now covered with crumpled pieces of paper and overflowing ashtrays. The ashes and cigarette butts that could no longer fit in the containers were being kicked around by muddy hiking boots as scruffy, long-haired young men moved between the kitchen and her coffee table. Whenever they passed over her Andean rug they ground a fresh mixture of mud and cigarette ash deeper into its formerly brick-colored pattern. The batik spread on the couch had been crumpled into a corner.
    They didn’t notice her at first. Then a shout went up. “Hey! Manuel!” He looked up and came running to the door.
    â€œ Mi amor . Weren’t you going to—”
    â€œWe got into a fight, so I thought I’d come back and surprise you. Looks like I was very successful.”
    â€œWe needed to get out an emergency leaflet, and since you weren’t going to … Just give me about five minutes. I’ll clear them out, and then I can clean up and …”
    â€œDon’t worry. It’ll take a lot longer than that for the stink to clear out. I’ll go stay at my sister’s.”
    She called her mother from Irene’s downtown apartment and said her plans had changed. She would go to the country for winter vacation. She returned in time for classes and continued sleeping on the couch in Irene’s living room. She was unable to return to the one-room place where they had fallen in love and that she had spent months making comfortable and pleasant. She could not fully explain her sense of betrayal, but she felt as if Manuel himself had caused each ash stain on the carpet for which she had scoured the secondhand stores, each scuff on the coffee table she