Learning to Lose by David Trueba Read Free Book Online Page B

leaves Leandro exhausted.
    The two previous nights, he had slept intermittently. The extra bed he set up in the hospital room with cushions from the armchair is hard, short, and uncomfortable. It gives him a sharp pain in the kidneys. At midnight a nurse comes in to change Aurora’s catheter and the bustle of cleaning starts before seven. Leandro is worn out from the last few days. The emergency admittance on Friday, Aurora’s operation, the anguish of getting her back from the operating room asleep and fragile. The visits the next day, Aurora’s draining sister with her senseless cheerfulness, and two pairs of friends who had heard about the accident, including Manolo Almendros and his wife, who spent Saturday afternoon in the hospital. Leandro had a lively conversation with him, but his friend’s energy was more than he could match. He walked through the hall with such intensity that he could have left grooves in the terrazzo. Almendros thinks aloud, he is witty, tireless. Ever since he retired from his job as a pharmaceutical sales representative, he reads huge tomes of philosophical theory that he later feels obliged to share with Leandro and with the world. He writes letters to the newspapers and once in a while he tracks down old college classmates.
    Manolo, did you come to see my wife or to give me a lecture? said Leandro in an attempt to shut him up.
    Yet he could see how Aurora was cheered up by the visits. She got some of the color back in her face, and although she didn’t take part in the conversations, she looked around her gratefully. Leandro went by the house to change his clothes and let Luis, his Saturday morning piano student, know that they’d have to postpone class. His wife had had a mishap. The walk through the hospital floor, the snippets of other patients’ and relatives’ conversations, curiosity about other people’s pain, the bustling of the medical staff, that was how he whiled away the day.
    On Sunday he ate lunch with his son, Lorenzo, and his granddaughter, Sylvia. Leandro envied the caress of the girl’s hands over Aurora’s face, running over her forehead and cheeks. Those spotless hands, with barely any signs of wear, with everything ahead of them. It was Sylvia’s birthday and she toasted during the meal with her can of Coca-Cola. Leandro remembered her birth, the joy at the arrival of a baby, Aurora’s willingness to take care of the girl often. The dizzying speed at which time had passed, sixteen years already. The fruitless piano lessons he had given her, which were ended in silent agreement. She inherited her father’s bad ear, not much musical talent, Leandro said to himself. On the other hand, she showed her mother’s sensitivity in everything else. Through all those years, they watched Lorenzo’s marriage to Pilar wither, once so full of life and complicity. Leandro witnessed his son’s loss of status, his hair, his work, his wife, and even his daughter, the way one always loses kids in the teenage years. As a father he, too, had felt that irremediable distance, the displeasure at seeing Lorenzo quit school and devote himself to a job that gave him stability for a long time, but was now gone. He had seen him become an adult, husband, father, build a normal life forhimself. He couldn’t deny that that normality was a few notches below Aurora and Leandro’s expectations. But all parents expect too much of their children. With time they come to believe that normality may be the recipe for happiness. But that wasn’t the case. Or it was for a while, until everything started to fall apart. Their son doesn’t like to talk about his problems, so they maintain a loose relationship, not seeking out what’s missing. They ate together on Sundays and at the table they talked about everything that wasn’t painful.
    Esther, Aurora’s sister, showed up with a small bag of clothes at seven p.m., ready to spend the night at the hospital. Go home already, don’t wait until the