Happy Families_ Stories - Carlos Fuentes [136]
“Save us from all responsibility,” murmured Genara.
“What did you say?” Augusta was tense.
“Nothing, sister. It just occurred to me that since he isn’t with us, in reality we can do whatever we want.”
“You know very well why we can’t do what we want.”
“Why?”
“You know very well. It’s in the will. It’s our duty.”
“It’s greed.”
“Or risk.” Julia intervened for the first time. “Do you realize our lives would be at risk if we disobey? I mean, we don’t know the cost of disobedience—”
“That doesn’t matter anymore,” Genara interrupted. “We’ve done our duty for nine years.”
“That’s why it would be foolish to avoid it now without knowing what would have happened if—”
Augusta interrupted in a tone comparable to Julia’s: “Don’t be stupid. We’ve done what we had to do. Let’s not speculate on what would have happened if we had disobeyed Papa.”
“We still can disobey him,” Genara said slyly.
“Be quiet,” Augusta continued. “It no longer makes sense, since we did obey him. We’ve come to the point he asked us to reach.”
“And if we disobey him?” Genara insisted with childish perversity. “Just once?”
Julia did not hide her horror. She did not have to say anything to indicate the fear caused in her by the idea of having done their duty for nine years of obedience only to stop at the finish line, violate the promise, and be left forever without knowing the truth. She would have liked to scratch Genara, knock down her soaring hairdo of a film noir diva. Since that didn’t correspond to her personality—a personality constructed so meticulously—Julia cried instead, her head leaning against the coffin. Mercy was safer than the passivity of the modest Genara or the authoritarian hardness of the proud Augusta, both pale imitations of their father. Perhaps similar to what their mother was in life. She didn’t know. She hadn’t known Mama.
Still, when she thought this, Julia felt she was better than her sisters. Superior to them. And along with pride, there beat in Julia a kind of loss or personal mourning for having been condemned, when Papa died, to always wear mourning, unnecessary for those people—members of the orchestra, the conductor, the stagehands—who did not know who the violinist‘s father was and what obligations he had imposed on her. Julia had auditioned for the orchestra under a false name. Only she knew the rule imposed by Papa, which was why she could have worn her youthful clothes, the springtime prints, the low necklines, the daring two-piece bathing suits when she was invited to Agua Azul to swim.
And she didn’t. Why? Did she want to create mystery? Her colleagues in the orchestra did not dare to ask “Why do you always wear black?” and since black eventually became fashionable for women during those nine years and stopped being only a sign of mourning, no one said anything, and Julia let it be known that for her, even morning rehearsals were gala occasions. But she soon realized that her orchestra colleagues knew nothing about the existence of Julia’s papa, that she could be named Julia without attracting anyone’s attention.
Julia smiled sweetly at her sisters. “I’ve never doubted. Have you?”
Genara and Augusta observed her with indifference. Julia did not back down.
“Do you know something? I have faith. I’m not referring to the circumstances that bring us together today. Do you know what faith is? It’s believing without condition, independent of circumstances. Faith is understanding that facts don’t change the world. Faith moves everything. Faith is true even if it’s absurd.”
“Do you need to believe to live?” said Genara, suddenly enthralled by the primitive beauty, straight blond hair, blue eyes, bows on her head, clean hands, of the youngest sister. How well she trimmed her nails. How well she repeated the catechism. She seemed to be a saint.
“We can’t be good if we don’t believe,” replied Julia. “Without faith, we’d be cynics.