Happy Families_ Stories - Carlos Fuentes [139]
Genara laughed a great deal. “It isn’t the only thing he ate.”
“We remember him young.”
“But we never saw him young.”
“Because we only have photographs of the young Papa.”
“Isn’t there a single photo of the old Papa?”
“What’s the difference between what used to be and what was?”
“The difference between conscience and memory,” Augusta pronounced, and the sisters laughed because they didn’t understand.
Instead, they asked themselves: Why wasn’t an obituary published in the papers? Wasn’t that your obligation, Augusta? No, you said you’d do it, Genara. Don’t look at me, said Julia.
5. Later, Augusta wondered if there was a difference between conscience and memory. She thought there was. Memory happens today. We remember today. Conscience is always repentance buried in the past. We prefer to forget.
She didn’t say this because then she feels guilty for saying what she shouldn’t only because her words dictate themselves and demand to be spoken even though Augusta does not know how to and cannot measure the reach of speaking. At times she felt that someone was speaking through her, someone who did understand the difference between conscience and memory, not her, the simple vehicle of a mysterious voice that demanded to be heard.
Whose voice was it?
Was it she herself at another stage of her life, a past or future time when Augusta could understand why her recollections of the past all occurred today but her conscious present always happened in another time, never in the present?
“His demands were excessive,” murmured Genara. “He made the three of us face all the temptations and asked us to beg him for the power to resist them.”
“Speak clearly,” said Julia. “Who was going to resist the temptation, he or us?”
“Who knows? He was very capricious.” Genara shook her head.
“He was a tyrant,” Julia said abruptly, and Genara looked at her in astonishment, Augusta with anticipatory resignation.
Julia had been the pampered little girl and then the defender of their father’s image. This abrupt change was inexplicable unless, Augusta thought, Julia is trying to tell us that her devotion to Papa wasn’t foolishness but an act of conscious will that still led to faith. Augusta took advantage of the moment.
“Did you ever see Papa naked?”
Julia became embarrassed. Then she assented. “And you?” she said to Augusta.
“I don’t know if I saw him.” The older sister smiled maliciously. “I have the impression that I smelled him. He smelled of dirt, of crusted shit, of sweaty armpits, of crotch, of—”
“That’s not true.” Julia covered her sister’s mouth with her hand. “His body smelled of Yardley cologne, his hair of Barry’s Tricopherous—”
“He smelled of urine,” Augusta said with a smile, pleased by Julia’s reaction, her instantaneous fall into the cult to their father, her weakness. “He was a disgusting, miserly, tyrannical old man.”
“Generous, sweet, loving.” Julia sobbed with a fictitious air of repentance.
“A miser,” Augusta continued with repressed ferocity. “He was buried with his gold. He forbade us the comfort that was our right. He was like a wicked king. He would have liked to be buried with his servants and his cattle. And look how he achieved it. He saw our faces. He buried the three of us in his pyramid, like vile concubines. You’re right, Julia, he was a tyrant.”
“A good tyrant, a humane tyrant.” Julia lowered her eyes.
“An authoritarian father,” added Genara. “Isn’t that what we wanted? A strong man who would tell us ‘Do this, don’t do that . . .’ Without him, we would have been lost in the world.”
“And he knew it.” Augusta’s response was biting. “That’s why he abused his authority. What did he imagine? That if we were independent, we would steal his power? Why didn’t he understand that our being free would make him stronger?” She looked at Julia scornfully. “He knew that you, Julia, had a vocation for slavery.”
“And you didn’t?” Julia moaned. “You did, too. That’s why you’re here, that’s why the three of us are still here . . . because we’re slaves.”
“Don’t be dense. You still haven’t learned that