Looking out the window

The whole house had a different look, there was an atmosphere of celebration, of unusual happiness. 

The large hall that always remained closed and was forbidden for my childish games was now open and in it was the display of the gifts of the future marriage. 

That large room contained very precious family heirlooms, Chinese vases, ivory statuettes, a huge radiola with shelves that housed the record collection, a mahogany cabinet with crystal ornaments that were, over many years, acquired one by one by my mother, that room had, now, the doors open. Everything inside the room had its own story of how and from where they had been acquired, many of them were a kind of reward that my mother received after some quarrel with my father and that she counted almost as if it were a great feat, with much satisfaction. The living room was subordinated to the great fireplace, huge, with a crystal mirror on top that shone clean, illuminated by a crystal chandelier, a decorative fireplace that wanted to incorporate us into scenarios to which we only had access through the movies. 

I enjoyed the large living room open all day long, where I could now play at my leisure and sit on the Louis XV furniture, which this time, at last, showed off its original tapestries without those nondescript linings that usually covered them. 

At that time, I remember very well, we had two "employees" (the euphemism "boys" was used in Lima): Eusebia and Teodosio, she was the cook, recommended by comadre Elena and was of an indecipherable age that could be in her thirties (or fifties?) of thick build and with a strength that she exhibited without vanity when carrying the sacks of rice, very kind and docile although sometime I heard her arguing with Teodosio in Quechua, her mother tongue. They had their bedrooms on the roof, rooms separated by a common bathroom, beyond was my brother's "study" room and the small corral that eventually housed some live birds that we were almost always given as gifts during the holidays. The roof, like almost all the houses around there, had no roof and was used as a storage room for old or unused things, as a laundry room and also as a bedroom for the maids. 

I shared a bedroom with my brother and it was one of the four bedrooms on the second floor, our room had a view of a small terrace-staircase and the interior garden, two other bedrooms faced the street and one more - the one with the television - had a small window onto a passageway, the two big rooms were: one my parents' and the other my sisters' and it was in the latter where I spent most of my time. Although my sisters were not at home much, it was through one of the windows in that room that I had access to the outside world. From that window I could see when everyone arrived (or left) in that huge, red car that my father let my brother drive. But when I looked out the window the one I really expected to see was my second sister, the matchmaker. 

She was about eighteen years older than me and she was the one who spent more time with me (the only one who spent time with me), with her I had a very different connection to the rest, she could read my thoughts and easily detect my emotions, she had a free spirit and the gift of not being ashamed to say things directly so some family members used to take that attitude as defiant and perceived her as "the one with the rebellious temperament".

I used to wait for my sister looking out the window, waiting for her arrival and, despite our age difference, she was my playmate, the keeper of my secrets, the one who took the time to teach me so many things, she was my accomplice and my ally, she used to take me out with her friends (for ice cream at ?She never bothered to make me participate in her meetings and when I went shopping she would dress me "pretty" while she was praising me, how handsome you are, she would tell me, wait until I comb your hair, don't touch you. 

For their marriage, family and friends arrived with their gifts and at the same time they could curiously take a look at the other gifts that were already displayed in the hall, each gift was exposed with its respective personal card as if trying to show the measure of affection of each one with the bride and groom. The gifts on display ranged from a mini washing machine, an embroidered tablecloth, the painting of the 100 little birds that augured abundance and happiness, sets of pots, glasses, cutlery, the inevitable rice cooker, a porcelain Buddha, and so on.

With the hustle and bustle of the wedding I was distracted by the continuous visits of family and friends and when all the guests left I was left alone, as king and lord of the hall, where I could admire my treasures, dazzled by the offerings, away and protected from the outside world, in my refuge, in my den, eventually leaning out of my window to examine outside my domain awaiting the arrival of my sister.

?

Two nurses at the sanatorium nonchalantly looked at the old man who, in his wheelchair, did not take off from the window, lately he is like that, repeating a strange story about a house with a living room, said one nurse to the other, he also told me something about his sister, who was about to arrive, who was waiting for her I think he said.

August 2022, RWC, California.

Paul Lock

Dad, a customary immigrant, with studies in Linguistics and Literature at the Catholic University of Lima (never taken advantage of) and almost always exhausted.

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