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(13)
And her lips trembled with the tears that distorted her face where he had slipped the muzzle, and hands, bent, still scratching the wood where it was losing bits of nail and that little warm voice also wept and said, at his side –
– And mother, Alba?
Dídac had followed her from the pond, where she had crossed the street and was visited by death, she had jumped mountains of rubble, and the maze of alleys.
– Because we lived there, along with Margaret, years ago, who went out to serve herself and was left pregnant by a black man.
Alba hugged him, pressing him against her in a desperate gesture, but she interrupted his cry and went to straighten the sharp body of the nine year old child, who begged a cry:
– She’s not dead, right?
(14)
And they had died. They found it (death) at the foot of the stove, after having penetrated into the house through a hole in the roof, and she still had a spoon in her hands with which she must have been ready to stir the pasta that could be seen in the an intact, clay pot.
The boy embraced her with a beastly cry/the whimper of a bug and called out to her as is if she was sleeping and just wanted to rest, while Alba stroked his curly hair and left him to vent, now with dry eyes, though her heart inflated as if tears sprouted there, in the crevices of the arrhythmic beats.
After Dídac had clung onto her like a castaway grips wood and wet his cheeks with his tears all the while babbling nonsense words. She said:
– They must have killed everyone.
(15)
When she was explaining to him what had happened with the aircraft, which he hadn’t seen because of being under the water, they heard an unexpected trill that makes them turn towards the courtyard’s window that still had its windowsill, and they saw the intact cage straightaway, with the bird flapping its wings.
The goldfinch!
Dídac got his hands off Alba’s neck and straightened his back.
It’s Xica…
The young girl, feeling hopeful, was squeezing her hands against her breasts to calm her unbridled heart.