The Summer of Dead Toys (30 page)

It’s the third summer we’ve spent here and I know there won’t be a fourth. I’ve seen him looking at Inés out of the corner of his eye without anyone noticing. Only me. I have to do something. He looks at her when she is swimming in the pool and says things like: “You look a lot like your sister.” And it must be true because everyone says so. Sometimes we both stand in front of the mirror and look at ourselves, and we come to the conclusion that we don’t look so alike. But it doesn’t matter, I don’t want her to be his new doll. Or at least I don’t want to be here to see it.
Joana got up and went toward the girl to sit by her side. She thanked her with a brief smile, but continued reading.

It started two summers ago, at the end of July, when there was only one group of kids left to arrive. We always have a few days alone between groups. Alone means Mama, Inés and I, and the priest and a monitor. For those days Inés and I have the whole pool to ourselves. It’s like we’re rich and live in a house like the ones on American programs. But Inés doesn’t like the water very much, so that day I was swimming on my own. I liked swimming and I was good at it. Front crawl, backstroke, breaststroke . . . all the strokes except butterfly, which I couldn’t do. Because of that, he offered to teach me. He came to the side of the pool and showed me how to move my arms and legs. He is quite good-looking and is very patient. He hardly ever gets angry, even when the kids are bad and don’t listen to him. We were there for a while, me swimming and him at the side of the pool, until I got tired. Then he helped me out of the water even though he didn’t need to. It was late and there was no sun, so he said it was better that he dry me straight away so I didn’t catch cold. He stood behind me, wrapped me in a towel and began to dry me with pleasure. He was tickling me and I was laughing. He laughed at the beginning too. Then he didn’t: he was drying me more slowly and breathing loudly, like when someone is asleep. I didn’t dare move even though I was completely dry, but I started to feel strange. I was still wrapped in the towel and he was caressing me through the fabric. Then he put his hand underneath. And then I did try to get away but I couldn’t. He didn’t say anything: just shhh, shhh, even though I wasn’t talking. Then he said: I won’t hurt you. I was surprised because it hadn’t occurred to me that he could. His finger was going up my leg, the inside of my thigh, higher and higher like a spider. He stopped where my thigh ended and breathed in. It was a few seconds: his finger went to the edge of my swimsuit. I squirmed. And then he breathed deeply and let me go.

“God!” exclaimed Joana, but Héctor’s look silenced her. Leire remained quiet, watching this young woman sinking into a horrifying, brutally poignant story.

I didn’t tell Mama. Or anyone. I felt like I’d done something very bad but I didn’t know what. And he didn’t say anything else. Except: go and get dressed, it’s late, in a half-angry voice. As if I’d distracted him. As if suddenly he didn’t want to see me any more. The next day he didn’t come to the pool. I saw him pass by from the water and I called him: I wanted to show him that I’d been practicing and I was doing it better. He looked at me, very serious, and left without saying anything. I didn’t want to swim any more and I got out of the pool. It was earlier than the day before and it was hot. I lay down on the towel, letting the sun dry me. I think I was hoping he would appear but he didn’t. He must be angry with me. I said to myself that if he dried me again I wouldn’t be so silly. But the next day the next group of kids arrived and the other monitors, and he didn’t have time for swimming classes any more. I kept practicing every evening, when the pool was empty, because the kids were doing other activities, and I told him one day that I was getting better at it. He smiled at me and said: I’ll come and see you, I want to check your progress.

And he came: the last day, after the kids had left. And he clapped. I was proud: Mama didn’t care if I swam well or not, she knows nothing about sports, so I was very happy. When I got out of the water I stayed still, hoping he would dry me. But he only gave me the towel. From a distance. And then he said I deserved a prize for having made such an effort in the pool. What prize? I asked him. He smiled. You’ll see. It will be a surprise. Tomorrow go to the cave in the wood after lunch and I’ll give it to you, OK? But don’t tell Inés, or she’ll want one too. It was true. Inés always complains on my birthday when I get presents. She complains so much that my mother and grandparents always end up buying her something even though it’s not her party, it’s mine. So I didn’t tell her, and the next day I managed to go without her seeing me. I didn’t tell Mama either because if I did I’d get stuck with Inés.

“You don’t have to do this,” murmured Joana, but Inés’s glance was determined.
“I know. But I want to do it. I owe it to her.”

That was two summers ago. Now I hardly ever go down to swim. I don’t want to. I just want to sleep. Really sleep, without dreaming. I’ve asked everyone how to avoid dreams and no one has been able to explain how. No one knows anything really important. Anything really useful. Mama only knows how to cook and watch me. She watches me every time we sit down to eat. I can’t bear her. I don’t want her food. Every time I vomit after eating I feel happy. Maybe this way she’ll learn to leave me alone.

The cave is twenty minutes from the house. You have to walk a good bit uphill, through the wood, but I know the way perfectly. Every group of kids hikes there, so that summer alone I’d been there four times. Sometimes a monitor goes ahead and hides in there to frighten the little ones or things like that. So that day, at siesta time, I went there as we’d planned. When I arrived I couldn’t see anyone. Caves don’t frighten me, but I didn’t want to go in alone either and I sat waiting on a rock, in the shade. I like the wood: the light slips in between the branches and makes designs on the ground. And there’s a silence that isn’t complete silence, as if it has music. There was a slight breeze which was pleasant after the steep climb. I looked at my watch, although I wasn’t sure what time I had to come. But he wasn’t long. He arrived about ten minutes later. He was carrying a rucksack on his back and I said to myself that my present must be inside. He seemed nervous and he was looking behind him the whole time. He was sweating, and I guessed he must have run there. He let himself fall down beside me and almost smiled. I asked him: Did you bring my present? And then he really smiled. He opened the rucksack and took out a bag. I hope you like it. It wasn’t wrapped so I looked inside the bag. Take it out! he said. It was a pink bikini with little strawberries. I loved it. Then he said: Put it on. Let’s see if it’s your size. I must have hesitated because he insisted: Come on, I want to see how you look in it. Change in the cave if you are embarrassed. His voice was hoarse. Then I didn’t know if that voice came out when he wanted to play or when he was angry. Slower, slurring words. And when he has that voice he always looks away, like he’s not talking to you. As if he’s embarrassed.

I went to change and came out with the bikini on. I walked up and down like the models on a catwalk do. The way he looked at me made me feel pretty. Then he said: Come and sit beside me. I tried but I was uncomfortable: the earth and the pebbles stuck into my legs. He took out a towel from his rucksack and spread it out for both of us. And we lay down and watched the light coming through the trees for a while. I told him things and he really listened to me. You are very pretty, he whispered while he stroked my hair. And then I really felt like the prettiest girl in the world.

I hid the bikini, just like he told me to, so Inés wouldn’t find it. My mother saw it, of course, and commented that one of the kids must have forgotten it. I smiled, thinking that just like he’d said, that present was our secret. I didn’t put it on again until the next summer, the first day the monitors arrived, but he didn’t notice. I swam in the pool, like I had the year before, but he was busy with the others and didn’t pay me any attention. But afterward, when I met him in the corridor, he said very seriously: you have to wear a swimsuit in the pool. Then he winked at me and added: But you can put on the pink bikini when we see each other in the cave. After all, I gave it to you. I didn’t understand, but I nodded.
Come tomorrow at four o’ clock, he said to me quietly, and you can tell me how your year has been. I was so happy because I had lots of things to tell him, things about school, my friends, but the truth is we hardly spoke at all. When I arrived he was already there, sitting on the same towel as last summer. You’re late, he scolded me, although it wasn’t true. I’m wearing the bikini underneath my clothes, I told him, so he wouldn’t get angry. Then he laughed, and I realized he was joking with me, but he kept talking in an angry voice. Oh, really? I don’t believe you, as well as coming late you’re a liar . . . and laughing he took me by the shoulders, laid me down on the towel and started tickling me. Let’s see if it’s true, he said again, and he put his hands under my clothes to see if he touched the bikini. OK, yes, it’s there. I laughed too, although his hands were warm. Very warm. Then he lay down on top of me and stroked my face, and told me again that I was very pretty. You’re prettier than last year. I was a little ashamed and he noticed my red cheeks. Are you hot? he asked. I’m going to undress you as if you were a doll, he said smiling. He was speaking in that funny voice. And I let him take off my T-shirt and pull down my trousers. You’re my doll, he whispered again and again. I could hardly hear him. With one hand he stroked my hair, my arms, tickled my neck. I closed my eyes. I didn’t see anything else, but after a while I felt a warm liquid on my tummy. I opened my eyes, afraid, and saw a sticky white stain. I tried to move because it made me feel sick but he didn’t let me. Shhhh, he repeated, shhh . . . dolls don’t talk.

Leire had to force herself not to grab the pages from her. At her side, Héctor took her hand. She closed her eyes and kept listening.

That summer I learned to be his doll. Dolls close their eyes and let themselves be stroked. They also take their hand and put it where they’re told to. And open their mouth and lick with their tongue even though it sometimes makes them want to vomit. Above all, good dolls don’t tell anyone. They obey. They don’t complain. Like real dolls, they must wait for their owner to pick them up and then get tired of playing with them. It’s strange, you want them to play with you, although there are games you don’t like at all. And above all, you can’t bear the idea that your owner might forget about you, or replace you with another doll. At the end of last summer, the last day we played, he looked at me and said: You’re growing up. And, unlike most people who smile when they say that, I felt that he didn’t like it. Then in my bedroom I looked at myself in the mirror and saw he was right: my body was changing, my breasts were growing . . . only a little, but enough that the pink bikini was too small. That’s when I decided to eat less.

“ Bastard!” Joana couldn’t stop the word coming out of her mouth. Inés looked at her, nodded and said: “There’s not much more.”

This year everything’s been different from the start. When he arrived he looked at me as if he didn’t recognize me. I was proud: thanks to hardly eating a thing I had barely put on any weight at all. But I was taller, that I couldn’t prevent. And I saw that he noticed, though he said nothing. I tried to fit into the bikini but couldn’t and I cried with rage. He didn’t even mention it. He looked at me as if I didn’t exist, as if he’d never played with me. And when one day I said we could go to the cave he looked at me strangely. He acted as if he didn’t know what I was talking about. But my mother was useful for once and arranged everything. She told the monitors what a bad student I was and how worried she was about me, I think to embarrass me. And he nodded, and said, “Don’t worry, we’ll help her. I’ll give her private classes in the evenings on the days I’m free.” I loved the idea: the two of us together, in a closed room. I felt special again.

The first day I waited for him at the desk in my room, the one I share with Inés. The silly girl insisted on bringing all her dolls. While I prepared the notebooks and books, I looked at them and told them: Today it’s my turn, today he’ll play with me. But he didn’t: he spent a while explaining some mathematical problems and then he gave me some exercises. Then he went over to the window and stayed there. When he came back I saw something was happening to him. His eyes were dark. And I said to myself: Now. I was waiting for him to speak to me in that hoarse voice, to touch me with those warm hands that at the beginning made me sick. But he just sat down and asked: What age is your sister?

I hated him. I hated him with all my heart. Before I’d hated him for what he did to me, and now I hated him because he’d stopped. And then, little by little, I saw how he was getting closer to Inés. No one else noticed, of course. Not even her. Inés can spend hours playing with her dolls and not notice anything. She doesn’t like games outside, or sports. She doesn’t much like other kids: Mama always says she’s too solitary. In school she has only one friend and hardly plays with anyone else. But he looked at her, I saw him while I was pretending to read; while my mother’s eyes watched me to make sure I would eat, I had my eyes on Inés. Then I decided to do something. I knew it was in my hands, that the games last summer were bad; in school they’d told us about it and we’d all put on revolted faces. Including me. Well, I wanted to end it all but I didn’t know how. And one afternoon, while the monitors and the children were on an outing, I went to speak to the priest. I meant to tell him everything: talk to him about the bikini, the games in the cave, his sweaty hands, even though I might die of shame.

I knocked on his door and went into his office. And almost without noticing I started crying. Really crying, with my whole body. I cried so much he couldn’t understand my words. He closed the door and said to me: Calm down, calm down, first cry and then tell me everything, all right? Crying is good. When your tears are gone, we’ll talk. I felt like my tears would never end, like my stomach was a knot of black clouds that kept raining. But after a long time the knot began to unravel, the tears stopped and I could talk at last. I told him everything, sitting on an old wooden chair that creaked every time I moved a bit. He listened without interrupting, only asking a question when I hesitated. He asked if there was anything else, if he’d put his “thing” inside me, and I said no. He seemed relieved. Suddenly I wasn’t ashamed any more, or weepy, I just wanted to tell him everything. I wanted the whole world to know I’d been his doll. When I finished I felt like there was nothing left inside me, only the sudden fear of what was going to happen from now on.