Memories

Photo by Duartte
(www.olhares.com/etraudez)

It’s funny how we form an image of a person we don’t know, and when we see her for the first time, she doesn’t correspond to the image we had of her. In Elisa Nolasco Vieira’s case, however, when she arrived in her car, she had precisely the aspect I’ve imagined: tall, elegant and of an extreme but firm delicacy. She was an attractive and determined woman, who looked a lot younger than she really was.

She stepped out of the car and came straight to me:

- You’re Emma King, aren’t you?
- Yes, I am.
We shaked hands. She had her father’s eyes.
- I’m Elisa. Just Elisa. No “Mrs.”, please.
I laughed:
- Sure, Elisa.
She looked at the house.
- My God. – she vented – I haven’t been here in years.
- Your house is beautiful.
She inclined her head to me, with a sad look in her face:
- The beauty of a house is of no value if we can’t live in it.
I looked at her:
- You’re right.

She said nothing, for a moment. Then she asked:

- Do you know about the fire?
- Yes. That’s precisely what I wanted to talk to you about.
- Oh, really? – she found strange – It happened over ten years ago. Is that what’s making selling this house difficult?
I hesitated to answer:
- Sort of. The more I know about what happened then, the more prepared I’ll be to answer eventual questions by a potential buyer.

Elisa said nothing, simply complying with her head. Then she walked towards the house, with keys in her hand. I went after her. She looked at me, observing me while unlocking the door:
- You’re new at the agency, aren’t you?
I smiled at her:
- Yes, I’ve just started. This is my first house.
- In this case… – she said, laughing as she was entering in the house – I’m so sorry. You could have gotten an easier house to sell.
- It’s okay. I’m not afraid of challenges.

She looked at me again, admired. Then she closed the door behind her and put her things on the little table in the entry, and hanged her coat on the stand. I looked around slightly, looking for any signal of the old man’s presence or the mess that blasted in there the day before. There was neither.

- I love this house. – Elisa whispered, going to the magnificent living-room, with me following after her – When we rebuilt it, we took the opportunity to restore it completely, down to the foundations. When the works were finished, this was not a house anymore, it was a palace.
- I absolutely agree.
- I’ve lived here so many years… Since I was born, actually. My parents bought this house a little before I was born. They wanted to have more children but… My mother died during my delivery.
- Oh, really…? – I said, caught by surprise – I’m sorry.
She smiled:
- Don’t worry. My father took very good care of me, so good he never remarried. He used to say that my mother was the only love of his life and that he didn’t want to have anybody else.
- That’s very romantic.
- Yes, but it’s also very lonely.

She looked around and shake her head, like she was protesting against something:

- He died here in the fire, you know? Alone.
I nodded:
- Yes. I’m so sorry. It’s an awful way to die.
- Yes, it was nothing like my father deserved.

She sighed deeply:

- We tried to carry on and have a normal life after we rebuilt the house, but there was such an atmosphere of sadness so big and so oppressive that it became unbearable to live here. My children, they loved their grandfather, but they couldn’t take it anymore. They’d wake up every night crying…

Her voice broke up but she managed to control herself well:

- We had to leave. We couldn’t stay here anymore. After a few months, we moved to Sintra.
- What a pity. – I commented.
- My husband loved this house as much as I did. Still today, he says that his fondest memories are from here, this house. He even misses the discussions he had with my father. When he died, my husband Charles wept and mourned him like he was his own father and for a long time, he felt guilty for what happened here. Not only him, me too.

- Why? – I asked, surprised.

- We went out to Setubal that weekend, to Charles’s parents. If we haven’t gone out, he would still be alive. Or at least, he wouldn’t have had such a horrible death.

- No one imagines something like that, right, Elisa? I mean, if we were all capable of foretelling the future, we’d all be millionaires by now, right?

She laughed.

- Right.

She looked around the house once more.

- Well, now that I’m here, I have to see the whole house – she said, excited.
I extended my hands in front of her:
- It still is your house.

We explored once more – once more for me – the whole house, from ground-floor to the attic, which had been transformed into a big luxurious office. From division to division,  she spoke for what seemed to be hours, giving me all kind of details about the house and its history, describing the adventure it was to recover it all over again, from its roof to the foundations.

From the inclined windows of the attic, one had a very nice view of the house’s garden and the crop fields that went far beyond sight. It was sunny but it seemed that no sunlight came over the fields, or the house. With crossed arms, Elisa admired the landscape, held to the window:

- The idea was my husband work to here… – she said, with a dreamy look in her face – He spent to much time out, always working, and when we restored the house, we took the change to finally build an office with conditions for him to work, here in the attic, and at the same time, to be with us more time…

Elisa shake her head:

- What a disappointment.

I smiled at her, responsive, looking around. The office was decorated as the rest of the house: with great sumptuousness. It had a large desk made in solid wood, a chair of leather, Persian rugs, sofas, shelves full of books, wooden floor, and a huge plasma TV. My old apartment could fit in there.

A little after, Elisa left the office and I went after her, preparing myself to close the door behind me. When I was about to close it, I noticed, with a thud in the heart, that Abel was there, right in the middle of the office, looking at me with a desperate look in his face.

The poor old man’s body was covered with scars and burns. He started walking towards me and I immediately closed the door. Elise was already going down the stairs. Fortunately, she didn’t look back, otherwise she’d have faced a very unusual scene: me, made silly cheap, diddling around a door.

I heard a noise at the door. The key was in the lock, on my side. The doorknob slowly began to turn and I just locked the lock, before the Abel could open the door.

- Abel! – I called, as loud as I could without attracting Elisa’s attention – Stay there! Please, calm down! You will talk to your daughter, I promise! But now, it really isn’t the right time!

I stood looking at the door for an eternity. To my relief, he left the doorknob. I left running to the stairs, before Elisa noticed my absence. She had continued to descend the stairs to the basement.

In the midstream, I heard a noise comming from upstairs. I stopped and looked up. I listened again, carefully.

Steps.

The stubborn old man didn’t stay in the office.