Defining Family

Sometimes two people who have gone through something very intense can feel like they are family - like a parent and a child, like siblings, something like that. We assume the persons who find themselves in this situation have experienced the same thing, and that they were together when it happened. 

If, on the other hand, the people involved experienced the same, or almost the same thing, but were not together when it happened, one might look askance at the idea that they could have been brought together so closely as to feel like they are family.

I am not one of those who doubt the depths, perils, and miracles of shared experience, and in fact I am absolutely convinced that the effects can unite people even if they were not together when the intense circumstances occurred. Yes, of course being saved together from a sinking ship, a raging fire, or the rubble of an earthquake is likely to result in some sort of shared bond. Still, there are other ways people are made to move closer to one another that don’t involve physical or emotional desire. There are ways that are less common, perhaps unsaid or untold, perhaps uninteresting to the rest of the world.

This is a simple story with definite consequences. For the two people involved, the fact that they had something in common that had changed their lives was sufficient. That they had even discovered what that something was led them to wonder what had been responsible. They never should have been discussing the topic, and especially not where they were discussing it. None of that matters, because they discovered something neither ever talked about nor had planned to talk about it. The cause of the shared silence was not shame, and perhaps telling their simple story will lay bare the emotions steeped and drunk in lashing, baleful silence. 

Daniel and Lavinia had been among the usual group members that evening. There was always a reason to get together, and tonight it had been the second year since, well, something important had happened. Eight or so people had crowded around the largest of the rough-hewn table in the back comedor - eating area - of the María Castaña Restaurant. By quarter to twelve, the group of friends had dwindled to three. A minute later, Dany left as well, and Daniel suggested to Lavinia that they move to the smallest table, beside the sixteenth-century stone hearth, the lareira that had been left in place and gently restored to its gray gallantry.

The restaurant owner knew both of them well and they knew he would come to tell them it was time to close. That wouldn’t be for another hour, most likely. Lavinia was remarking how many families with young children had been out for a stroll during the late afternoon and evening, and her companion had nodded. Daniel had commented that some of his friends had two children already, but that most families only had one.

Lavinia thought the comment was just s little odd for a man to make. Men in Galicia never talked a lot about their children or even their friends’ children, or so it seemed. Something about what he’d said or how he said it, caused her to remember something that had been haunting her since she’d arrived in Santiago. She’d known it would, all the while hoping the memory would be gentle with her. It was not being gentle this evening, but the perfect albariño wine she’d had wasn’t to blame. Two glasses in three hours was not excessive. Then she heard Daniel speaking.

“I have to say I’m jealous of my friends, not because they’re married, although that’s not a bad thing, I suppose.”

Lavinia laughed, but not loudly. After all, her companion was serious.

“I always looked forward to have one or two children when I grew up,” he was saying now. “I think it’s because I had to take care of my younger brother and sister and I actually liked it.”

He looked embarrassed, but it wasn’t because of anything Lavinia said. He knew that most men don’t talk about such things, but he had. Then he even told. Her about some of their games and even their mishaps. He missed the two younger ones when he went to college, and by the time he had finished, they had left home, gone far away. Daniel’s voice faded, as if it too were going far away. His siblings had begun new lives and he was no longer needed.

Perhaps because of that role of big brother, Daniel had thought marriage and a family was a good idea. At least that was what he believed when, just out of college, he had married the perfect person. Marisa was as thrilled as he was and had planned a lovely wedding. Daniel had been uninterested in the single day’s activities and had been focused on their future together. 

“That future was not to be,” he said softly. “Marisa wasn’t ready or maybe she thought she’d made a mistake, but she got pregnant after only a year. I was so pleased, although it was definitely sooner than we’d planned.”

Lavinia saw no ring on his finger, nor had she ever seen Daniel with a woman nor with a child. She suspected his story was not a pleasant one.

“Marisa informed me that she was not going to have a baby so soon because she didn’t want to ruin her life. I pleaded with her not to do it, but she terminated the pregnancy in about the fourth month. She hadn’t told anybody, so the baby was our secret. The problem was, I couldn’t forgive her, or maybe I couldn’t love her any longer. It sounds so old-fashioned, but I lost all respect for her. You can imagine what happened after that.”

Lavinia nodded, because it was obvious the marriage had disintegrated. Daniel didn’t say how long it had taken, and she chose not to ask. Clearly it was a memory that weighed heavily on his mind. Then Daniel ordered a café descafeinado for each of them and Lavinia felt she needed to fill the silence with something other than sips from a small white coffee cup.

“I am going to tell you something I never told anybody else, not even my mother,” she said. “I would appreciate your not speaking of it again, because I still try to avoid thinking about it, except that being here, in Galicia, in Santiago, it seems to follow me everywhere.”

Daniel waited. He knew better than to urge Lavinia on, because she was the type who dislike being pushed into anything. She liked to make up her own mind. He wondered if she would have made the same choice as Marisa, then made himself stop thinking about the son or daughter that wasn’t meant to be.

“You know when I was here the first time, in the cursos de verán, the summer courses?”

Of course he did. He had been interested in her, but other than being friendly, Lavinia had not returned his feelings. Instead, Daniel had seen her often with Antón. They had seemed to be a couple, although as soon as Lavinia had left at the end of the summer, Antón had another partner. That didn’t work out either, because Antón was apparently more interested in his image as the intellectual, so progressive that he’d be willing to leave it all and go off to join the few guerilleiros remaining. Arm-chair radical, that’s all he was, but he wasn’t a bad person, just too intent on creating an image of himself rather than developing lasting friendships.

Lavinia was saying something that interrupted these memories.

“Soon after I returned home, I found out that I was going to have a baby.”

Daniel was stunned. Why was she telling him this? 

“It was a shock, of course, because neither of us was stupid, but neither had we planned to make our relationship permanent. Antón didn’t know about the pregnancy because when I left, I didn’t know either. The funny thing was, I knew how to contact him, but wasn’t convinced I wanted to. He obviously didn’t love me, and our being together Santiago had been a summer fling, so to speak.”

Daniel was watching Lavinia intensely. Had she had a child and never told the father? That was so wrong, he thought. Maybe she wasn’t as kind a person as he’d made her out to be.

“After going back and forth in my mind, trying to decide what I should do, afraid to tell Antón, I decided I would have the baby. First of all, it seemed like the responsible thing to do, but second, and just as important, Spending those weeks in Galicia had opened my eyes to a whole new world. I hadn’t wanted to leave at the end, but it wasn’t because I loved Antón, I knew. It was everything that surrounded him. That had affected me and I guess I thought a baby was a tie to Galicia that I wanted, maybe deserved. I decided to keep it.”

Lavinia meant that she had decided to continue with the pregnancy, not that she had had the baby and kept it to raise on her own. However, that was not the story she had to tell.

“It was not too long after making up my mind that I knew I had to tell Antón.” 

Daniel for some reason was glad to hear this. 

“I started a letter instead of calling, because I didn’t know who might overhear a phone conversation, and it was all written, ready to take to the post office, when something told me to let it sit for a day. Within twenty-four hours, the letter was moot, the envelope turn to shreds and burned.”

Her companion looked at her, maintaining the same intensity, not speaking.

“I had a miscarriage. It might have been for the best, but one never forgets those things. I can’t help thinking what my life - and career - would have been like with a child in my life. With a child who has half Galician. There are no answers, but the questions refuse to go away.”

Suddenly the two friends were embarrassed at the stories they had just told. Like we said, it wasn’t an embarrassment at having done something they considered immoral or dishonest. In both cases, the decision hadn’t depended on either of them. They didn’t feel guilty, unless possibly Lavinia felt a small twinge or two at never telling Antón what had happened. Daniel found a way to assuage her guilt by indicating that Antón had been quite successful in meeting other women and now lived in Madrid.

“Madrid? So much for being Galician,” was Lavinia’s reaction. She would never be able to spend more than a couple of days in the polluted capital of a country that seemed so far away.

“Oh, he’ll be back in a few months. It’s too much of a shock culturally for any of us to live there. Plus, it’s dry, polluted, and full of Castilians. Not for me, that’s for sure.”

Lavinia thought she wouldn’t have to decide yet whether she would ever tell him, since for now they wouldn’t cross paths. She was glad she hadn’t sent the letter, because she would have felt foolish sending another a day later to explain that it was all over. Antón didn’t need to know, ever, did he?

If she harbored any doubt at all, Daniel added:

“He’s married, no wait, he was married, but that’s over and he has a girlfriend who never lets him out of her sight. She’s about seven years older than he is, and keeps him on the straight and narrow. Too bad - jealousy is never pretty.”

The two companions had seen the nod of the owner of the restaurant and had begun to walk toward the elegant but by now quite lonely Obradoiro Square. Many people, tourists as well as residents, pass through the huge open square, as if feeling compelled to sat good night to the Catedral. After scanning all four sides, each with a very distinct architectural personality, Lavinia heard herself saying one more thing that surprised - and pleased - both of them:

“You know, Daniel, we seem to have something in common, although I’m not certain what it is exactly. But we told stories we’ve never told anyone before, hard as that is to believe.”

“You’re right. Maybe I shouldn’t have...”

Lavinia stopped him.

“Shhh... we both know it wasn’t the wine and it certainly wasn’t the coffee. It might have been the place, since we both love the María Castaña. After all, we were sitting right next to that lareira, and who knows how many stories were told in that very spot, centuries before it became a comedor for a restaurant?”

Daniel looked at her, feeling slightly less embarrassed. Then he suggested something the Lavinia knew had also been in the back of her mind:

“Seeing as how we are both rather short on family, perhaps we could establish our own?”

His companion knew what he meant, and he wasn’t referring to getting married or having a child. That was completely out of character for him, and it was for her. What he suggested was not:

“What if we decide to be like, say, brother and sister? We could not only keep our sadness a secret, but maybe we could be helpful to one another the way brothers and sisters can be.”

“I like that idea very much,” replied Lavinia. More than you know, she thought.

Now readers will recall, I am sure, that this was a simple story. It is not romantic, there are no hidden agendas, nothing more than what is here. At the same time, what we have here is a pair of persons whose minds and feeling are not the sort one finds every day. As Lavinia and Daniel left the observant Obradoiro, their arms were locked. This is a gesture seen often in the city. Rather than showing a romantic relationship, it indicates trust, a willingness to support the other person, all those feelings you never get in the US, where people want a lot of personal space and thrive on individuality.

The linked arms we see leaving the façade of the Catedral behind must be read as those of a brother and a sister, chosen for what they share and silence, trusting that they did the right thing.

Do not pay any attention to what others might think. You know the truth.