Fallen from the nest
It's been so many years since I last saw her! Why did I bump into her today while strolling along the Champs Elisée? Just on one of those days when I mortify myself by looking through my cell phone at the old pictures and messages we exchanged during our time together. Until I delete those messages, it's going to be difficult to close this chapter of my life.
Sophie, how old was she back then? Six or seven, maybe. The youngest, I remember well, was three. I remember Chloé vividly: her golden curls, her mannerisms, I remember still feeling her in my arms days after she left. And the questions her father used to send me, her doubts in Portuguese, what a comedy! Chloé was a case of love reciprocated. Her older sister, on the other hand, was complicated. She hardly ever let me near her father. I know that it's normal to be jealous of your father, but in this case it was too much.
When I first met them, they immediately fell in love with me, wanting my attention all the time. They didn't know how to play with each other, so I had to distract them, create games, make up stories. Or at least let them comb my hair for hours on end. Before the vacations began, I bought dolls and toys for them to take to the beach. But none of that interested them, their favorite doll was me. It took a while for Sophie to start expressing her jealousy, I think it was when she realized that I had become a special person for her father. Another special person.
It wasn't just me who provoked Sophie's bouts of jealousy, she was also very jealous of her father with her sister Chloé, who was clearly her father's favorite. Chloé was born seductive, she knew how to keep everyone's attention on her. And she was deeply loving towards her sister. Despite being the youngest, she was always the one to give up something if it was necessary to make her sister happy. Her scenes of jealousy towards her father cut me to the heart, but he thought it was funny.
At that time I was crazy about having children. When they arrived at the house, they seemed like a gift from heaven. For me, who welcomed them with open arms, it was very disappointing to feel Sophie's rejection. Maybe if we'd had more time together, things would have worked out. But with Chloé it was all very different, she was a stickler. If she saw me feeling sad for any reason, she would come over and cuddle me and lean against me until my mood improved.
Despite being in a strange house and the absence of their mother, the girls never made a fuss during that vacation. They were very quiet. During the whole month that the two of them stayed at the house, their mother didn't call once to find out how they were. The children, poor things, reacted well to this lack of news from her. On the other hand, the day she called to talk to her daughters, on the eve of their return trip, they both fell into tears and it was very difficult to get them to calm down again. I never knew what she said. The impression I had was that the girls were manipulated by both their father and mother, according to their need for revenge or affirmation.
Some time after they returned home, I learned that all the presents and clothes they had gotten during the vacations had been thrown away by their mother. The new dishes they had tried and enjoyed, which their father had prepared for them at weekends in an attempt to make the good memories of their vacation in Brazil last a little longer, were called "slave food" by their mother, and gradually ceased to arouse any pleasure in the girls. A very strange woman, the mother of those children.
Not long afterwards, I learned that she had been removed from the school where she taught. They said she shouted and hit the pupils. Did she also hit her daughters? I don't think so. But the eldest was very fearful... I still remember her on the beach as if it were today. Standing at the edge of the sea in a very quiet cove in Búzios. There were practically no waves, just small ripples. When the water came up and soaked Sophie's feet, she struggled, her little arms folded in the air, like the wings of a baby bird that has barely hatched. She was scared, she screamed a lot, but she wouldn't leave for anything. The other bathers looked at her without understanding what was going on, she was practically on the sand! That child was a mystery!
From time to time, I received news of the two of them from their father. That's how I learned that Chloé, the docile and seductive daughter, had become a rebel and no longer wanted to see him or study. Sophie, on the other hand, was diligent and attentive, but not very warm. Her father seemed to have been gradually expelled from their emotional lives. On one occasion two years ago, when I remembered to look on the internet to see if I could find an up-to-date photo of them, I found only one photo of Sophie: a 3x4 portrait on her profile on the college website. In her picture, she was wearing a rather shabby and unflattering T-shirt, one side of the collar falling over her shoulder, her bra strap showing. The portrait of someone who lacks energy and wonder for life. Thirteen years had passed since that vacation, but she still looked like a bird fallen from the nest.
The girl I met in the street today had changed. Her hair had a modern style and her clothes were of the 'executive woman' type. When I jubilantly called her name, she turned around and I saw a glimmer of recognition in her eyes. But she immediately snapped out of her surprise and, ignoring me, turned towards her friend, who was asking her if she knew me. "No," she said, "it must be someone from the charity work my father does in third world countries during his vacations". With my eyes full of tears, I hurried towards the metro station. It was time to return home.
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