The Memories of Ana Calderón (32 page)

On the way home one evening, Ana was forced to confront her relationship with Terrance. As her driver managed the car through traffic on the Harbor Freeway, she sat back on the leather seat. She reclined her head, eyes closed, as if she had been asleep. But she was thinking. Something had
occurred between the two of them that afternoon.

When she opened her eyes, the headlights of the on-coming cars made her blink while she thought of how her body had trembled when Terrance inadvertently touched her hand. A vibration had streaked through her body with a powerful sensation, and she knew that she had not felt anything like it since the times when she had lain with Octavio. The feeling caused by Terrance's hand so unsettled Ana that she abruptly cut off their work without explanation.

The vehicle sped south as she wrestled with her thoughts. Her mind reached out, hoping to find an explanation, anything that would dispel the confusion she was experiencing. Then she looked out the window, staring at the span of twinkling harbor lights, and she thought of Puerto Real. Suddenly, this image connected with others. The number of years that had passed since she was a girl flashed through her memory, and she remembered that she was old, too old for Terrance. Certainly too old to feel what she thought she felt. Ana closed her eyes as she allowed this realization to seep into her. She forced her mind to concentrate and to let what she had just thought of take root.

Ana suddenly sat up. She thought that she had found the answer. She told herself that she had been mistaken, that she was beyond the age of feeling such things. She leaned back, fixating her mind on this idea. A while passed before she felt the car glide onto the long driveway leading to the carport. By the time the driver stopped the car and opened the door for her, Ana had convinced herself that she had imagined what had happened that afternoon.

The next evening when Terrance came to her office, his arms loaded with reports and papers, Ana felt afraid, but she resisted her fears and reminded herself that she was a professional woman, above such nonsense. She sensed an awkwardness in him, but she nonetheless launched into working until they were reminded of the time by a delivery boy who brought them sandwiches and coffee. After the boy left, Ana decided that they had done enough work, and they went to the coffee table at the far side of the office where they chatted as they ate.

Terrance often told her of his childhood, of his school days and even of his years in college. She liked listening to him because he had a charming way of telling of his experiences.
Ana was grateful, especially that evening, for any small talk that might lighten the stiffness that had grown between them with each passing minute.

Instead of his usual lighthearted adventures, however, Terrance began to tell Ana of an unhappy memory in his life. “I remember that sometimes I used to sleep under a sink with my face pressed against a cold pipe. Isn't that strange, Ana?”

“Under the sink? Are you sure you weren't playing a game?”

“Hmm. Maybe. The truth is that I can't remember anything else. I don't even remember people or things, just the dumb cold water pipe. Sometimes I think that it was just a bad dream.”

Ana was looking at him intently. “I wish I had known you then. I'm old enough, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Nervously changing the subject, Terrance said, “Hey! Did I ever tell you about the first time I got drunk? I was a freshman in college and…”

Again he stopped suddenly and turned to her as he took her hand. She was surprised, but she didn't resist because she was instantly overcome with emotion. She looked at his face and saw that it was beautiful, and that the vein in his neck had thickened, and that it was throbbing. Neither of them spoke as they drew closer to one another. She knew what was happening, and although the inner voice tried to scream out to stop, that she was too old for him, that something was wrong, she suppressed it when she felt his lips on hers. She tasted his tongue, and submitted to him.

Ana removed her clothes and watched Terrance as he did the same thing. Then he reached out, cupping her still firm breasts in his hands, and he lowered his face to kiss her neck. She returned his caresses and kisses as she drew him towards her, and when they laid on the carpet, they remained still for a few moments, feeling each other's body. Then they rolled over each other, tumbling over and over as if wrestling until, almost out of breath, Ana wrapped her legs around his waist and surrendered to his penetration.

The earth was quaking beneath me, and I knew that I had never loved anyone as I did Terrance. My body and mind and heart exploded, catapulting me into a world so sublime and beautiful that all the hatred and anguish that I had tasted vanished, and in its place there was only beauty and pleasure. When I gave myself to him, I forgot everything. I forgot my age, my loneliness, and everyone who had ever entered my life. We were lovers for nearly a year before our happiness ended.

It was raining in Los Angeles that early December morning. Ana and Terrance sat in the airport lounge waiting for his flight to New York; they were checking last minute changes to the report he would be presenting on arrival. She looked happy, serene, and the only thing that disturbed her was that she wasn't able to go with him because she was scheduled to fly to Houston.

When the announcement was made that his flight was ready for departure, Terrance moved closer to Ana and kissed her lips. He didn't say anything, but his eyes told her that he loved her. After a few moments, he said, “I'll return in three days. We'll spend Christmas in San Francisco.”

She smiled at him and pressed his hand against her cheek. “
Buena suerte
. I'll be waiting.”

Terrance took his briefcase and went to the exit where he turned to look at Ana. He smiled again and waved goodbye. As he walked away from her, she moved over to a window where she could see him make his way across the blacktop to the ramp leading up to the plane. She watched him as he pulled his hat down in an attempt to shield his face from the drizzle, and she kept her eyes on him until she saw him climb the steps and disappear into the small entrance of the plane.

Ana remained looking at the plane for a long while. Then her eyes scanned the runway that glistened with the moisture of soft rain, and she smiled as she recalled the days she and Terrance had spent recently in Santo Domingo. As she watched the plane begin to move, she remembered the tropical sun on her face and the emerald-colored water that had transported her back to where she had been born. She, with
Terrance by her side, had lived the most beautiful days of her life on the island where, for the first time, she had felt free. They had passed days in which they danced, loved and conversed.

Ana returned to her office later that day and she worked without stopping for lunch. She dictated several letters, received representatives from competing firms, and met with three plant managers. As the sky began to darken, she noticed that it was still raining, and she paused for a few minutes for a cup of coffee. Terrance was on her mind.

When her secretary walked in with the evening newspaper, Ana was startled by the shocked expression on the woman's face. Ana stared at her for a few moments, and then without saying a word, she took the folded newspaper and spread it out on the coffee table.

Jet airliner en route to New York goes down in snowy Iowa corn field. All aboard perish
.

Ana looked at the secretary, trying to find a contradiction on her face of what the newspaper was telling. But the expression that she saw was a confirmation, not a denial. Ana was stunned, and she refused to accept what her mind was beginning to tell her. She rushed to the desk where she fumbled clumsily, scattering papers onto the floor while looking for her reading glasses. When she finally found them, she dashed back to the newspaper and scanned the report. Her index finger slid down the center of the fine print as she mumbled out the name of the airline, the flight number, its place of departure, its scheduled place of arrival.

The details confirmed that Terrance was dead, but still Ana resisted. She looked first at the secretary's blanched face, then back at the newspaper. The headlines leaped from the newsprint, wrapping themselves around her throat. She began to choke, to suffocate. Breathing became difficult. A throbbing began in her head; initially it was a dim, dull pulsation, then it expanded, growing, enlarging, until she felt that the pounding would destroy her brain and kill her. She raised her hands to her head in an attempt to relieve the pain.

“Miss Calderón, maybe you ought to lie down…here…”

“Please leave me. Please! Nothing more. No calls…no one…Please!”

The woman left the room and closed the door silently,
leaving Ana with her hands clutched to her head. When she was alone, she felt that her body was losing strength. She had no control over it as it inertly fell to the floor. There she rolled into a tight, round ball, knees tucked under her chin.

My hands and forearms would not let go of my head. Flashes of my short time with Terrance blurred with those of my childhood and with the memory of my father's curse. I understood that the pain I was now feeling was greater than the punishment inflicted on me by his fists, and that it surpassed even his hatred. This thought forced my mind to stop, to look around and to remember that I had once before experienced an agony equal to this one when Octavio had wrenched Ismael away from me.

The distant ringing repeated, four times, five times. A voice interrupted the sixth ring. “Hello.”

“Mr. Wren?”

“Yes.”

“Mr. Wren, I'm calling from Los Angeles. My name is Ana Calderón. Do you know of me?”

During the seconds of silence that followed, Ana could hear distant voices crisscrossing, mixing, blending on the line. She could also hear the man's breathing at the other end.

“Yes, Miss Calderón. Our son spoke often of you, of his work and of Los Angeles. But especially of you. He wanted us to meet you soon.”

She felt her throat on the verge of exploding. She had not allowed herself to weep, but she knew that sooner or later she would have to cry, if only to relieve the pressure that was growing in her chest.