The North Face of the Heart - Dolores Redondo Page 0,29

grabbed her head and asked me, ‘What’s this on my head, Auntie?’ I told her, ‘That’s your scar, darling.’ And she asked me, ‘What scar?’ I put down the comb and looked her in the eyes to make sure she wasn’t trying to fool me. And I told her, very seriously, ‘That’s the scar from when you got hit on the head.’ Amaia smiled as if it were nothing, and she said, ‘I was probably really little, ’cause I don’t remember.’ I talked to her for a long time, careful not to prompt her, hoping she would work it out for herself. Finally, I said, ‘It was in the bakery kitchen, don’t you remember?’ She just smiled and said, ‘I was probably being naughty, ’cause I know I was a real bitxito when I was little.’ She doesn’t remember a thing, Juan. It’s completely gone from her memory.”

“Well, what should I say, sis? Maybe that’s for the best. I wish it hadn’t happened. I pray about it all the time.”

The pause that followed meant Engrasi must have been glowering at him. When she spoke, her tone was hard. “You’re an ostrich, burying your head in the sand. God won’t erase what happened, no matter how hard you pray. And no, it is not better this way. I don’t think you understand the seriousness of what I just said. Amaia suffered a life-threatening head injury. You have no idea how serious, because you didn’t take her to the hospital.”

Juan didn’t reply. That was always his reaction when he was overwhelmed. Amaia could almost see him staring at the floor with his hands jammed in his pockets.

“A head trauma that serious can cause hidden nerve damage. The symptoms can take years to manifest.”

“But since she’s so clever . . .”

“Neurological damage has nothing to do with intelligence. It’s silent, and it can remain hidden for years before coming to light. When it does, the effects can be catastrophic.”

Amaia heard nothing at first. Then she made out low sounds. She held her breath, overcome by her father’s weeping.

“We have to take her to the doctor,” he said through his sobs.

“I already did. Dr. Munguía is one of Spain’s best neurologists, and he takes patients at University Clinic in Pamplona. He was my classmate in college. A good man.”

Amaia had liked the doctor. They’d had a long conversation.

“He didn’t detect any signs of neurological damage, and in fact he told me Amaia’s IQ is far above average. But I didn’t need a specialist to tell me that.”

“That’s good news,” her father said cautiously. “Isn’t it?”

“Sometimes people who’ve suffered serious trauma develop defenses to block out their suffering. I believe that’s what’s happening with Amaia. She is suffering.”

Her father’s next words were stifled, almost inaudible, as if he’d covered his face with his hands. “We’ve all suffered.”

Engrasi’s voice took on new force. “Don’t you give me that crap!”

That was the first time Amaia had heard Aunt Engrasi use such coarse language.

“Amaia is the one who’s suffering, and you are responsible. That’s why I called you. You have to put an end to this, once and for all.”

“An end to what?”

“Amaia has always been quiet and obedient. She loves to read and stay here with me. She’s always doing schoolwork, even if it’s not assigned. But she hasn’t gone out to play or visit friends for months. No matter how much I try, I can’t get her to go out. She simply refuses. Last week I sent her to the pharmacy on an errand. That night at bedtime she asked me if she had to live here because she was being punished. Can you imagine how appalled I was? ‘Of course not, darling, wherever did you get that idea?’ She told me some women recognized her and asked if she was feeling better now. She, poor thing, told them she was. Within her hearing, one of the women told the other that Amaia was living with me because she was ill behaved. She stole, she talked back, she hit her sisters, and she even attacked her own mother. They’d had to punish her. The story was that you’d planned to send her away to boarding school, but Rosario took pity on her, so you sent her to live with me.”

A pained silence followed.

“My canasta friends didn’t tell me, because they didn’t want me to be upset, but they’d all been hearing the same ttuku-ttuku for quite a while. I suspect those rumors are the reason Amaia