Lost in the City: Tree of Desire and Serafin by Ignacio Solares Page A

she thought, and continued thinking damned people until they reached the highway and stopped near a tall pine that seemed to pierce some transparent clouds galloping very low. Serafín clutched the plastic bag to his chest, his sleepy eyes red, making him see things in a thick, unrealhaze. He saw how the sun came up suddenly between two hills, already in its fullness, with the rapid flight of the immense darkness.
    Two buses passed without stopping. Serafín told his mother none was going to stop, but now she was the one who had decided her son should go. Her expression hardened and she assured him one would stop, there was always one that stopped.
    â€œThey’ve already seen us come here to wait for the bus. Now you have to go.”
    â€œWhat are you going to tell them?”
    â€œNothing. I’m not going to tell them anything. I didn’t tell them anything when your papá left, and I am going to tell them even less now that you’re going.”
    â€œThey’re going to ask you.”
    â€œBut I’m not going to say anything. And I’m going to stay so far away from them, they won’t be able to ask me, and if they ask me, they are going to get tired of asking.”
    â€œAnd Uncle Flaviano?”
    â€œThe same thing. Nothing.”
    â€œYou’re going to need him to lend you some more money.”
    â€œWe’ll see.”
    â€œYou’re not going to talk with anyone, Mamá?”
    â€œWith your brothers and sisters. Why talk with anyone else until you and Papá get back?”
    â€œWe’re going to come back, Mamá,” he emphasized it to get rid of his doubts.
    â€œOf course.”
    She was quiet for several minutes, as if she were somewhere else, already settled into the silence she would be living in for the coming days. As if past, present, and future had already started getting confused.
    The sun was rising, brilliant, completely round, hastening the morning.
    â€œThere comes another bus,” she said taking a few steps toward the highway, ready to stop it however she could. And she stopped it. Maybe it was going to stop anyway, but just in case she went out onto the highway and waved a white handkerchief high, like a dove.
    She cried, telling her son good-bye. But she cried more inside than she showed. She embraced him, hugging him more closely than she had for many years, while the driver yelled as hard as he could,
    â€œCome on, come on! Hurry, Señora, or I’ll leave . . .”
    Really, she shed hardly any tears. She was going to say something, but just pressed her lips tight and put them on her son’s cheek in something meant to be a kiss. Her lips were cold, and Serafín felt that the coldness in his mother’s lips was the real goodbye. Why at that moment did he remember the little girl who had died in the river years before? The driver revved his engine without moving and said, “I mean it, Señora, I’m leaving.” Mamá said a blessing behind Serafín, but could not make the sign of the cross on him because he went up the first step with his back to her, went off thinking about the little girl who had died in the river.
    â€œGod bless you, Serafín!”
    .   .   .
    He got on the bus and looked at the aisle dividing the seats as if it were an aisle in a dream. From the back pocket of his pants he took out a bill and, staggering, gave it to the driver. Then he stumbled over the packages on the floor, crossed the hurdle of sharp looks and took a seat in one of the back rows. They had left him a seat with a window, and when he looked back through it, he saw only a piece of land and underbrush left far behind. He thought his mother would already be far away and felt the urge to get up and yell to them to let him get off, where was he going without her, but settled for hugging the plastic bag against his chest and clenching his teeth. Now there’s nothing else to do, he