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

told himself.
    But he could not stop thinking about the girl in the river. Why did she die? She just slipped on a rock and fell on her back, hitting her head. Can people die because of something like that? Only a moment before they were sitting on the bank. She was barefooted with her legs stretched out, her feet very white, like two little shining fish. Serafín’s mamá and the girl’s mamá were in the water with their chemises white and floating out like balloons.
    â€œCome on,” the girl’s mamá said with a sparkle from the sun in her smile.
    â€œThe water’s fine,” Serafín’s mamá said.
    â€œTimid kids.”
    The sand was shifting under Serafín’s feet. He saw when the girl climbed on a big, fat rock and when she tried to jump to another, like the first one and only a step away. She held out her little hands as if she were going to take flight and then fell on her back with the water caressing her, peaceful, indifferent. They carried her out, her eyes fixed on an indefinite point in the sky, her very white legs dangling like threads.
    For a long time Serafín looked at her in the coffin within the circle of candlelight, surrounded by the hushed murmur of prayers.
    â€œLook at her for the last time, my son, because you’ll never see her again,” Serafín’s mamá told him, wrapping the “never” in a sob as she held a handkerchief to her mouth.
    She was wearing a white dress and had her hands crossed over a crucifix on her chest. Serafín tried to imagine what her closed eyes were seeing and felt it was something sweet and far away. He could almost see it himself, but what was it? He looked for it in her eyelids, in the soft lines of her lips, in those hands like wax. What was it like to see death?
    In the moment before he left the coffin, something like an answer came to him, a slight ringing in his ears, an unknown flavor in his mouth, a figure that was forming in the swaying smoke from the candles and coming up from the box. He was certain she would continue to be the same, wherever she was, and that her face would always keep that tranquil serenity of lilies.

3
    The passenger next to him was an old man with shriveled cheeks and a humpback, who was doubled over himself. Was he sleeping? Even though Serafín noticed his eyes were open, he wondered if he was asleep because nothing else in his face showed any sign of life. What did he look like? A scarecrow. But Serafín was looking at him with suchquestioning eyes, the old man turned and smiled, which made him seem even more like a scarecrow.
    â€œHello,” he said.
    â€œHello,” Serafín answered.
    Without shifting position, tossing his words toward the open area formed by his thin, half-open legs and occasionally looking at him sideways, the old man added,
    â€œAre you going to the city?”
    â€œYes.”
    â€œWhat for?”
    â€œTo look for my papá.”
    â€œDo you have any relatives there?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWhere are you going to live?”
    â€œI don’t know. First I’m going to look for my papá.”
    â€œAnd in the meantime?”
    â€œWell, I’ll see. Wherever I find myself.”
    â€œYou won’t find anyone there.”
    â€œI have to go.”
    â€œDo you have any money?”
    â€œNot very much. Some that was left after paying for the bus.” Serafín patted his pocket to be sure it had not fallen out when he got on the bus.
    â€œYou’re dead.”
    â€œBut I have to go, Señor. Really.”
    â€œOK, go, then . . . go to hell!”
    And he said no more. As if he had gone to sleep with his eyes open. Serafín felt a strange shiver, more in his bones than in his spirit or on his skin, and did not know if it was because of the old man’s curse or because the farther the bus went, the farther his mother was left behind. He leaned up against the window and pressed