The Heart Has Its Reasons by María Dueñas Page B

ordinary late Sunday afternoon.
    â€œLaw, finally?” his mother asked cheerfully with a forkful of mashed potatoes halfway between the plate and her mouth.
    â€œNo . . .”
    â€œMedicine, then?” his father interjected, hardly hiding his satisfaction.
    â€œNeither.”
    They looked at him in astonishment as he began explaining in a strong voice what not even in a hundred days of conjecture they would have guessed. Upon completing his undergraduate studies, he had no interest in specializing in law despite being admitted to Cornell Law School, nor was he in the least interested in medicine. He wouldn’t remotely consider a future surrounded by judges, operating rooms, criminals, or scalpels; what he wanted to do with his life was to know other cultures and to devote himself to studying literature. Foreign literature, to be exact.
    Daniel’s father folded his napkin with extreme slowness, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth.
    â€œExcuse me,” he whispered.
    The slamming front door resounded along the street. His mother was left speechless. Tears began to well up in her lovely green eyes as she wondered when and where they had gone wrong in rearing the son whom they thought they had provided with an exemplary education.
    However, they knew Daniel was headstrong and had a fiercely passionate temperament, so they realized that this resolution, no matter how ridiculous and far-fetched it sounded, was firm. The younger brothers exchanged kicks beneath the table but didn’t dare utter a word lest they be caught in the crossfire.
    From that day on, silence spread through the house. Weeks went by in which Daniel’s parents barely addressed him, naïvely hoping that perhaps exhaustion would end up instilling some sense in the wayward youngster. All they achieved was to heat up the atmosphere to such a disagreeable extent that, far from encouraging him to change his attitude, they accomplished the exact opposite, awakening in him an overwhelming desire to get away as quickly as possible.
    His next step was to apply for graduate studies at the University of Pittsburgh. Past the deadline and by the skin of his teeth he managed to get accepted in the classical- and Romance-languages program,bolstered by the French and Spanish courses he’d taken previously. The family’s stable income and the hastiness with which he’d applied, however, disqualified him from receiving a scholarship. His father maintained his unyielding refusal to finance such an absurdity, so Daniel abandoned the family home at the end of summer, carrying with him a canvas backpack, sixty-seven dollars, and the still-festering family rift.
    His first objective once he landed in Pittsburgh was to find a part-time job. He figured that the paltry savings he’d accrued as a lifeguard that summer—his sole capital—wouldn’t last long. He quickly found a night job at H. J. Heinz, the great manufacturer of ketchup, beans, and pickles.
    The first semester flew by. He had strong yearnings and few needs, renting a room in a dilapidated house that he shared with seven other students, five cats, and a good number of broken windows. He didn’t much care about its decaying state, using it only for sleeping. His remaining time was spent at the university and completing his shifts at Heinz. He would eat in any old corner, sometimes a cold can of beans as he sat on some step going over his grammar exercises, or a cheese sandwich downed in three bites as he hurried along the hallways between classes. In his scarce free time—whenever he had an unoccupied hour—he could be seen running around the university’s athletic track like a being possessed. It didn’t take long for that tall, extroverted kid, full of energy and always in a hurry, to become popular among his classmates. In the factory, though, they would tease him whenever they saw him with a book during breaks, seated amid piles of boxes