Re: [AyB. Cris y Mari]
She knew of him as a constant. She was small when Mami and her hermanas left the island, yes, but she was not so young that she did not remember them when they were gone. On the phone, her hermana would tell stories of meeting a boy, and she and Magda would listen, fighting for the phone. Magda lost interest quickly, but Magda liked to be the center of attention, and listening to Elisa's stories was never about Magda. But Mari had never tired of the tales. Even as she grew, she had no such tales of her own, but this did not bother her; she had tales that she could claim every weekend, from a phonecall across the sea.
She did not know what he was thinking about the berry, but she knew he had a wife, someone he had married. She did not know how many times he had married. She did not know what had come of his wives. These were facts she had not yet acquired. She would ask, but first she asked this; tell me about her. She did not judge his choice of uneaten bagel, but she did make note of his beginning, that he felt it important that she knew she was liked by her sister. "I do not know Emilia well," she admitted. "By the time we came, she was grown, but you know this." Because Emilia had been older than Elisa, and Mari had never truly connected with her. "Magda, I know very well," she admitted, her eyeroll-smile indicating that knowing and liking were not one in the same.
She watched as he brushed his fingers against his lips; this was a very human thing, a very present thing. This was not the sort of thing a memory, imagined or otherwise, did. "I know what happened," she said truthfully. She did not look away, and she did not look down. Her eyes did not fill with tears. "Mami said there was a note. Papi did not say anything much. He and Mami, they did not see things the same when it came to Elisa. Por favor, dime más."