3
He gets home tired. Before opening Jasmine’s room, he takes a shower, otherwise she won’t let him do so in peace. She’ll try to get under the water with him, kiss him, hug him. He understands she’s alone all day, that when he gets home she wants to follow him around the house.
He opens the door and Jasmine greets him with a hug. He forgets about Gastón Schafe, Mari and the boxes.
There are mattresses on the floor. The room contains no furniture within reach; nothing that could hurt her. He set it up this way when he found out she was pregnant. He didn’t want to risk something happening to his child and took all the necessary precautions. Jasmine learnt to relieve herself in a bucket that he cleans every day and also to wait for him. She’s able to move freely within the four walls adapted so that nothing happens to her.
It’s been a long time since he felt that this house was his home. It was a space in which to sleep and eat. A place of broken words and silences encapsulated between walls, of accumulated sadnesses that splintered the air, scraped away at it, split open the particles of oxygen.
A house where madness was brewing, where it lurked, imminent.
But ever since Jasmine arrived, the house has been full of her wild smell and her bright and silent laughter.
He goes into the room that was once Leo’s. He’s taken down the wallpaper with boats on it and painted the room white. There’s also a new cot and furniture. Buying these things wasn’t an option so he built them by hand. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion. After his day at the plant, he likes to get down on the floor and imagine what colour he’s going to paint the cot. He wants to decide the moment the baby is born. When he looks his child in the eye, he imagines he’ll know what colour to choose. For the first few months, the baby will sleep by his side, next to his bed, in a temporary cot.
That way he can make sure this child doesn’t stop breathing.
Jasmine always sits with him in the baby’s room. He prefers it this way, for her to follow him around. All of the drawers in the house have locks on them. One day when he got home from the plant, Jasmine had taken out all the knives. She’d cut one of her hands. She
was sitting on the floor, covered in the blood that was slowly dripping from her. He panicked. But it was only a superficial wound. He treated it, cleaned her up and locked away the knives. And the forks and spoons. When he cleaned the floor, he discovered that she’d been trying to draw on the wood. That’s when he bought her the crayons and paper.
He also bought cameras that connect to his phone so that while he’s at the plant, he can see what Jasmine is doing in the room. She spends hours watching television, sleeping, drawing, staring at a fixed point. At times, it seems she’s thinking, like she really can.