“It’s not madness, Roberto. These are instructions from your father.”
—Mom, please… Dad was sick. Very sick.
“My heart was bad, Roberto. Not my head.”
“Look at this,” she pointed at the wall. “You’re building a colonial fortification! You’re thin, you’re dirty, your hands are covered in cuts!”
—I’m working.
—For what? To protect you from what?
—From coming winter
Roberto looked at me as if I had said I saw Martians.
—Winter? Mom, it’s October. It’s sunny. And even if it snowed, why would you need a two-meter wall?
—Your father discovered that this year a cycle is completed.
—What cycle? Mom, Dad had been retired for five years.
—He never stopped studying.
Roberto softened when he saw my red eyes.
—Mom, I’m sorry. I don’t want to fight. But I’m worried. People say you talk to yourself while you work.
—I don’t talk to myself. I think out loud.
—Mom, I’m staying for the weekend. But you have to promise me you’ll take a break from work. And I want to see those blueprints of Dad’s.
I showed him the leather folder. Roberto opened it and began examining the documents. His expression changed from disbelief to technical curiosity.