Chapter 74 24:
Korr found it curious to see his memories from a third-person perspective. As time passed, it became difficult for him to see himself as a middle-aged old man now that he had been reborn in every sense of the word.
However, what did seem to remain with desired ease was his ability to remember even the smallest detail. He also appreciated the moments when he dreamed about his past life. Previously in first person, the experience now felt as though he were watching and listening to a stranger from the other side.
And in those moments, he watched himself as a child, in the midst of some memory from his past. His mind was such that it seemed to reproduce a new reality for him, allowing him to relive moments that he thought otherwise should have been erased long ago.
Memories like the ones he was witnessing.
The car stopped in front of his daughter's house. It had already grown late, so the way he had parked back then made the urgency clear. The lights from the party filtered through the windows, warm and golden, with several pamphlets related to a baby Sawyer included. The serious grandfather, which filled him with joy.
He had been forty-nine years old at the time, but he had done an acceptable job of maintaining a healthy body that had concealed a few years from his appearance.
He turned off the engine and remained silent for a few seconds, looking at the place where his daughter Valeria would begin a new life away from her parents.
He let out a long but resigned sigh.
Beside him, his stepson, Dylan, remained distracted, absorbed in the new cellphone he had bought him for his birthday. He had earned good grades, so he had deserved it. However, it bothered him that he was now incapable of even going to the bathroom without that device seemingly fused to his hand.
His face also showed reluctance and a certain apathy, which discouraged him to some extent as well. He did not get along with his sister.
"Dylan, could you put that cellphone away for tonight? This is an important moment for your sister. Come on."
The young man nodded with a tacit gesture, though his reluctance was evident beneath his sulking expression. He put the device away and got out of the car, barely willing to comply.
Having stepped outside the car, he gave him a pat on the shoulder and they walked toward the entrance.
The door opened before they could ring the bell.
To no one's surprise, Valeria was there, and she looked radiant.
She wore a white dress that shone around her like a halo of happiness. Her fiancé, Fernando, who seemed and was a good young man, a pilot in the country's navy, held her hand, affable and smiling.
"Dad, you're here; I'm so happy!" she said, hugging him tightly.
Then her eyes settled on his adopted son, Dylan. There was no malice when they found themselves obligated to greet each other for the sake of appearances in front of their father, but there was a barely concealed indifference.
That simple, curt "hello" made the detachment between them clear, not to mention that they were mutually uninterested in knowing anything about one another.
He was not stupid either; he knew how to read the sudden atmosphere, for experience had preceded him.
Aware of that deep antipathy deliberately hidden away, he intervened sensibly. He raised his imaginary glass and said, with unfeigned exultation,
"Why don't we go inside? It's cold out here, and you know your father is getting far too old. I'm happy that you invited both of us, daughter."
He said this before shaking his son-in-law's hand.
"Fernando, it's good to see you again. That set of brushes you gave me was the best thing I've used in my workshop," he said, managing to calm the waters.
"It makes me happy to know you liked the gift. My cousin, who's also a painter, admires your work a lot. He keeps bothering me, asking me to introduce you to him all the time."
"I have admirers? Really? That's incredible. Tell that cousin of yours I'd be delighted to give him an autograph."
"He'll definitely be very excited about that," Fernando said between laughs, recounting how this cousin had once taken fifteen hundred dollars from his mother to create a mural of her using patches made from that torn money. He wanted to convey how valuable his mother was to him, but that did not save him from being grounded for half a year and losing his allowance. He had literally used money and destroyed it in an attempt to make art.
Having succeeded in lightening the atmosphere, Valeria smiled and said,
"You were responsible for that too, don't deny it. Your mother told me so," she exposed him, drawing embarrassed laughter from Fernando. At the same time, she looked at her father with a strange expression that mixed subtlety and nervousness.
"Ah, by the way, Dad, Llenny is here. He hasn't stopped raiding my refrigerator. Can you say something to him?"
Llenny, his brother, who had once been a man, now superficially seemed like a woman in the middle of a transition process. It had been a complete surprise to him, but he had managed to take it one day at a time.
The equanimity he had cultivated over the last few years prevailed over the personal beliefs with which he had grown up in a Christian family. He nodded calmly and smiled.
"I thought he was in Spain. Let me see him; he didn't even tell me he was coming."
"He told me he wanted to surprise you," his daughter said, watching him shrug.
"I'll go greet him."
Just as his old body was about to step through the doorway, his daughter interrupted him.
"Dad, also... Mom is coming later too. I thought I should let you know."
He had not expected that turn of events, but he received it with composure, maintaining the control and dignity he had once believed lost years ago.
His divorce had not been a pleasant separation. In fact, it had been disastrous, degrading, bitter, full of grievances and reproaches.
But something within him had changed in ways that the figurative meaning of the word would not be enough to describe the life transformation he had undergone in order to move forward.
He accepted reality, managed himself, and removed that bitterness from his stomach. Therefore, nothing remained that could erode his old resentments.
"That sounds intriguing; how long has it been since I last spoke with your mother? Well, it doesn't matter... I think it's a good thing. The family should be complete, shouldn't it?"
"Dad... I, thank you so much." She tried to say, but he interrupted her.
"Thank you for what? Your father is starving. I hope you have grilled meat in there; you know very well I can't tolerate those weeds you call food."
"Dad!" she complained. "Remember your cholesterol."
"What cholesterol and what nonsense? Fernando, I pity you. How are you going to live a life without meat?"
"I'll find a way, sir. And we do have some smoked buffalo ribs."
"Fernando!"
"Damn, buffalo! I want some of that!" Dylan suddenly exclaimed, hurrying inside in an attempt to claim the grill for himself.
The party unfolded like a placid flow of waters that, knowing themselves to be deep, chose to appear calm.
They drank together, remembered old anecdotes, and even Dylan, who had remained taciturn and withdrawn, eventually ended up dancing with his cousins.
When his ex-wife arrived, late into the night, there were no outbursts or reproaches. They looked at each other from a distance and, for an instant, memory recalled what they had once been without bitterness. She offered him a cordial gesture; he responded with a polite nod.
They greeted each other like two adults and decided to give themselves a friendly opportunity to turn the page in life, not only for their children, but for themselves as well.
That night, the family became, if only for a few hours, harmonious and united once more.
And out there, watching from a window, Korr observed his children laughing together. That dream, that memory, had undoubtedly been one of the happiest moments of his life.
Then he felt everything turn dark, recognizing that he was about to wake up.
He let out a long sigh, returning to reality, his new and harsh reality.
Opening his eyes once more, he thanked the heavens for the rest of the calm he had indirectly longed for.