She, the other one, the one who is not me but who could have been my sister, the one who sells the yellow plastic frogs in the street next to the florist, she has become the only friend I have, she has told me that her name is Laurinda, just like her mother, the old Laurinda. She has a white mark that runs down her cheek like a dried-up riverbed and continues over her shoulder. She swears it is true, not as if she were swearing an oath by God because she no longer believes in such things — how could she when she has lived for so long as a person who is not allowed to exist? She proves it in another way. She has said we live in a time when no one knows any more what another’s name really is, no one knows where anyone comes from or where they are going. It is when you get to some place where you don’t have to run any more that you can say your real name, and her name is Laurinda.
She has been on the run for nine years and everyone around her has whipped her with their invisible whips so that she won’t stay, so that she won’t exist, won’t be seen, won’t stop, but will keep going the whole time as if she were in eternal orbit, an orbit where life slowly crumbles away into death and emptiness. It has gone on for so long that she has started becoming invisible even to herself. She can no longer see her face in the mirror or her reflection in the shop windows. The only thing she sees is a shadow, moving abruptly as if it too were afraid of being caught.
And she has also become invisible on the inside; once where there were memories there is now only a shell as if from the nuts that a monkey has eaten and tossed away. No real memories, just the shell of reminiscence, not even smells are left, everything is gone. She only recalls the music as a noise in the distance, the songs that her mother, the old Laurinda, used to sing for her.
Sometimes she is overcome by a blinding rage, it rushes up in her like a volcano, a volcano that has been sleeping for a thousand years and suddenly awakens with a roar. Then she speaks to her mother: Be quiet! Don’t speak. Why can’t you let your mouth be closed? Words are not coming out any longer, your insides are coming out. Be quiet!
