Page 59 of An Immaculate Deception

I killed Mother.

One night, or perhaps one more day. That is all she has, he says. The dehydration was too much for her already-weakened state. It is my fault.

Mother had asked for a priest in her final weeks before falling into the slumber. I never called for one. It felt premature, impossibly so. I believed that she had time, that a priest could be brought later. I clung to this belief the whole time.

Mother never had a chance to confess her sins before the end, to purge her soul and repent. That could be the difference between Hell and Purgatory.

Doctor Lobo stands beside her bed, looking grave. The silver moon beams in the window, which brings in a cool breeze and the buzzing of crickets and cicadas. I see specks of stars in the sky. When I was little our farm dog Trigo died, and Mother pointed to the clouds and said Trigo became a little star in the sky.

“Leandro? Are you listening to me?”

I look at him. “Yes,” I say, though I did not even realize that he was talking. He does not look at me with pity like the others do, and that I am grateful for.

“As I was saying, you must not blame yourself. It is the natural course of an illness with a high fatality incidence.”

Empty words spoken only out of kindness. Of course it is my fault. Doctor Amado had said there was a possibility she could awaken and recover. It was I who robbed her of that possibility, because of my neglect.

“Tomorrow you must speak with your relatives about burial procedures.”

“Burial?” The word carves a hole inside my chest. “There won’t be a burial.”

“Pardon?”

“She will remain here, in the senzala.”

Yes, that’s it. All will be just as it was. Nothing has to change. She’ll remain in the senzala and I’ll still visit her at night. In some ways, it will be better, because I won’t have to do the exercises or give her sponge baths or any of the other things. Yes, it will be the same, only simpler.

Minus the hope.

Minus the hope that she will ever wake up again.

It’s not the same at all.

I killed her.

“Her body will decompose.”

“Aren’t there chemicals that can stop the decomposition process?”

He stills. But he doesn’t tell me I am mad. He looks down at Mother, then at me again, and I can see him deliberating. His hesitation is enough to give me hope. He’s not shaking his head and averting his gaze, unable to face me, like all the other doctors.

A primal despair grips me. “Is there truly nothing that can be done?” I ask. “There must be something.”

“Well…” He sighs. “I studied medicine at the prestigious University of Padua. Your other doctors were right in that this case is beyond the reach of medical science. We must look to other, non-medical arts.”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“All illness springs from a lack of balance in the spirit. The solution is to return to a state of harmony. And then, even extreme cases can be cured, I have seen it happen. The key is to understand that it is not enough to heal the body. The spirit alignment must be restored.”

“How do we do that?”

“Through magnetic healing, a three-dimensional healing that restores the fundamental harmony of the spirit. It cannot revive one who is already dead, however it can bring someone back from the precipice. I don’t believe she has more than one night, so if we are to do it, we must do so tonight.”

“Oh.”

My mouth has gone dry. His talk of magnetism sounds unorthodox, but traditional medicine has already given up on Mother. Maybe this…this three-dimensional healing could work. He is a well-bred, successful man, and besides, what is the alternative? Mother dies as a result of my neglect. He is not lying about her condition, I can see it. I can see that she is on the brink of death. Doctor Lobo can do no greater harm than what I have already done…

If Mother dies, there will be no one left alive who loves me.