Barnacle Love by Anthony de Sa Page A

front of her grandmother’s face and pulled the string on the doll’s back. There was restrained laughter as the doll’s head spun around and around until the string grew shorter and disappeared.
    “
Terezinha, Mãe. Tua neta
,” Manuel whispered.
    She held up the doll again and was about to tug at the string when Manuel’s mother slowly raised her arm to stop her.
    Manuel saw how his mother’s eyes moved to his wife, who stood by his side.
    “
Atrevida—é morena como a tua mãe.
”
    Georgina moved toward her mother-in-law. She wouldn’t allow this woman to call her daughter bold and dark-skinned. She yanked Terezinha backward to her side, leaving Antonio exposed.
    Candida looked ragged. She was resentful of the duty that had fallen on her, and she carelessly dragged a cloth along her mother’s forehead. Manuel noticed how Candida teetered on the bed, as if still afraid she could be hurt by the woman who lay helplessly beside her. Candida invited Antonio to come closer with her toothy, crooked smile. He took a step forward only when Manuel pressed on his neck, urging the boy to move in his grandmother’s direction. Antonio took another hesitant step, looked up at the red balloon floating over his head, its thin ribbon tied securely to his wrist.
    “
Antonio, vem ver a tua avó
—go see—go see her.”
    Manuel had moved forward with his son until they both stood close to the old woman’s bed. Manuel took in the smell of damp mingled with mothballs that floated from her linens. These were not the smells he associated with his mother; he remembered her smell of bleach, always the sterility of bleach. He looked at her face. It was shiny, slippery like the skin of a freshly caught fish. Sweat moved into the creases and wrinkles of her face, rivulets ran down from the corners of her eyes, her forehead, down her cheeks where they would certainly pool behind her head.
    “
Mãe, o meu filho, Antonio.
” Manuel became very aware that he was presenting his son as if an offering. He felt a quick tug on his sleeve, a reprimand from his wife.
    Seeing his helpless mother settled Manuel’s past. There was no need to hold on to things that had weighed so heavily on him, that had become obstacles, or so he rationalized, to all the things he had wanted from life. Manuel urged Antonio to kiss her, hoping to show everyone that he had raised his boy to respect his elders. The boy puckered up and leaned his head in his grandmother’s direction, into the smell of sickness. Her face turned to meet his. Her flaking lips parted, showing her dark, gummed mouth. Her lips reached out for her grandson. She looked at Antonio and lit up before she lay back on her pillow.
Relief.
Though her eyes were shut, Manuel could see the faint outline of her irises through her translucent eyelids.
    “
Naõ és rei … tu és mais de que rei
,” she muttered softly.
    Manuel’s chest puffed. He looked at Georgina’s flushed face and then scanned the adoring smiles around the room. They all began to clap the same way the Portuguese clapped when their plane landed safely.
You are not a king … you are more than a king;
it was his mother’s pronouncement—her blessing. Manuel brushed past his son and fell heavily to his knees beside his mother’s bed. He reached for her spotted hands and brought them to his lips. His sobs mixed with the sobs of others as the room spun in its stifling summer heat.
    She seemed weightless as he moved her across the room toward Candida, who stood waiting behind one of the caned kitchen chairs. Manuel sat her down as Candida pressed her bosom firmly against the back of her mother’shead and held her shoulders against the chair. Candida laughed and hummed “O Christmas Tree” as Manuel wove a rope around his mother as if trimming her with a string of colored lights. Manuel shot Candida a look of reproach. Candida then took over with her collection of ruined pantyhose and tied her mother to the chair in the areas