Chapter 2
“Ernesto,” Daniel said, his voice now less sweet, “you’re getting old. The workshop isn’t what it used to be. Now there are vehicle inspection centers, digital billing, electronic parts, and customers who pay by bank transfer. You need someone modern to take care of you.” I wiped my mouth with the napkin. “I’m 63 years old, Daniel. I’m not dead. And being a senior citizen doesn’t mean your children can dispose of you prematurely.”
Roberto opened another sheet of paper. —The will was also changed. The previous one was revoked and replaced by a new one executed before a notary. Daniel got up. —Did you change your will? Sofia put her fork down on the plate. —Dad, what’s wrong? Daniel didn’t even hear her. He was only looking at me, with a fury he no longer bothered to hide. —Why did you do that? —Because last night you wished it was my last candle.
Lucia opened her mouth. —Oh, Don Ernesto, it was a joke. Daniel has a very dark sense of humor. —It wasn’t a joke. And even if it had been, some jokes end up burying the person who tells them.
Daniel slammed his fist on the table. The glasses rattled. Emiliano got scared and started to cry. Sofia hugged him right away, but my son didn’t look at any of his children. That finally settled any doubts I might have had. “Who did you leave it with?” he asked.
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How sad it is to hear a child ask about possessions before asking if you still love them. —The house will be placed in trust for my grandchildren when they come of age, with one condition: you cannot manage it. Lucia put a hand to her chest. -Sorry? —I will keep the workshop for as long as I live. When I’m gone, it will pass to the workers who have been with me for more than ten years, with a protected share for my grandchildren. Nico, Ramiro, and Güera will get what they earned with their own hands, not with their surnames.
Daniel turned red. —Are you going to leave my inheritance to the mechanics? —My inheritance does not exist as long as I breathe. The phrase landed heavily. Outside, the tamale cart rumbled by, its worn-out jingle announcing hot Oaxacan tamales. Life went on, just as mundane and sacred as ever, while in my dining room, my son discovered that my death was no longer going to be profitable for him.
