“We are very sorry, sir,” I said, forcing myself to look into Salazar’s face. “We sincerely apologize. We had no idea there was a ban. There was no sign indicating we were trespassing and so we—”
Teo sprang up on his feet.
“I came prepared! I didn’t have my real eyes!” he shouted, interrupting me. “These are not my real eyes, so I didn’t contaminate your land. I knew what I was doing!”
Salazar looked at me, puzzled.
“I wasn’t going to look at the lake with my real eyes!” Teo cried. “I’m not a fucking fool!”
He slammed his fist on the chief’s desk, and a couple of officers immediately appeared to restrain him. There was a commotion for a few seconds. Salazar looked on, impassive. I wanted to believe he’d understood what Teo had been trying to say and that he had somewhat forgiven him. But I guess it was me imagining a better ending to the story.
The two officers took us next door and told us to sit down and wait. There was paperwork, forms to fill and sign, phone calls to be made. I was then asked to go get cash from the ATM machine across the street to pay our fine. I left Teo slumped on a plastic chair. He looked inconsolable.
As I was getting the money from the machine, my phone rang. It was Lorenzo. Since I had left Rome, I had managed to text him only quick and rather vague messages. He asked what was going on with Teo and when I was planning to fly back. I told him I didn’t know yet; there were a few things I still needed to take care of. He said he didn’t understand what else was keeping me there. Couldn’t I put Teo on a plane, now that he was out of the hospital? Surely his family would make sure he’d see a doctor once he was back home, wherever that was. Once more he didn’t sound jealous, only fretful, or maybe just hurt. I had a distinct feeling I was inhabiting two separate realms that didn’t communicate, and for a moment it seemed impossible that I could transfer myself from one to the other just by getting on a plane. I was also completely unable to describe to my husband what was actually going on and where I was. I felt very strongly that the events of the last couple of days didn’t make sense if put into words, especially on a long-distance call. I couldn’t help but wonder how it was possible to be in love with someone who belonged to the other universe and therefore was unable to comprehend what was happening in the one I was seemingly stuck in. And why, I went on wondering, was I assuming—unfairly—that Lorenzo wouldn’t comprehend? How come I didn’t trust he would understand? How could we be close if I didn’t trust he would?
I told him I was in the middle of something urgent and that I would explain later.
* * *
On the way back to our guesthouse, I sat in the driver’s seat. Teo didn’t protest and soon reclined his head and dozed off. I felt strangely peaceful: it was late, there was nobody on the road and, other than an almost-full moon, there was no light. The land looked beautiful bathed in that stillness. Suddenly I needed to pee, so I pulled over and took a few steps behind the car. The moonlight made the last patches of snow shimmer as if someone had flung tiny diamonds all around.
As I was about to crouch down, I perceived a sudden stir. A small herd of elk, perhaps six or seven, barged out from the trees on the opposite side of the road and ran across it, toward me. It lasted only an instant, but they came so close. Their antlers were black against the silvery light, like tree branches entwined. I held out my arm, as they streamed by and I felt the heat emanating from their massive bodies, their warm breath on my face, its pungent smell. An image of wild beauty packed with such power, bursting with life like an explosion.
Then they were gone again in a cloud of dust, of snorts and grunts, hooves clanking on the asphalt, back into the thick woodland, like a vision that came and went.
* * *
That evening at the guesthouse, I knocked on Teo’s door. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. When he turned his face to me I saw that his pupils had returned to their original dark brown. They looked real now, but they were sad.
I pulled out the bottle of pills from my pocket and gave him some water.
“C’mon.”
I sat next to him and I watched him swallow the pill. He looked smaller, as if his body no longer occupied the same amount of space as it had twenty-four hours earlier.
We were silent for a while.
“I don’t like taking them,” he said. Even his voice was smaller. “They make me feel like a Picasso painting.”
“What do you mean?”
He made a vague gesture.
“You know…scattered all over the place. My nose here, my mouth there, my ears God knows where. Like I have no center.”
I tried to laugh, but I too was feeling sad.
“But you must, darling. Promise me you’ll keep taking them.”
My job was over. I had succeeded in bridling the beast in Teo, at least for the time being. And yet as a result I had peeled a layer of protection from him, and now his pain was raw and too exposed.
* * *
I left his truck with the car dealer he’d bought it from and booked our return tickets. We would both fly to Atlanta, and from there he’d fly to Paris, where his brother lived, and I to Rome. I had called Lawrence’s number from Teo’s phone and told him he needed to come get his brother at the airport, that he was too fragile to be left by himself and that he needed to see a psychiatrist right away.
“It’s a serious situation,” I said, “He needs to be looked after. I’ve done all I could, but now someone from the family really needs to step in.”
This time the tone of my voice must’ve been firm enough, because Lawrence acquiesced without any further comment.
We drove from Taos to Albuquerque and got to the airport at dawn. Teo slept through the flight. I had given him a sleeping pill because I was too scared he might have a panic attack onboard. When we reached Atlanta, I realized what a terrible plan I had made. An airport was the worst place ever for us to part: a capsule where people who were never supposed to meet collided only for the time of their transit and then bolted in different directions; a place where everyone’s time was limited and where nobody belonged. One had to be very present in order to navigate this abstraction.
I walked him to his gate.
“Don’t misplace your passport. Are you okay to sit by yourself? My flight is in thirty minutes.”
I felt his hand grab my wrist. Suddenly he seemed as lost and intimidated as a ten-year-old.
“Are you going be okay?” I asked him.
He nodded.
“My head feels like a drop of ouzo in water. You know…cloudy.”