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“So, after Luis leaves his aunt for Maria, what happens to the family jewels?” Dolores asked, tapping her chin and looking attentively at her uncle.
“Well,” Bruno began, a little nervous by the engaged questions the young woman had about the next season of his rat telenovela, “Adriana has amnesia. She probably forgot where she buried them!”
Dolores gasped and held her hands in front of her mouth as if Bruno had dumped a new, grave secret upon her shoulders. “But how is Luis going to provide for his illegitimate child, then? He can’t just ask people for money; the scandal!”
Bruno chuckled and wiggled a bit on the windowsill they were perched on, fiddling with his hands as he thought.
“Yeah, you’re right…,” he admitted, but then a new idea popped into his head that came way too intuitively than for it to be a stroke of genius, and he was much too into it to stop himself from blurting out the garble of his cracked mind, “Luis finds out that his father is deathly ill and guilts people into charity. There, problem solved.”
Dolores bit her lip and looked at him, her eyes shadowed by long lashes and an emotion Bruno couldn’t place. “That’s dark, Tío Bruno,” she said softly.
Bruno stiffened in response, feeling a shift in the previously light-hearted atmosphere that wasn’t actually there. He suddenly realized that he had just drawn inspiration from some of the terrible visions he had had, dealing with the pain by terrorizing his nieces when they had asked him for stories… it was the gruesome tales he couldn’t forget.
He was a truly terrible person and the worst relative on the planet.
Selfish, selfish, selfish…
He had been spying on them through the walls because he had been too much of a coward to leave, expecting a twelve-year-old to endure it all and to keep his presence hidden without even knowing why he had disappeared—
“B-but it’s dramatic,” he defended, cutting himself off before he could fall into a familiar episode of a mental breakdown. He would rather talk himself into a frenzy than burst out in tears, especially in front of a child.
“Hm,” Dolores simply squeaked, pursing her lips.
Bruno stared at her, not expecting such a condoning action. His hands hung awkwardly in the air, and he didn’t know what, or even if he should say something.
Dios, why was he so weird?!
His mouth felt dry and he licked his lips, wishing his niece would fill the silence, unaware that Dolores was only thinking about the fictional plot and his well-being.
The young woman then stood up from her seat, collecting the pot and the cup she had brought upstairs for him. Bruno followed her with his eyes, quietly searching for a sneer or a rejecting frown.
He couldn’t find one.
Dolores swooshed the cup and noticed there was still some liquid at the bottom. She blinked and held it out to her uncle, manicured fingers gently wrapped around the porcelain.
“Drink,” she said plainly, and Bruno took it with a sliver of hesitation, careful not to touch her untainted skin.
“D-don’t you want some of the tea?” he asked, his hair falling in front of his eyes. He had basically drunk the whole pot, Dolores constantly refilling his cup to the brim whenever he had emptied it during their previous conversation.
“We… can’t share a cup, Tío Bruno,” Dolores explained, holding the tray, “It’s unhygienic.”
‘Oh,’ he thought, her explanation feeling like a jab to the ribs. He became painfully aware of how out of touch he was with what was considered ‘normal’ once more because he was used to finding rats in the dishes he ate from, sharing food with them like they were… family.
“Of course,” he muttered, hiding his blush by tilting back his head and dowing the rest of the tea.
Dolores pressed her lips together and contemplation was evident on her features. She bent at the waist to take the empty cup from him, squeezing his shaking hand to reassure him with a boldness Bruno remembered from days long past.
He had witnessed how she had become quieter and more distant over the years.
The gesture was fleeting, but Bruno already yearned for it once she had placed the cup on the tray and was halfway out the door.
‘Please, don’t leave me,” he considered saying, mouth opening the moment her face was out of view. However, who was he to tell her to stay? He had absolutely no right to do so. He was a stranger, someone who should be lucky to be tolerated. Bruno knew he should be careful about what he said and did.
Naturally, he had already failed at doing both in less than a day.
The argument downstairs was a testimony to that. His being there had made everyone angry, just like it always had.
He hadn’t meant to just spill his secrets to his mother when she had merely looked at him with so much concern and love the previous day. He hadn’t meant to pass out from stress when Mamá had repeated them to his sisters. He hadn’t meant to vomit up the food he had deprived his family of like a leech, guilting them into calling a doctor of all people .
And then he had fainted once more, making Agustín carry him upstairs like a ragdoll because his useless legs had failed him again. Then he had pretended to be asleep, finally putting his acting talent to good use as he lifted the burden he was from his family’s shoulders for a few hours.
Shame burned in Bruno’s stomach and cheeks, a shiver running down his cold but sweaty spine.
Dolores had joined him on the sill, distracting him from the shouting match downstairs. And she had looked so happy to see him, too! Although he had tortured her the most with his egoistical wish to stay within the walls, making her behold his steep decline.
But she hadn’t told anyone about him for ten years. He could never repay her for what she had done for him.
Tears of pride pricked at his eyes at the thought of his nieces and nephews.
His little Lolita had grown up to be so kind and empathetic! Just like the girl that had liked to cuddle into his poncho and hug him for hours on end like a spider monkey.
Isabela, too, had become very beautiful and gracious, bringing joy to the town and honor to their family. A little princess who had turned into a regal queen.
Luisa was so strong and reliable, like the protecting mountains around the Encanto. Helpful and kind she was, too, always on the move to help someone. Oh, she had shot up like a sunflower!
Camilo always made others laugh and brightened their day. He had become such a fine young man with a mischievous grin that reminded Bruno of himself from long ago.
Mirabel, he smiled, headstrong and understanding. Almost with foolish trust, she had dragged him out of his hole of misery, bringing the family back together. She was the unrecognized Gift they should all be most grateful for.
And then there was Antonio, his youngest nephew and a child Bruno didn’t share a past with. But from what he had seen, the young boy was no different from the rest of his relatives, generous and good to humans and animals alike.
His sisters and brothers had done a fantastic job at raising the kids.
Bruno tucked a lock of hair behind his ear, looking up to catch a ray of afternoon sunlight that shone through a gap in the window shutter.
Had he stayed, he definitely would have ruined the bunch of perfectly good children, just like everything else he did. After all, if there was one thing he would bet his worthless life on, it would be the fact that truth hurts.
At least, there were the rats he loved so dearly. They had never judged him, he hoped, treating him like one of their own. He wished they were resting on his arms at that moment or nibbling his thumb with their clicking teeth. But he had told them to stay put around the house, not sure how the rest of the family would take to seeing rodents at breakfast.
Maria shouldn’t overexert herself, her being pregnant with her second litter and all. It wasn’t her real name, mind you. He couldn’t talk to animals like Antonio used to (the poor boy!) since Bruno wasn’t part of rat society. He just invented plays and assigned acting roles to the rats, taking in their preferences, and then named the characters they starred for.
There was a difference.
He found his fingers wrapping around the latch of the window, loosening the wire that kept the shutters in place. Agustín had made sure it was dark inside the room when he had settled him there, and Dolores had illuminated it with just her radiating presence.
A little more light would be nice.
Bruno slid off the sill and pried the shutters apart, momentarily taken aback by the brightness that engulfed him. He squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself on the frame, blindly trying to secure the screens at the outer wall so that they didn’t hit him in the face by the next gust of wind.
When the hook was in place, he tentatively blinked around, noticing how watery his eyes were. They weren’t what they used to be, he thought, in more ways than one. He wasn’t able to bite down a snort that his cursed powers had finally dissipated and left him pretty much blind.
He could snort however he wanted, Bruno realized, because he was alone again and had no reason to momentarily cover up his strangeness, his otherness.
The man sighed and gazed out on the Guzmáns’ generous garden, mesmerized by the overwhelming smell of flowers and thick bushes he could see. They sure were loaded, he supposed, ignoring the painful vision of seeing Señor Guzmán dying that came knocking at the back of his mind.
He crossed his arms on the sill and let himself relax, trying to keep his head empty and simply enjoy the little things in life that were like incredible riches to him. The hot sun kissed his exposed forearms but it would most likely turn into a bite soon, his skin deprived and too pale to endure it for long.
He had never paid much attention to his welfare anyway, so milking the first sunbath he had in years fell right into that category.
A cold breeze made the faint hair on his arms stand up but Bruno enjoyed the way it fluffed the large shirt that wasn’t his.
The sounds of the birds that were flying around were very surprising, too. Had they always been so loud and intense?
He blinked and craned his neck, stiffening when he saw the tip of a red roof in the distance, framed by tall palm trees. Bruno frowned at it, the gears in his head turning as a suspicion festered. Slowly, he stood up, hands creeping forward on the sill outside the house until they were bearing the weight of his shoulders.
He observed the strange building, squinting at it. He wasn’t sure if he should be able to see it without the blurriness around the edges, but no matter.
Bruno gasped with excitement at the theater he suddenly recognized. It had been a mere project on a blueprint before he had left.
They really built it?!
This was amazing! He definitely had to go there someday. Oh, well, no one would probably even want to have him there, but still— he had been looking forward to having a theater in the Encanto since he had been a boy. Ah, a real stage had to be endlessly better than the crooked backgrounds he had drawn for his telenovelas!
In his dance of delight, he didn’t notice how his mother passed by the only person who had kept him company and quickened her steps as she realized her son wasn't being watched, dread blossoming in her chest.
In his laughter, he didn’t hear how she was calling out to him from the stairs with fear as she gripped her dress tightly, suspecting her son was screaming with madness and carelessness.
In his action to lean further over the railing of the window, he didn’t see how she burst into the room with anguish, interpreting his inquisitive act of balance as an attempt on his life.
“Bruno!” she screamed as the door flung open, slamming against the wall with a force that alone could have knocked him off his feet, but it was his mother’s destructive, cracking voice that made him lose his footing.
He was startled and when he realized what was happening, his supporting fingertips had already left the grounding surface of the sill. His feet dangled in the air as time seemed to pass as slowly as honey tended to flow.
As he soared, he saw his mother’s horrified expression behind the dust particles that gracefully danced around like ash or maybe like the beautiful snowflakes his sister had made sometimes.
Pepa had said she felt most like creating them when she felt empty and weightless inside, and now was perhaps the first time Bruno could physically understand what she had meant.
His vision tilted, now seeing the window from a strange and steep angle, like the sun setting behind the mountains just before the night came.
But if life had taught him something through the bullies that had made it so difficult, it was the lesson to always fall on your back.
His pelvis hit the floor first, then his head connected with the wall right above the baseboard. And before he could groan in pain at how he had twisted his arm that was still slung over the edge of the window, his mother was already upon him, gripping his shoulders as if she was trying to rip him out of the Reaper's embrace of death.
He recognized her clammy hands cupping his face, thumbs smoothing out the bruised skin of his eyebags, her face still contorted into a mortified grimace as she spoke to him.
She held him down like one would a criminal and demonic voices reared their heads again, sounding oddly like how he remembered busy days in the village square.
You already took more than you deserve, they seethed.
What had he done wrong again, he wondered, freeing his strained arm from the rim. He let himself ease into his mother’s arms, the action much more genuine and natural after their heartfelt talk last night.
But she had gone back to calling him 'Bruno' again with the familiar tone of accusation and disappointment in her voice, so maybe the upturn in their shattered relationship had simply been wishful thinking on his end.
"Brunito," she breathed, immediately shooting down his pseudo-analysis, and he stiffened in surprise when she made him sit up, planting relieved kisses all over his face. The sensation was so strange that he could only stare at the ground over her shoulder.
"Mijo, why did you—," she gasped, shaking her head, "You must know that we love you. Please, don't leave us again. I— we can't handle another scare!"
Bruno frowned at her plea, the sides of his cheeks still dimpled by her hands. He didn't leave, did he? He was right here, feeling every bone in his sore body.
He glanced up at the window, trying to connect the dots to find out what had upset her so much. He had just been enjoying the scenery, and his mother had never batted an eye when he had stayed in his vision cave in his room that had been so high off the ground that it took easily six to seven seconds to hear a stone fall to the bottom.
Yeah, she had also never reacted to his personal science projects either.
"I wasn't doing anything," he replied with confusion, but his mother only tightened her embrace, her upper lip quivering.
"You… you don't believe me?" Bruno asked with disappointment when she didn't answer or at least acknowledged what he had said.
The older woman swallowed and tried to school her features into a less emotional facade. "Of course, I believe you," she spoke forcefully, but it felt like an empty reassurance to the man.
Bruno didn't know what to say to that, so he let his mother stand up, allowing her to take his hands to pull him toward her, too. He didn't need help to gather his feet underneath him but his mother seemed adamant about supporting him. He would tolerate it, just to make her happy, and follow whatever silly plan she had for him.
She quickly shut the windows with shaking hands, trapping him in a prison she considered a fortress for her greatest precious.
"Now, to bed with you," she said kindly but left no room for argument as she steered him over to the make-shift bed with too many layers.
He walked two steps until he felt the generous amount of tea he had drunk slosh in his stomach and it pressed on his bladder. He planted his feet, halting.
"Err, gotta go," he briefly explained, nimbly easing out of her grip and slipping out of the room before she could stop him.
He scurried down the hall without looking back. However, he then noticed how his mother had trailed after him with quick steps, watching him with suspicion and concentration like a hawk, or a crow.
She should rest her weary feet, he thought.
"Ay, Mamá," he said, glad his tone didn't come out like a snap. He forced out a chuckle at her conflicted expression.
"I know where the bathroom is," he reminded her with urgency, hoping she would finally let him be and discard the convoluted idea she had of him that made her act this way.
She had shown him where the bathroom was, after all, when he had, well… It was nothing to weep over, anyway.
"I know, but please be quick," she warned, although her voice was about to break again, and she was wrestling with herself if she should really let him go.
It must have been whatever the stupid doctor had said. Bold of Ramírez to plant seeds of doubt where there shouldn’t be any, Bruno thought, because he was perfectly fine.
Bruno nodded with fake determination to cover the utter confusion he was feeling when he was inside the bathroom, lurking out with just his head. He shut the door in her face, fearing that she would have joined him had he left a second of hesitation.
He let out a tense breath when he was alone again, almost sliding down the door. His hand intuitively found itself on the lock, but he decided against turning it. If his mother's weird, overbearing behavior was anything to go by, it certainly meant that she would throw a fit if he sealed himself off completely.
Bruno crouched down to peek through the lock hole after removing the key, seeing that his mother was truly standing guard on the other side. He didn't know how else to describe it, her face was grim, her arms crossed and she tapped her feet impatiently.
Maybe, I should really hurry up.
Then, he also caught a glimpse of blue and the strong, tanned arms belonging to his oldest sister. Julieta spoke to their mother but the hallway was too wide to make out what they were saying.
The scene was very reminiscent of the crack he had been looking through for ten years, he mused sarcastically.
Honestly, he didn't need to hear their voices to know what they were talking about. They were discussing him, of course, finally talking about Bruno like he was a shell of who he had been.
He scoffed. He had always been a strange, incompetent mess and they knew it.
The key was slid back into place almost inaudibly and he did his business as fast as he could, not wanting to besmirch the other family's belongings more than he already had, with his presence.
When cold water splattered over his hands as he held them over the basin, Bruno noticed the aggravating dirt under his nails and he had a hunch of how to solve it all. Maybe, if he looked more put-together, his relatives wouldn't argue so much?
Because, really, they had just caught him on the wrong foot today. He had simply been overwhelmed by everything. But now, he had time to collect himself and to make his appearance more presentable.
So, he rubbed his hands raw with a brush and soap until they were completely clean because he thought they were very 'unhygienic' and offensive-looking, like the rest of his body. He dried them off with a towel and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror that almost caused him to let go of the cloth in shock.
Now he remembered why he hadn't had large mirrors inside his hideout, only tiny ones that could help him remove fly particles from between his teeth or trim his beard.
Dead, sunken eyes stared back at him, cloudy and decrepit. Without his Gift, the last sparkle that had given them a sliver of life had been wiped away, leaving only empty sockets behind. Not to mention the crass shadows underneath them that reached down so low they were almost even with his nostrils.
A face not even a mother could— should love!
He choked on his spit when he realized how see-through his skin was, too, reminding him of expired chocolate milk. Blue and green veins pulsed weakly underneath it, like a dried-up stream.
Speaking of dryness, maybe he could get some healthy color in his face? His lips were awfully cracked.
He pinched the thin skin next to his mouth to redden it, splashing water in his face like a maniac. He stopped when it trickled down his throat along the indents a lack of muscle was responsible for. It was cold when the droplets reached the protruding bones in his chest, exposed by the grandiose collar of his father’s shirt.
It was so oversized on him that it was just like having a label of inadequacy slapped on his forehead, complete with bold lettering and a red arrow that pointed at his pathetic face.
Bruno had always known that he hadn't been born in nature's good graces but now he truly looked cadaverous, like one of the homeless and diseased mutts roaming Bogotá that Agustín had once told him about.
And his family, pity and guilt the driving factors, had taken him in again without hesitation and tightened a leash around his scruffy throat, wanting to domesticate feral vermin.
Was it for glory? For upholding the Madrigals’ reputation in a town that had every right to doubt their authority without the Candle?
Oh, but how he wanted to lean into their intoxicatingly warm touch! To feel safe in his mother and sisters’ arms, to watch the kids play ball in Casita’s yard again while he shared drinks with his brothers?
However, he had to put up a tough front so that they didn’t waste any concern on him. They should focus on themselves to heal. They didn’t need to pull his weight, however little it may physically be.
Bruno nodded at his disfigured reflection and started wringing out the white fabric of the shirt that had been taken on a wet sheen through his clumsy and desperate attempts to clean off the imaginary grease in his hair.
His fingers brushed over his protruding stomach as he did so, and he cringed in response. He didn’t really know where it had come from; it was like he had simply realized it was there, one day.
Ah, who was he kidding, he had let himself go inside the walls although he had always, obviously mistakenly, ensured that he didn’t take much food because he had to stay light and quiet.
He hadn’t been hungry, anyway.
The dome below his ribs was weirdly round and hard, although it should be empty… Bruno swore under his breath when the hands that wanted to pull a saving green hood over his head gripped thin air.
But I have to hide it!
With panic bubbling in his too-big stomach, he tore open the drawers below the sink, digging through them with panic to find something, anything, that could help him win the doomed battle against himself.
Bruno was on his knees and filtered through the make-up items he saw, knowing exactly how to use them. It certainly wasn’t the first time he had a need for concealer.
He unscrewed the lid of a flask, shaped like a cylinder, spreading the smooth paste below his eyes and dabbing it over the bruised bags with the tip of his pinkie.
There, much better.
Bruno smiled, tried to smile, but his mouth looked crooked and like a shark’s, all big teeth and too little… humanity.
His mind was cloudy and his determination strong as he continued on his quest for a while longer. Obsession guided his actions like a puppet master, pushing back all rational thought and awareness of his surroundings.
It happened, sometimes, when an idea held him in its unyielding grip.
He was so immersed to trick himself into thinking he looked alright that he didn’t hear the doorknob turn and notice Julieta enter tentatively, the hem of her skirt catching shyly on the border.
“Bruno, you’ve been in here for—,” she spoke delicately until her mouth fell open, comically wide and utterly flabbergasted when she took sight of him, “What are you doing with Señora Guzmán’s nail clippers?!”
Bruno froze at her interruption, one arm up in the air as his eyes flickered over the destroyed bathroom until they stopped at the metallic object in his hand.
"Ew," was his understandable reaction, about to throw the contraption that looked like tweezers over his shoulder like exorcising salt and sugar. He didn’t, however, because it would only deepen his sister’s frown of…
To be honest, he had never seen this expression on Julieta’s otherwise so tender and closed-off face before. Not even Agustín had ever caused it and Bruno had to stop himself from laughing at her and punching the air like he had won a year-long bet.
Because if he did, he would look even more like an insane hoodlum, he guessed.
“Err, I know what you might be thinking…,” he spoke pacifyingly, although he had no idea what he was getting at as he gently set down the utensils he had grabbed on the edge of the tub, “I just wanted to… to cut my hair! Yes.”
Dios, he wanted to kick himself in the shin.
“With… with nail clippers?” his sister whined subtly, her big eyes desperate and befuddled. She held up her skirt and evaded the puddles on the ground when she came nearer, scowling at his abused shirt that was completely wrinkled in a spiral pattern.
“You’re all wet!” Julieta breathed but Bruno could swear she was shouting as loudly as their mother.
Not again!
“Sure, I am!” he confirmed unnecessarily, an excuse to brush her hand away, “You like helping, don’t you? How about you cut my hair?”
‘Please, don’t take me up on the request,’ he inwardly begged her, ‘I like my hair the way it is!’
(He didn’t, not really, but it did cover a lot of his sorry-looking face.)
Julieta flinched at his words, retracting her hand to her chest, right above her heart, pain, and betrayal on her face as if a stranger and not her little brother had spoken. Now, that was a more familiar expression to the man. It was the way most people looked when he had said something true but ultimately tactless.
The painfully fake smile fell from his face when he realized Julieta’s state of mind. His ever-good, ever-nurturing, and ever-understanding sister must feel so guilty just by looking at him!
He wasn’t as dense as they thought.
Who was he kidding? He was as dense as osmium… his favorite chemical element.
Out, stupid thoughts!
He bit his lip and ducked his head, missing his shielding poncho again. “Lo siento, Juli,” he spoke earnestly.
A beat passed between them and he held his breath.
Perhaps, this had finally been the first right thing to say as his sister’s features softened and she put her warm hands on his shoulders, steering him away from the basin. “I made soup,” she told him, because of course she had.
Bruno suppressed an irritated grunt, already picturing her and Mamá hovering above him again, pouring it down his jugular until he popped or overflowed. He wasn’t hungry, he wasn’t sleepy and, above all, he didn’t need to be constantly monitored like an unpredictable rabid dog!
You already forgot? the voices taunted, You are one! An unsatiable leech.
“Soup sounds great!” he half-lied since it was worlds better than something solid and chewy that made his throat close up.
Julieta smiled and pushed him out of the bathroom, her presence so dear and mesmerizing that Bruno wanted to break down and cry and finally reciprocate the hug he still owed her from the previous day, when she had pulled him close, telling him they were just happy he was here.
Ah, but he didn’t want to drench her clothes with his…
He was about to wonder where their mother had gone when he found the hallway empty but then heard two pairs of feet grow louder and he spotted her exiting a different room, followed by an overly eager Señora Guzmán.
Alma turned to the woman to thank her when she handed her a folded cloth, neatly pressed and pristine. Motherly instincts and a seventh sense had told her to organize a new set of clothes for her troubled son.
Then, her head turned and she caught his eye, immediately moving toward him like a soldier.
Bruno could see that his mother was not happy when Señora Guzmán didn’t let herself be shaken off by her dismissive wave of the hand, trailing after Alma instead with friendly tenacity.
“Mariano won’t mind one bit,” the taller woman assured with a pitched chuckle in relation to the cloth that was another shirt, gushing over her son, “He loves sharing!”
Julieta stepped in front of him and Bruno got the crystal clear message to hide. He pinched the collar of Papá's wet shirt together over his ribcage and wrapped his other arm around his protruding stomach.
All to be less embarrassed and to be less of an embarrassment.
“Oh my!” Señora Guzmán gasped when she saw him, old eyes wide and wrinkled hands up to her face, “Is the pipe broken again? I am so sorry, I’ll call for the plumber immediately!”
She was about to reach for the doorknob of the bathroom to inspect her property but Julieta, without a hint of shame, slid between her and the entry, stopping the woman from seeing the mess he had caused in there.
“That won’t be necessary, Señora,” his sister said, expression indulging and kind, “Félix knows how to fix things like these.”
‘What a good liar you’ve turned into…’ Bruno observed, impressed, although he had to agree that Félix would be the most suitable for the job. He was so great at everything he did!
Mamá immediately took him by the hand, herding him into the guestroom again and trying to cut Señora Guzmán off. “We’ll bring up some early dinner for you,” his mother said gravely, tiredly but not annoyed.
This was exactly what Bruno had suspected and he couldn’t help the feeling of rejection that came over him at the thought of being openly excluded from his family. Today would be the day he would finally share a meal with them again; truly, physically there.
“Actually, I-I’d rather eat downstairs with the family,” he stuttered, earning surprised, if conflicting, reactions from his mother and sister.
However, he didn’t leave them any time to find a reason against his request because he looked at Señora Guzmán, the actual host, giving her the feeling she had authority in the situation.
“If it’s no trouble…?” he asked her meekly.
“Of course, not! It’s no trouble at all,” the woman indulged, eagerly backing off to the end of the hallway, “I’ll organize another seat.”
With that, she descended the stairs and Bruno snatched Mariano’s shirt out of his mother’s frozen hands, shutting the door in her face yet again.
He could hear a muffled, upset “Bruno!”, but that was nothing new.
He huffed and pulled the fabric clinging to his skin over his head, carefully laying it out by the window to dry although the shutters were still closed. Bruno rested his fingers for a while longer on the fabric he had ruined, apologizing to his father who was watching the mistake that was his offspring from the Heavens.
Then, with shame, he billowed out the other shirt, shrinking back when he realized that it was even huger, almost the size of his poncho! Bruno briefly wondered what on earth Señora Guzmán had fed her boy but then remembered what an absolute unit her late husband had been and it made more sense.
Still, why had genetics skipped out on himself so much?
Bruno draped the dry shirt over his shoulders, stuffing the hem in his pants. The extra fabric helped to hold them up, too, so that was another upside to having his dignity crushed. He took his poncho from the chair and covered himself more, tugging the white collar through the opening to make his outfit look less shabby.
‘There,’ he thought to himself when he opened the door and rolled up the sleeves, staring right in the face of his very displeased mother.
Her mouth opened and closed, her eyes squeezed shut like she was swearing under her breath when he stood in front of her.
He suppressed the urge to knock on the doorframe for good luck since they shouldn’t anger God more than they already had.
“Brunito,” his mother spoke heavily and slowly like she wanted to ground him by simply piercing him with a stare, “Are you sure you want to do this?”
He swallowed thickly, his airways constricting at his mother’s raw expression. The only noise came from his sister who was vigorously trying to tidy up the bathroom before the Guzmáns found out.
“You have nothing to prove, do you understand?” Alma continued like a plea, pronouncing every word, “Take it slow.”
Never in his life had he foreseen that his mother would ever tell him that. If anything, he had never done enough in her eyes, he had never been fast enough or strong or smart enough.
He had always been too little but had always felt like there was too much of himself.
“S-sí, Mamá,” he agreed, wringing his hands nervously, “B-but… they all know, don’t they?”
Alma sighed and nodded. “Yes, the family knows.”
Then it was all set. Bruno’s face hardened with unshakable resolve and he stepped out of the room.
He was doing it for them! He couldn’t be a failure now. He had to show them he was completely fine.
Only eat and talk, no biggie!
“Then let’s go,” he spoke, hands clenched in fists and legs wooden, his soul heavy with a self-imposed burden no one expected or wanted him to carry.
Downstairs was abuzz and Bruno could spot everyone scrambling around in the living room, gathering around the long table that was packed with food once more. There were certainly more dishes than just soup as his sister had told him, the different smells wafting in his nose.
It didn’t bother him, not very much at least, as long as he didn’t have to eat everything in sight.
I can do this. I can do this, I can do this!
And with that, he entered the room, back straight and head held high, trying his darndest not to hide behind his mother again who protected his back.
He didn’t even have to open his mouth to alert the family of his presence because they ceased their conversations at once when they spotted him, heads turning toward him bearing expressions of sadness, pity, and regret.
Then there were also Señora Guzmán, Mariano, and a girl with maid clothes who smiled politely, not understanding what was going on at all.
He shouldn’t Hernando himself out of this one…
“H-hey,” he started and waved clumsily, cringing at himself, “Y-you know that weird, stupid thing I did? W-well, sorry about that.”
Did he just seriously summarize hiding behind the walls, spying on his family, and living off their scraps like a closet monster for ten years as a ‘weird, stupid thing’?!
God, please strike me dead!
Someone coughed deeply but Bruno didn’t register who it came from and he looked at Mariano who was sitting next to Isabela, an arm slung around her. His spunky little Isa seemed to be quite resigned despite the vibrant colors in her hair.
“Right, uh,” Bruno muttered, tugging at his collar to show the man the golden pattern, “Sorry for stealing your shirt, too…”
Mariano squinted and leaned slightly forward on his seat. Then his face brightened in recognition and a wide smile spread over his features, so out of place in the current situation.
“It looks exceptional on you, Señor Madrigal,” he complimented with undeserved earnestness, face so innocent and open that Bruno wanted to run.
He bit his tongue, thinking of a suitable reply. Barely, he kept himself from answering ‘You know, many people call me your father’s murderer!’
Instead, he settled for “Oh, eh… very kind, thank you,” and finished with rubbing his tense neck.
The young man really made Bruno wonder if he even had a brain behind his beard, perfectly-shaped brow, and the bandage over his nose. Because there was no way Mariano could be so friendly to someone like him who had caused him so much pain!
Then, gracias a Dios, Mirabel approached him, her smile careful and her touch feathery light on his forearm.
Grip harder! Don’t hold back, I swear I won’t break. Be as intrusive and stubborn as you were when you met me!
“You wanna sit down? Antonio and I saved a seat,” Mirabel suggested with a tentative chuckle, her attention only on him for the moment.
Bruno was about to hop around in joy and burst out in tears when he heard her kind words. Yet, he calmly cleared his throat and searched for his sister’s huge, haunted eyes. Pepa was frozen half in motion of standing up, staring him down without knowing what to do.
“Peps? Eh,” he began, wringing his hands, wanting to set things right, “You don’t have to worry about me, okay? I’ll do my best.”
He tried to smile reassuringly at her and his heart skipped a beat when she fell over to him with open arms. Bruno expected to be swept off his feet again by one of her warm, sheltering hugs but felt nothing, realizing she was barely a distance away, her fingers itching to hold him close but her insecurity keeping her in place.
Then, selfish as he was, he tackled her, squeezing her lanky body with all the strength he had in his arms. He buried his face in the frills of her dress, inhaling the scent that coated it. It spoke of summer and rain, icy mountains and thunder. It was so beautifully familiar that tears finally rolled over his cheeks and he sobbed hollowly.
“I’m so sorry…,” he mumbled, wanting to convince her that he meant it with every part of his being. He had so many regrets although he had done the only right thing, in his mind.
“Don’t apologize,” Pepa gasped, stroking his scalp, "Don’t apologize anymore, hermanito."
She forcefully rubbed his back with her other hand as if she was cleaning a dirty rag but it felt more like a delightful massage to Bruno that loosened the contorted knots in his spine. He thrust his ridges into it until they felt hot.
They clung to each other, finally all the lies and truths out of the way that had held them apart. Bruno’s heart burned at the possibility they could actually be siblings, a family, again.
Pepa then started bawling loudly on top of his head and Bruno held her even tighter, but she was putting so much weight on him that he feared his knees would fold in on themselves.
“Already too old to stand, huh?” he couldn’t help but tease with a strained tone, the muscles in his limbs trembling with the effort to hold up both her and his own frame.
His sister immediately reacted and stood up, not wasting a second to jab right back at him. “For someone so short… you’re spewing an awful load of crap right now,” she said, voice light although it was rough from crying.
She tilted up his chin and grinned at him, revealing the endearing gap between her front teeth. “Sit next to me, won’t you?”
Bruno nodded and he was flung into Pepa's previous seat next to Félix who he bumped into. The man, his brother, steadied him with broad, tanned hands that rediscovered their familiar place on his shoulders, smiling at him.
Bruno couldn’t help but return the grin, nodding shyly at Agustín sitting one space away. He felt weird about the whole medical examination thing but Agustín just waved back at him, his hands still puffed with bee stings.
Will they ever go away without magic?
Pepa pulled up another chair so close that they touched shoulders. She then squeezed his fingers almost painfully but her eyes were crescent in delight as she pushed a bowl in front of him.
Their mother was watching them from a distance, her face hardened although her heart fluttered at the sight of two of her children hugging. The thought of holding a speech to honor her son’s return crossed her mind, but she opted against it, not wanting to disrupt his fragile semblance of peace in the middle of their family.
Dinner then commenced without an announcement and Bruno nodded at his sister when she tentatively filled his bowl with ajiaco. Pepa looked at him for approval of every scoop she added, fearful of pressuring him into something he wasn’t ready to do.
Bruno told her it was enough at one point, glancing at the soup and noting the chicken meat and corn floating around.
He huffed and picked up the spoon, bringing it up to his lips. When got over himself and the soup entered his mouth, he had to stop himself from moaning in delight.
It had so much flavor and it was neither cold nor stale. It was as if he had forgotten what chicken tasted like over the past years and he was unlocking a buried memory.
He was very glad that neither Pepa nor Félix were watching him shoveling it all down like the starved dog that he was. They were occupied with their own meals or making sure that Antonio could cut his food.
So far, so good.
When his spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl he finally realized that someone else had been watching him the whole time and he looked up to catch Luisa stiffening on the opposite side of the table, her large frame curling and her eyes twitching as he stared at her.
She avoided his gaze and pretended she had been listening to her sisters’ conversation next to her.
Huh… okay.
Bruno scowled with confusion until a fly droplet of soup ran down the side of his mouth, falling on the table by his arm that rested there.
He inaudibly gasped when he saw it; a stain, an imperfection, glinting in the candlelight like the all-consuming sun! It perfectly showed how much of a failure he was! Like a smear of dirt on the sky-bound rainbow that was his relatives.
Out of place. Out of order.
It was like the confident demeanor he had constructed for himself was all but crumbling and his breathing quickened at the offending soup droplet. His heart pulsed up to this throat until a fast hand wiped it away from the side without a fuss.
He looked up at Félix who folded the napkin he had used, sipping casually at his drink without a worry in the world.
Bruno felt immensely relieved that even after all this time, Félix knew how to calm him down like it was second nature, with just a move of his hand.
“Everything alright, you two?” Julieta suddenly whispered from behind but eased her brother’s tense shoulders by shaking them softly, looking between him and Pepa.
Pepa nodded and grinned at their sister, her mouth stuffed with fried fish. “All good!” she cheered, holding her knife aloft.
Bruno twitched and stared at the utensil, strangely remembering a certain picnic from when they had been young adults. “Shouldn’t you be more careful with that?” he asked warily.
Pepa’s eyes darted from him to the knife and back, a scowl spreading between her brows. “I do not know what you are talking about, dear brother,” she evaded clumsily.
“Oh, Pepa, please,” Julieta said flatly, standing up to rest her hand on her hip although the other one remained on the back of Bruno’s chair, “You might be able to fool yourself but you can’t—”
“Deny the damage you did—,” Bruno wanted to complete intuitively but Pepa rolled her eyes and interrupted him in turn.
“To Agustín’s glasses! Yes, I know!” she cried and crossed her arms with playful petulance, “We were all there…”
For a moment, the siblings simply looked at each other. Then, their faces broke into the widest grins and they burst out laughing with joy and relief at being a trio again, so much so that Julieta had to hold herself up on their chairs and Pepa was wiping tears of pleasure from her eyes.
Bruno had seldomly felt so fuzzy inside as he smiled broadly, finally having rediscovered the two missing parts of himself.
Their sibling nagging continued and the triplets didn’t realize how the rest of the family scooted closer together. All were happy they still had each other despite the devastating ruin of their home, thankful they were safe and sound, all things considered.
The triplets didn’t hear how the fork clattered from their mother’s hand as she, too, blinked tears away, so moved to see all of her children reunited and act like the toddlers she knew and loved. She hid her watery smile behind a dignified hand as Señora Guzmán talked to her.
“W-well, time to do some more reconciling, I guess,” Bruno announced to his sisters, ready to tackle a different relationship to mend or explore.
He put the spoon into the bowl to carry it to the kitchen but Julieta stopped him by taking it from his hands.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she asked warningly, raising a dark eyebrow.
“Uh,” Bruno mumbled, his mind jumping from every possible action he could have potentially overlooked. There was so much he didn’t know anymore. Maybe she was referring to—
Two pairs of lips simultaneously pressed into his cheeks and he could feel his sisters’ amused breaths on his skin as they kissed him. He was still blushing and puffing a long time after they had sent him off with their devious, sisterly smirks and he had made his way over to Mirabel and Antonio.
“Too much?” Mirabel asked kindly when he sat down on the sofa the youngest Madrigals were perched on.
Bruno shook his head. “No, no, I’m good,” he assured, glaring playfully at his sisters who were still giggling on his behalf like witches. He was only a little flustered! “How are you two?”
Mirabel smiled but then her face dimmed slightly as she looked at the young boy clutching the stuffed animal she had crafted for him. “I’m fine but Antonio…”
The young boy tightened his embrace around the toy and rested his nose on top, wide childish eyes down-turned.
“Well,” Mirabel began to explain, pulling the boy on her lap, “his friends are gone.”
Bruno stiffened at her words and felt a swift pain of empathy in his chest that went beyond the reference to a ceasing Gift. It was the reminder that he had lost the people he had considered friends, too, once. They had turned against him once the heavy rumors had started, needlessly, and kept their distance. He had lost them but it did make him wonder if they had ever been friends at all, then.
True friends didn’t betray each other.
“A-at least you still have your little jaguar?” Bruno tried to help although he didn’t have high expectations it would really cheer the little boy up.
Antonio gazed at the superficial fur and moved his head slightly as if he had a realization. “Yeah,” he breathed, facing Bruno, “I found Parcerito by Casita, in the dirt. He’s still… in one piece.”
“And even if he wasn’t,” Bruno explained confidently, “we would fix him in no time! Right, Mirabel?”
He would never let a friend down. They were few and precious and mostly his family.
“Of course, of course!” Mirabel agreed, bouncing the boy slightly and he laughed, voice high and clear like bells chiming.
“But I’m sure the big one also misses you. He’s probably sitting in the jungle and thinking about when he can see you again, right now!” Bruno assured.
A story sparked in his mind and Bruno simply took the stuffed animal from his nephew’s hands although the boy didn’t object. Bruno angled the object in his hand so that he could move its head with his fingers, wanting to give it a breath of life.
“Grr, grr, I love you, Toñito!” he acted, changing his voice and wiggling the toy in Antonio’s tummy to tickle him.
The little child squealed in delight that heads turned but it didn’t discourage the otherwise shy boy from slipping off Mirabel’s lap and almost sitting on Bruno’s with how close he was.
His uncle took it as a cue to continue with his charade. Bruno curled his fingers into the fabric to make the stuffed animal look at him, gasping in surprise. “And your uncle looks like a snack!”
That made Antonio lose it and he stared at Bruno with wide, glassy eyes, as if seeing him in a completely new light. “How do you know?!” the boy asked, exhausted from laughing although a few more giggles went through his voice.
“Know what?” Bruno asked warily, letting the toy sink to his thighs, only now getting that his ambiguous joke had been taken literally.
“That Parce said that!” Antonio yelled with wonder.
Bruno stilled and thought back to the vision ritual in Antonio’s room. The jaguar had growled at him…
Oh.
Oh, no!
“Err…,” Bruno grappled as he recalled the animal guest’s reaction to him. Should he admit he was just bullshitting his way through and had no idea how animals really talked?
However, Antonio spared him an answer, following up with another question instead. “And what did Chispi say?”
“Who is Chispi?”
“A capybara.”
“Ay, Toñito, I can’t talk to animals,” Bruno burst out, hands in the air, not thinking about if he even had the right to call the boy by the shortening of his name.
Antonio cocked his head to the side. “Well, Chispi said she really liked the light show! But maybe a little less wind next time, the sand made her butt itchy.”
Bruno scoffed, miffed at the capybara for having made him ruin the perfect sand circle because it had been too lazy to move out of the way.
Well, sor-ry that the dead-faced animal hadn’t been thoroughly catered to! Bruno had been too busy forcing down mental spiraling to do his first vision in ten years in order to save the Miracle, Casita, and their family.
At least they had succeeded in conserving one.
Bruno conversed with his youngest nephew for a little while longer until Dolores sat down next to him without a word, nestled between the side of his leg and the armrest.
She angled her shoulder behind her uncle as if she wanted to embrace him but she only looked around the room with protective disinterest. She was just there and Bruno had to stop himself from smacking his head to wake up from the dream-like situation he was in.
“Hey, T-tío Bruno?” a soft voice asked and Bruno looked up to see Isabela standing in front of him, lips in an unsure smile and hands fiddling with a layer of her dyed dress.
“Isa,” he breathed, taking her in. He couldn’t get over how amazing it was to really witness how much she had grown up, how much all of the kids had grown up, really.
And they could see him, too! Bruno wasn’t stuck behind a one-way mirror anymore. Even Luisa noticed him although she seemed to hide behind her older sister. Once more, she looked away when Bruno tried to catch her eye.
“I… well, there’s this…,” Isabela said, deep orbs skitting around the room.
Bruno had rarely if ever, seen her be so vulnerable, so unsure, before. He tried to follow her gaze and noticed it was landing on Mariano quite often who was entertaining his mother and Alma with a grand story, making Félix and Agustín chuckle by the table.
“What—,” he asked but Isabela snatched an arepa from a platter and shoved it in his hand to distract him.
“Nevermind. We’re just so glad you’re back!” she exclaimed and Bruno could see the truth in her face although her smile was strained in a way that suggested deeper trouble.
He hummed while Mirabel urged her sisters to join their cuddle pile. Isabela laughed and sat down on the ground in front of Antonio, while the young boy, seemingly content again, explained some interesting animal facts to his cousins.
Luisa was still quiet, sitting down on the other sofa that her frame almost took up entirely. Dolores stretched forward and rubbed her back, once again knowing or feeling more than anyone else.
Bruno nibbled on the arepa for a long time, one crumb after the other, wanting to drag out the heartwarming evening with his family as much as he could before it was taken away from him. His body numbed and his vision blurred as madness took hold of the mind of its host again.
It was useless to try and fight it off. It always returned no matter what he did. No matter where he was.
And while he barely registered what his relatives were chatting about, souls free and glad, one snippet of a sentence stuck out to him inside the tunnel of numbness he was trapped in.
“—not enough buckets,” someone mentioned offhandedly but it echoed in his sentience like the noises in his former room.
“Bucket. Bucket. Bucket,” the voices urged like a plague, screaming at him to finally do what he must.
Having enough buckets would speed up the clearing work of Casita, the tiny logical part of his retreated brain provided. Having enough buckets would give his family a roof over their heads sooner. Having enough buckets would keep them safe.
Bruno knew where he could find one. Jorge's bucket he had stolen from Casita’s walls.
I have to protect them. Whatever it takes!
With that misguided determination in mind, he quickly excused himself but no one listened, already forgotten, already gone. Already wiped away like a speck of dust.
He pulled the hood over his head, finally giving in to the temptation of slinking into the shadows of the limelight as he crawled toward the door to the garden. Effortlessly, it was pulled back and he stepped out into the open. His cloth glided silently over a few flowers and leaves before he hurled himself over the fence, free and untamed in a world that wasn’t ready for the monster within.
Despite the safety of ignorance that had allowed him to disappear, keen eyes had been watching him in the living room and the boy they belonged to decided to abandon his generous meal to investigate.