Delia's Heart (Delia 2)

She turned and left.

I waited until I heard the outside door close behind her, and then I stood up and screamed in silence, the sound echoing inside me and traveling down into the very bottom of my soul.

And then everything went black, and I seemed to take hours crumbling and sinking, my body folding cell by cell, until I poured onto the cold cement floor and drifted through a dark tunnel in which memories flashed on walls, faces, places, laughter, and screams.

I had no idea how long I was unconscious, but that was the way Inez found me. Señora Rosario came quickly, and the two of them got me into my bed. Señora Rosario hurried back to tell mi tía Isabela. She came to see me, but I remember when I opened my eyes, she looked as if she was standing very far away, and everything and everyone else was quite out of focus. I could barely hear them speaking, too. Their muffled voices ran into each other.

I closed my eyes again and turned away.

Apparently, mi tía Isabela’s first reaction was to leave me alone.

“It’s just a hysterical, self-serving cry for pity. Let her sleep it off. She’ll get up and come out when she’s hungry enough, believe me,” she told them.

Everyone was ordered to leave me alone.

Later, I was told that for nearly twelve hours, I didn’t move, didn’t turn, didn’t open my eyes. Tía Isabela was brought back to look at me. What convinced her to do something else was the sight of my having messed myself.

“Ridiculous!” she cried, and left.

She called her personal physician, Dr. Bayer, who, after examining me, told her I was in what he believed was a hysterical coma, especially after he reviewed the past events.

“Well, can’t you give her a shot or something?”

“We’ll give her a mild tranquilizer,” he told her, “but this is more of a psychological problem.”

“It’s just an attempt to get people to feel sorry for her,” mi tía Isabela insisted, but her doctor shook his head.

“No, Isabela, she’s not faking it.”

Apparently disgusted, but unable to ignore me now, she agreed to have me taken to the psychological ward at the hospital. She even agreed to an ambulance. I was unaware of any of it, but later, I learned it all from Inez, who found time to visit me and describe the scene.

Actually, mi tía Isabela found this all to be quite convenient. With her money and power, she had me transferred to a nearby clinic for continued treatment and psychological counseling. I became responsive a day after I was placed in the clinic, and out of shame, she came to see me. She acted concerned, especially when she spoke with the doctors and nurses.

When we were finally alone, the motherly demeanor left her, and the Tía Isabela I knew so well instantly returned.

“Well,” she said, “you outdid us all when it comes to drama. Even Sophia couldn’t achieve such a performance.”

I said nothing. She looked around my room.

“You have a nice private room here, Delia. I’ll see to it that you are kept comfortable. It’s the ideal place for you right now. No one can get to you, and you can think about your future in Mexico, because that’s where you should go now. Go back to the pathetic village. I’ll stake you to some money, and you’ll return like a heroine.”

I didn’t reply, but I could see that for her, her so-called guardi

anship would be ended, and her conscience, if she had any left, would be soothed.

“Sometimes solutions find themselves,” she continued. “You obviously have no future here. If anything, you should be grateful and thank me for all this.” She lifted her arms to indicate the clinic. “All I ask is that you keep up your performance so no one badgers me about taking you home. Comprende, Delia Yebarra?”

I looked away.

I heard her laugh before she rose. She stood there for a few moments to see if I would respond, and then I heard the whispering sound of her skirt as she left my room. For a long moment, I just stared at the wall. When I saw that she was truly gone, I closed my eyes again and fell asleep.

Days went by very slowly. I did have a very nice psychiatrist, Dr. Jensen, who happened to be fluent in Spanish. He was in his mid-fifties and very kind and caring. He kept me on some mild medications. He told me it wasn’t a bad thing for my aunt to be able to afford to keep me in his care.

“We have to address this deep-seated guilt you feel, Delia,” he said. “You have taken on far too much blame and responsibility for people and events you really could not control. You did not hurt anyone deliberately. In time, I hope you will realize this.

“As for this evil eye you speak of,” he added, smiling, “it’s really more like an excuse, a way to blame something else for your misfortune, rather than coincidence or events caused by someone else.” He laughed. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to attempt to wash away centuries of superstitions. I’m not that arrogant.”

I really did like him, and he helped me to feel better about myself much faster than I thought possible.