music: Maurice Ravel, Trio for Piano in A-minor-- as far as I can hear it while keeping my ability to concentrate on what I'm writing. noise: drills and bangs coming from yet another apartment renovation in the complex; muffled rumble of the city; rattling of trams in the avenue: (the usual)

Yesterday I tried to get in touch with Jawa again-- apparently they're away for the entire week. I steered to Gisa's and managed to talk with her about the situation, and it was useful, I guess. She was so surprised to hear the story. After all it all happened in her apartment, when she lend it to me for few months and I had that affair.
See? I said to myself. You lead a interesting life.
Then we agreed that every possible outcome was going to be either unsatisfactory or unjust, or painful. Whether Jawa happens to "know" that their son is actually "our" son, and she deliberately is hiding it from me; or she doesn't want to know and gets evasive; or Ernesto knows too and it's the way they decided to live this thing (the fact that they're both quite rational and science-minded individuals can be a factor); or it is all a fantasy of mine; or she realizes the possibility as soon as I tell her: in all cases what happens next is the same thing, which is, nothing.
I list to Gisa all my fears and obsessions. I say that maybe they both know, and are hiding it from me because they're scared that I might want to barge in, if only on a given hypothetical day far in the future. This can be disappointing --people not trusting me and all-- but understandable: and the consequence could only be not to see them anymore, for ever, for life: To reassure them that I am willing to spare the child a shock tomorrow that only a misunderstood idea of science or nature (what being a "biological" parent means) may consider necessary.
"Talk to her" says Gisa.
"I want to, believe me. But she seems to be sneaking away from it all the time. Why is she avoiding me anyway?"
"Oh, she probably thinks that you want to fuck her again-- and with the baby and all she doesn't want to have to tell you that it is not going to happen" Gisa answers.
"What?" See, I haven't thought of that.
"Why do you want to know it so much? What can you really do with it?" she asks.
Nothing, I know she's right. "Maybe Jawa knows for sure that this is not the case. Blood types, DNA, whatever. She can reassure me. Or maybe I just want to know what happens next with the story, you know. Describe it to myself as it happens. I can't keep that part frozen."
Skeptical look from Gisa.
"I know I have lied many times in my life" I say. Hell I have been lying to Gisa too, she knows me."Still, I hate to hide things when it's not my choice: I hate to know that there's this sort of terrain I cannot walk on. At least I would like to know that Jawa knows that I am willing to do whatever it takes to make her or them more happy with the situation."
"I bet they're happy with the situation."

Gisa is tidying up the apartment. I follow her around as she piles up stuff and takes toys out of the way, throws away stuff. Little Biba is taking a nap in the other room, Loris (the rockstar) is about to come back from a sound check. There's white light pouring in from the high windows, smell of budino and hanging clothes.
"Funny" Gisa says then.
"What?"
"You telling me about this, and I reading Dostoevsky's the eternal husband these days. It just is a very similar story. Have you read it?"
"No".
"Well is about this guy who receives a visit from a friend who recently became a widower. The guy and this friend's wife were lovers until 9 years before, when she abruptly put an end to their relationship without an explanation. Later he meets the daughter of the widower and from the moment he lays his eyes on her he is convinced that she is his own daughter. The little girl is 9 years old, and the age makes it possible if not probable for her to be his daughter. More importantly, there is something with her that makes it even more obvious, some affinity and special bond that they have."
"So how it ends?"
"I don't know, I haven't finished it yet. But you said you felt some connection with Jawa's son."
"Well, I thought. But probably the boy is too little to say." I know you can't cling to something so irrational, you're not supposed to.
"Man, I really would like to know how the story ends." I mumble. "Please let me know." Like anything depended on that.