The Box
“Open it,” she said, with a voice like syrup.
A forest of frozen smiles surrounded him, concealing so many emotions–affection, respect, curiosity, envy–that he felt exposed, abandoned at a masquerade without a disguise. His eyes roamed across the enormous table, across the faces of all those people: parents, brothers, aunts and uncles, grandparents, cousins…
“Go on, open it.”
He heard the reproach in his mother’s voice. Anxious, he caressed the gift with his hands. The paper was smooth, speckled here and there with colorful flowers. An enormous pink bow held it closed. He opened it in silence, then looked inside. A camera.
“What do you say?”
“Thank you, Aunt Lidia,” he whispered.
The camera left his hands and joined the greeting cards, the silverware, the ring, the autograph book and the various other gifts whose value, in his mother’s words, the boy would appreciate in years to come. Right now, thought Alex, they weren’t worth much.
After the presents had been opened, his one fleeting moment of glory, the banal conversations flooded the table and it didn’t take long to realize they didn’t include him. He wasn’t the center of attention anymore. Within five minutes, his presence at the table was irrelevant.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” he murmured.
He left the table, and no one noticed. They were too busy with the party to pay attention to a little boy who had come into the world on an October’s day just like that one. The glasses clinked in mid-air, dripping tears onto the immaculate tablecloth, while Alex descended the stairs that led to the toilets.
The bathroom door loomed like a phantasm at the end of the corridor’s white walls, which were chipped and scarred with diverse inscriptions, mostly obscene or racist in nature. There was a small poster, showing a smiling youth against a multicolored background. Alex grasped the knob with both hands and opened the door.
A tall, thin man was holding a tiny wooden box at eye level between long fingers, its surface inscribed with strange symbols. The wrinkles in his furrowed brow were reflected in the washstand mirror.
“Sorry,” said the boy, closing the door.
“Don’t worry. It’s fine,” soothed the stranger, preventing the door from shutting completely with his foot.
His smile revealed two rows of immaculately white, perfect teeth.
“Here. This is for you.”
In the man’s hands rested the box. Alex looked at it, lost in thought. Under the bathroom’s weak light it seemed to move, to tremble.
“What’s inside?”
“It’s a surprise,” said the stranger. “A surprise that you should share with your family, little boy.”
He didn’t like being called that, and liked even less having his hair stroked the way the man had just done. But the box was so beautiful that when the man put it in his hands, he whispered his sincere gratitude and ran down the hall towards the stairway.
“Open it with your eyes closed,” he heard him say, as he climbed the stairs. “That way you won’t spoil the surprise.”
When he arrived at the table, they all greeted him with a warm smile.
“Look what I got!” Alex shouted in excitement.
And with these words, he closed his eyes and lifted the lid of the box. A stench of putrefaction and death flooded his nostrils. A horrible cacophony of screams and laughter assaulted his ears. He heard his mother’s pleading voice, the muffled groans of his relatives.
“My god…”
Creaking furniture, shattering glass. Screams and pleas for help all around. Confusion.
Under the odor of rotting fish, Alex detected something else, more subtle, cloying. He couldn’t identify it. Someone knocked him down. He heard wild footsteps, running in all directions. Something damp and enormous fell on top of him with a grunt. Lying on the floor, with his eyes shut, he tasted the salt of the ocean in his mouth.
But despite it all, he kept his eyes closed.
He didn’t want to spoil the surprise.
