On a beautiful and sunny afternoon in April, I traveled to the city of San Miguel de Allende to meet Susan. She is a person in her seventies, of American origin, who invited me to meet David. Susan is driven by a long friendship and the love she has for a person born in our country. She called me the day before wanting to share a situation that is unfolding within the small social circle of a dear friend to her and shows a total lack of interest in being of help.
Arriving in San Miguel, we exchanged the usual greetings and made a brief introduction. We walked among the streets of San Miguel de Allende to reach a small closed street where we knocked on a door. I recognize the small house. I’ve been here before. I hope to meet a compatriot, and yet, David greets me, a person in his old age, of American origin. With a beard, long white hair, the individual looks pleasant. There are not too many formalities for introductions, at least not yet. The interior space looks pleasant, well-kept. It’s not what I remembered from before. Clean floors, paintings, a special chair for stretching the spine, a computer, then in another very dignified space, a dining room, beyond that a simple kitchen, and finally, the bedroom where David sleeps.
He offers me some delicious Indian nuts. I decline his offer, having eaten recently, but I accept water. Susan finishes introducing us, and David begins his story. Very emotionally, he comments that he has been living in that house for twelve years, taking care of his garden, taking care of the cat that lives under the jacaranda tree. He tells me about another person, a goddaughter of the person who brings us to this story and who is the link that unites these four personalities. David continues his story. He talks about how he has lived there quietly, helping his tenant to move forward, to take care of her, to take care of her spaces. And he tells me about the existence of a second person, who is the goddaughter of his tenant and who, for years, stayed close. However, the goddaughter, for unknown reasons, disappeared for a period of two years.
The tenant David refers to lives upstairs in that small house, in a small space that I don’t know if it can be called a «room.» To access it, you have to climb a very small staircase made for small people. For people of a certain height, it’s a torture to climb. He invited me to see the so-called room, and I could detect that it has enough space for a bed, a bathroom, and a small kitchen. Malodorous, dirty, it has too many things, and the place is not clean. David tells me that the resident lived there as if she were in seclusion for ten years. But he also tells me that, following a recent incident, the goddaughter «showed up» without warning, coming to clean the place and trying to leave it as dignified as possible.
David takes me through the house and weaves a story of antagonism and passion. He shows me that in the house, there is another bathroom, very messy. He promises to clean it as a condition of the word he gave to the goddaughter. It turns out that David has grown fond of the place and his tenant. He tells me that recently, the goddaughter showed up with a strong, arrogant attitude, indicating that she was the one with power and authority over that property. She didn’t come alone; she came accompanied by a gentleman. She began giving instructions and then went to the sacred garden that David carefully cared for, imposing her will and wanting to cut a beautiful jacaranda, the same plant that shelters a beautiful cat that I saw during my visit. She instructed David to leave the space he had rented for years, to go up to the second space called a «room» where the beloved tenant lived and allowed him to continue paying rent. David didn’t agree with this.
It turns out that the person they both say they love recently had a fall where she broke her hip. Her knees haven’t been working well for years, and apparently, she fell because there was a stumble in what they call a room. It took hours to get her out of there to take her to the hospital. David was the one who alerted to the condition of the tenant. Thank God this good soul was there. But then, according to David’s account, he agreed in good faith to give up a third of the space he lives in and to fix a bathroom so that his tenant could be at street level and recover properly, that is, calmly. This seemed to displease the goddaughter, who, shamelessly, wanted to change David’s world.
It turns out that the tenant receives no resources other than those from David. David let me know that he has a way to immediately evict the house and go with a friend. I assess the situation and do not believe this version. David and this space are already one. Later, I am informed that the tenant, in her very likely search for love and company, promised both parties, now antagonists, that the house would belong to one of them. Apparently, the goddaughter, whose age I do not know, does not have a good relationship with her mother, and everything could point to her sudden appearance being driven by her very good will, but also, there may be a greater will to take possession of the house. David stands in her way.
Thinking of a chess game, if the tenant were to die, getting David out would be an issue. Most likely there is no type of will, and if David claims that he has paid the property taxes, perhaps he can take ownership of the property. It’s a complicated game because in the middle is the beloved tenant, who will already be in her eighties, and possibly, her mental faculties may not be at a hundred percent. Strange thing, I say to myself, surely the goddaughter is still young and the tenant could make a will or bring an actuary or something, where she would establish her will which could be more or less like this: «I, the tenant, of my own will, leave this property in usufruct to David from Connecticut for xx years and upon his death, it passes to my beloved goddaughter.»
Why do people refuse to make wills and declare their last will? Do we prefer to leave problems to others? Are we afraid of the word DIE? I don’t know, everyone will know their own story. Susan invited me to be a kind of arbitrator, but as a diplomat, I don’t have much of a knack. I thought of one who knows how to be an arbitrator, my older brother. But the truth is, I don’t know the local and personal problems of these people, and I’m not very sure I want to get involved in this mess. David at some point tells me that I don’t seem so local to him and tells me that I seem to come from Boston, a beautiful cosmopolitan city in the USA. I take it as a compliment. I return to the city I came from, Querétaro, thinking at length about how human beings cling so much, but so much to material things or simply to things. David intends to live in peace, the goddaughter intends to have a house, Susan intends to have a clean soul and help a friend, the friend intends to live surrounded by love and away from loneliness, I intend to play the role of a good and noble being. It’s a world of pretensions where everyone has their story. I tell myself, «sometimes doing nothing is the best.» Is it? To do or not to do? What is clear to me is that if I was there, it was perhaps to listen to David’s point of view and have a nice afternoon, seeing what he has done for his tenant and for the cat that lives happily under the jacaranda tree. As I finish this story, David will be distressed to know that the goddaughter intends to take possession of the property and cut down the beautiful jacaranda tree that shelters the cat. I don’t think this is right. Above all, because there is an owner and possessor of the place who loves her jacaranda tree and her cat and David.
