Part 4 — I Pretended to Leave for Germany, but When I Returned to My Own House at Night, I Saw Something at the Table That Made Ivan Stop Smiling

Nino ended the call immediately, but it was too late.

The police officer standing in the yard knocked on the door.

“Mr. Alvaro, please everyone come out of the room.”

Marta was still leaning against the wall. Her face no longer resembled that of the woman who, a few minutes earlier, had been hosting the guests with laughter.

“Nino, this is a misunderstanding,” she said.

“No, Marta. This is already a combination of confirmed facts.”

“I was only protecting my parents.”

“Then why do you have their money in your account?”

Marta looked at Ivan.

“Tell her that you knew nothing.”

Ivan did not answer.

“Ivan, are you talking to me?”

“Enough, Marta.”

It was the first time that night I had heard those two words from him. He took Father’s watch off his hand and placed it on the table. The watch fell heavily onto the wooden surface.

“I thought the house would be sold soon,” Ivan said. “I thought everything was legal.”

Nino looked at him coldly.

“You signed a document stating that the elderly people could not make decisions. This may be considered an attempt at forgery.”

Ivan took his phone from his pocket.

“I will call my lawyer.”

“You already called him,” Nino replied. “He told us he would no longer become involved in this case.”

Ivan’s finger stopped on the screen.

Marta shook her head from side to side.

“No. This is impossible.”

“He also sent your correspondence,” Nino continued. “It says that taking the parents out of the room was only a temporary step until the house passed into your names.”

Mother lowered her eyes. Father clasped her hand.

The police officer told Marta:

“Ma’am, please come with me.”

Marta moved toward me.

“Alvaro, tell them I do not want this. You are my brother.”

“That is exactly why it hurts the most.”

“I was doing everything for you.”

“No. You were doing to my parents what you were hiding from me.”

She grabbed me by the arm.

“If you do not hinder me now, I will return everything to you.”

“You cannot return what was never yours.”

The police officer stepped between them. Ivan went toward the door, but a second car stopped in the yard. An elderly woman got out—the village social worker, Elene, whose name was written on Father’s paper.

“At last you came,” Mother whispered.

Elene nodded.

“For three weeks I had been trying to reach you. Marta told me that you were not at home.”

“I saw the letter,” I told her.

“I wrote the letter. I wanted to come here the next day, but Ivan called me and told me that if I appeared again, he would make the police believe that you intended to kidnap your parents.”

Father raised his head for the first time.

“That is why I told you, my son, not to send any more money. I knew that even greater power would pass into her hands.”

The police officer opened Marta’s bag. Inside they found the house documents, bank cards, and confirmation of the morning meeting with the notary.

Marta fell silent.

When they led her toward the car, she looked back once.

“Alvaro, you will be left alone.”

I put a blanket over Mother’s shoulders.

“No, Marta. For the first time I am no longer alone.”

That night my parents were taken to the village medical center. The doctor said that Father’s blood pressure was dangerously low, and that Mother had missed several weeks of medicines.

I sat in the corridor holding that watch in my hand. The crescent-shaped scratch was still visible. So were the words engraved on the back.

“You taught me the value of time.”

In the morning Nino told me new news.

“An investigation has begun against Marta. But the most important thing is that the house-sale agreement has been canceled. The power of attorney has been declared invalid.”

“Ivan?”

“He admits that he signed the documents. He says that Marta deceived him. But that does not remove his responsibility.”

“I do not want him to be punished.”

“That no longer depends on you.”

That same day I heard for the first time the recording in which Marta spoke about me. Nino told me that it was necessary to preserve her words in full for the court.

Marta’s voice could be heard in the recording.

“Alvaro always thought that he could buy the family with money. Now I will show him what it is like when his own parents turn against him.”

Her voice was coming from the phone, but I still thought that Marta was standing in the room.

Then Ivan asked:

“And if he returns?”

“He will not return. I sent him photographs in which everything looks fine. His own conscience punishes him more than we do.”

The recording ended.

For a long time I said nothing.

Father sat down beside me.

“My son, you should not have heard this.”

“I should have heard it. Now at least I know that those days were not my imagination.”

Three weeks later the house still remained in my parents’ names. The court temporarily froze Marta’s accounts, Ivan left the village and sold the car to cover the lawyer’s expenses. I did not ask any more about their fate.

I did not want to see their downfall.

I wanted my parents to return to standing up.

Father slowly recovered. Mother opened the windows in the kitchen, and for the first time in a long while a warm smell filled the house—cinnamon, baked apples, and fresh bread.

One evening Father held the watch out to me.

“Keep it.”

“It is your watch.”

“You gave it to me. Now you must remember that time can be wasted, but losing yourself cannot.”

I put the watch on my wrist.

A month later I rented a small apartment in the city so that it would be easier to take my parents to doctors. After returning to work, I called them every morning on the way. Mother no longer whispered. Father joked that the doctor’s prescription was stricter for him than my childhood teacher.

On the first snow of winter, Mother called me.

“The yard is white, Alvaro.”

“Is the heating working?”

“All night. And this time we paid for it ourselves.”

Father came to the phone.

“Your room is still yours. Only, do not hide the books in the cupboard anymore.”

“I will not hide them anymore.”

“And when you come, knock on the door. Now we are living properly.”

I laughed. For the first time since that night when I stood in the yard and felt like a stranger in my own house.

Several days later I received a letter from Marta. It was handwritten. She said that she regretted it, that Ivan was no longer beside her, and that perhaps one day the family could return to its former state.

I read the last sentence for a long time:

“You are my brother, after all, aren’t you?”

I wrote only one answer:

“I am your brother. But I can no longer cover up your crimes.”

I did not send the letter. I gave it to Nino, because at that time the case was still ongoing. For me, that answer was enough.

The old small room in my parents’ house no longer existed. They demolished the wall, enlarged the window, and arranged a sunny work corner there. Mother sewed the curtains herself. Father hung a photograph of his youth on the wall.

One morning I entered there and saw a small drawing on the windowsill. It had been drawn by my niece, Liza: three people were sitting at a table, and in the middle there was a large round clock.

“Why did you draw a clock?” I asked.

Liza shrugged.

“Grandfather said that now time is moving correctly in the house.”

I looked at Father. He smiled.

And I looked at my wrist.

The crescent-shaped scratch was still visible on the steel.

But this time it no longer looked like a wound.

It showed me that time, at last, was on our side.