From that night on, Maria Teresa and I feuded incessantly over the air conditioning. I would come back to the bedroom earlier than her to do my work, and turn it on. She would return soon afterwards, and turn it off.
“We just don’t use the plastic curtain things. We know how to take a shower without getting water everywhere. Use the extra towel to clean up the floor. It’s our little secret. I’ve already seen you naked, remember?”
This is a story of seventy years ago (or a stretch from long before WWI to the end of Viet Nam) in the memory of a little boy who could catch the colors and delight in his exceptionally cultivated family’s recognitions, but could not join them up.