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with no thought of a better fate. The only time she was ever heard to utter a nostalgic comment about the refinements of her past was in regard to a grand piano that had enchanted her as a girl. That is how we learned of her love for music and much later, when she was an old woman, a group of us who were her friends gave her a modest piano. It had been over sixty years since she had been anywhere near a keyboard, but she sat down on the piano stool and played, by memory and without hesitation, a Chopin nocturne.
    A year or so after her marriage to the judge, she gave birth to an albino daughter, who as soon as she began to walk accompanied her mother to church. The tiny creature was so dazzled by the pageantry of the liturgy that she began pulling down drapes to “play bishop,” and soon the only game that interested her was imitating the ecclesiastical ritual, chanting in a Latin of her own invention. She was hopelessly retarded; her only words were spoken in an unknown tongue, she drooled incessantly, and she suffered uncontrollable attacks during which she had to be tied like a circus animal to prevent her from chewing the furniture and attacking guests. With puberty, however, she grew more tractable, and helped her mother around the house. The second child was born into the world totally devoid of curiosity and bearing gentle Asian features; the only skill he ever mastered was riding a bicycle, but it was of little benefit to him since his mother never dared let him out of the house. He spent his life pedaling in the patio on a stationary bicycle mounted on a music stand.
    Her children’s abnormality never affected Clarisa’s unalterable optimism. She considered them pure souls immune to evil, and all her relations with them were marked by affection. Her greatest concern was to save them from earthly suffering, and she often asked herself who would look after them when she was gone. The father, in contrast, never spoke of them, and used the pretext of his retarded children to wallow in shame, abandon his career, his friends, even fresh air, and entomb himself in his room, copying newspapers with monklike patience in a series of stenographic notebooks. Meanwhile, his wife spent the last cent of her dowry, and her inheritance, and took on all kinds of jobs to support the family. In her own poverty, she never turned her back to the poverty of others, and even in the most difficult periods of her life she continued her works of mercy.
    Clarisa had a boundless understanding of human weaknesses. One night when she was sitting in her room sewing, her white head bent over her work, she heard unusual noises in the house. She got up to see what they might be, but got no farther than the doorway, where she ran into a man who held a knife to her throat and threatened, “Quiet, you whore, or I’ll slash your throat.”
    â€œThis isn’t the place you want, son. The ladies of the night are across the street, there where you hear the music.”
    â€œDon’t try to be funny, this is a robbery.”
    â€œWhat did you say?” Clarisa smiled, incredulous. “And what are you going to steal from me?”
    â€œSit down in that chair. I’m going to tie you up.”
    â€œI won’t do it, son. I’m old enough to be your mother. Where’s your respect?”
    â€œSit down, I said!”
    â€œAnd don’t shout, you’ll frighten my husband, and he’s not at all well. By the way, put that knife down, you might hurt someone,” said Clarisa.
    â€œListen, lady, I came here to rob you,” the flustered robber muttered.
    â€œWell, there’s not going to be any robbery. I will not let you commit a sin. I’ll give you some money of my own will. You won’t be taking it from me, is that clear? I’m giving it to you.” She went to her purse and took out all the money for the rest of the week. “That’s all I have. We’re quite poor, as