Herpa had always been one of those men who seemed invincible. In business magazines they called him « the king of inversions », at conferences they gave him standing ovations, in photographs he smiled in front of luxury cars and mansions with perfect gardens.
From the outside, his life was a showcase of success: tailored suits, expensive watches, first-class travel. But no one saw what happened when he closed his bedroom door, when the silence forced him to look at the only absence he couldn’t buy.
That auspice had the name: Lorezo.
His only son, his little playmate, had disappeared a year ago. There was no word, no call, no explanation. One afternoon he was playing in the garden, near the red swing, and after a while… nothing. As if the world had swallowed him up.
At first, Herap moved heaven and earth: he hired detectives, paid rewards, went on television, and asked the police for help. Over time, the lights went out, the cameras left, and the voices grew tired of always repeating the same thing: “We found him, but there are no new leads.”
He alone continued searching.
That morning, like so many others, he put on the same wrinkled jacket that used to smell of expensive perfume and now only smelled of sleepless nights. He arrived at the back seat of the car covered with posters: Lorenzo’s photo smiling, with his big, lively eyes, and below it an almost torn message: “WANTED. ANY INFORMATION, CALL…”.
He started the engine with trembling hands and drove away from the elegant neighborhoods he knew by heart.
This time he decided to go where he had gone before: to the neighborhoods where the streets were paved, the walls peeling, and the houses stood almost by faith. There, nobody looked at him like a millionaire. Nobody knew about his businesses or his magazine covers. There, he was just a man with red eyes putting up posters, a father suffering from post-mortem pain.
He stopped next to a rusty post and took a deep breath before sticking up another poster. The tape was sticking to his fingers, the paper was wrinkling, and he tried to smooth it out with a delicacy he no longer possessed. As he smoothed the photo, he whispered almost in a voice:
Someone must have seen you, son… someone…
The wind blew warm, stirring up dust and memories. The world seemed to keep turning as if no one cared about his pain. Herepa felt ridiculous, small, absurd with that stack of papers in his hand. He was about to move on to the next post when he heard a small voice behind him:
—Sir… that child lives in my house.
He froze. His heart, which had been beating with dread for months, gave such a strong leap that it almost took his breath away. He turned slowly, as if afraid that any sudden movement would break the illusion, and saw a barefoot girl in a worn dress with enormous eyes. She was looking at him with a mixture of shyness and certainty.
« What… what did you say? » he stammered.
The girl pointed at the sign with her little finger.
—That child—she repeated, as if she were talking about something completely normal—. Lives with my mom and me.
Herpa’s legs went weak. For a second he thought he was dreaming, that the lack of sleep was playing a trick on him. He crouched down until he was at her height.
« Are you sure? » she asked, trying to hold back the tremor in her voice. « Are you sure it’s him… this kid here? »
The little girl frowned, looked at the photo attentively and nodded naturally.
—Yes. He hardly speaks. He draws all the time and cries at night. Sometimes he mutters things… he calls someone.
—To whom? —The question escaped him like a desperate whisper.
—To her dad —she answered without realizing that she had just opened a crack in that man’s world.
Herpa felt like he couldn’t breathe. Everything he had repressed for a year suddenly surged into his chest: Lorenzo’s laughter in the hallways, his drawings stuck to the board, his voice calling him at three in the morning after a nightmare.
He had to close his eyes to avoid collapsing right there, in the middle of that unknown street.
—Do you live very far from here? —he asked, clinging to that last hope like someone clinging to a life preserver.
—No, it’s nearby —replied the pineapple with a shy smile—. After the corner.
For a moment, Herpa considered turning around and fleeing. What if it wasn’t his son? What if it was another child? What if it was a cruel joke of fate? But when he looked again into those childless eyes full of sincerity, he knew he couldn’t back down.
« Could you take me? » he finally asked. « I just… I just want to see him. If I’m wrong, I’ll leave. »
The pineapple hesitated, biting her lip.
—My mom might get angry…
« Don’t worry, » he said, his voice breaking. « I’m not going to hurt you. I just need to know if he’s my son. »
She looked at him for a few seconds that seemed to last forever. Then she nodded slowly, as if a courage she knew was awakening within her small breast.
—Okay, follow me.
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