Walks with my brother Carlos

He is my younger brother, Carlos, nine years younger to be more specific, so even knowing this piece of information, another piece of the puzzle of lost memories.
So you remember us as little children? I ask him
No, I don't remember. He answers.
Those words resonate like magnified in a solar system within, louder than other vibrations.
I have simply stopped repeating “I don’t remember” since I began the breathwork Pranayama and leave the door open to what it is that we can recall.
I propose walking rapidly, since we have so much to do and we left a pot of garbanzo beans simmering in low heat at the house, we agree that it will be a 20 minute walk. The day is hot, tropical hot, just early enough not to boil, just hot enough to stimulate you.
Carlos, I say, you know how great movement is, just half an hour of walking does the body wonders! He agrees, with a smile on his face. Thirty years without knowing each other, without walking together.... I am beginning to feel his innocence and separate the dark sexual energy that makes me cringe when we get too close. I let go of fear when I hug him now and trust.
Yes, he says, I can feel the sweat as we walk up the hill and the sun is sharp today.

I have a memory while I was in bed, the knowing that it was going to be a very hot day even before I opened my eyes.

We go walk around the missionary school of priests nearby, it is sort of calm and I spot a series of papaya trees, mango trees and plantains along the way. Thinking to myself, details, these are the details that enrich our walk: the sun, the wind, the fruit trees along the way and our longing to share stories.
Just before the end of our walk, he says, I remember being in grandmother’s house, alone with Katty our sister and the lights had gone out, we had to light a candle and placed it on top of grandfather old radio, do you remember that radio?
Of course I tell him, that big old monument in the kitchen, that was one of our landmarks in that house, it was an extension of my grandfather, two great knobs on each side and a beautiful light brown covering over the main face of the speaker. We didn’t have a TV for many years, so the radio was our link to the outside world and to many dances of my grandmother.
Then, Carlos says, the candle fell and it started burning part of the radio until we quickly turned it off. We were so young, you know, and left alone. All we feared at that moment was Adela, their aunt, my mother. We stared through the door and since I must of been so little that the only thing I could see was the hairdo of Adela, bouncing up and down as she approached down the block, among the houses stuck side by side together. I call her : el gorro del verdugo (the executioner's hood)
and what happened afterwards, I asked, although I could imagine knowing her outbursts of rage what had happened but I waited for his answer.

He says, I don’t remember after that, but I know that we had covered the radio with a laced cloth for the time being to spare us from the fright of what might happen

It feels like all these years we have been covering life with a pretty laced cloth and now its time to take it off without fear.