Thin and pale, my cousin Lili looked like she was made out of wax. She
was my age and she had blue eyes and fair hair down to her collar. She was
always quiet and shy and she didn't join us in our games.
"This little girl isn't thriving," the maids would say.
Indeed cousin Lili looked more like an angel than a real person.
Anything at all would seem to set her off on a never ending fit of crying. But
she would open up to me a bit. I was less aggressive than her brothers. Both of
us liked being with Aunt Maria and being fussed over and hugged by her. Lili
never played out in the sun. She kept her shoes on all day long. Everything was
bad for her; the rain, the humidity, the dew. She only survived by taking her
medications, so it seemed.
I don't know why, but a friendship grew up between myself and this
delicate creature. I liked to be in the company of her and her dolls. A little
Indian statue that I had been given, I gave to Lili as a present. She was so
sweet to me.
One morning she woke up vomiting and with a fever. I went into her room
to find her whiter than ever and very sad, and even thinner. Her dolls were all
sat on her bed like friends come to say their goodbyes.
Her little blue eyes rested on me, seeming to ask me something. Maybe
she just wanted me to stay with her a little while longer. But they took me
away from her room.
The next morning when I awoke my little cousin had already died. I can
picture the little white coffin covered in roses and Aunt Maria crying the
whole day long. Even now, when I come across the burial of a child, tears fill
my eyes, tears I shed for my cousin Lili.
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