“A Visit from the Chief,” by Samanta Schweblin

Lidia was struck that no one moved to give their seat to the old woman. Perhaps it was because she held so tightly to the handrail, seeming to obstinately ignore her own fragility, or maybe it was just that her attention was on what was happening outside. At each stop, the train braked and the old woman’s head tilted from side to side as she looked for the station name and peered at the map of the train line. She seemed to be struggling to figure out where she was.

Twice, Lidia asked the old woman if this was her stop, and both times the old woman said no, it was the next one. When they reached Lidia’s stop, she was unnerved to see the old woman also preparing to get off the train.

Lidia tried to walk beside the woman and start some kind of conversation, but the woman was desperately slow, and when they were halfway up the stairs Lidia simply sped up and went out to the street, leaving her behind. Although the rain had lessened a little, she paused under a shop awning. She felt responsible, and her inability to free herself from other people’s problems filled her with exasperation. The old woman was taking the last step so laboriously that Lidia had no choice but to go back to her and ask what she planned to do next.

“I’m going home,” the old woman said. “I already told you!”

“But where is your house?”

The woman sucked in air as though summoning all her patience and drew herself up straighter, then glanced to either side while exhaling all the air she’d taken in, until her body returned to its initial curve. It was such a cartoonish gesture that Lidia felt her own brusqueness, sensed the tedium she was inflicting on the old woman with her questions instead of doing something useful to help her.

“Do you like white tea?” Lidia asked. “If you want some, I live just around the corner.”

Once in the apartment, Lidia helped the old woman take off her sandals, gave her a towel so that she could dry her shoulders and chest, and lent her a light cardigan to wear over the hospital gown. Lidia would make the tea first and then call the institute. No one could accuse her of anything other than trying to help, and, if the old woman told them where the train money had come from, Lidia would just deny it. She sat the woman down at the dining table in the living room and went to the kitchen. When she returned, carrying a tray with the tea and some cookies, she found the old woman watching the blank TV screen. Lidia switched it on, and they drank the tea in silence. For months now, it had been impossible for Lidia to do that kind of thing with her own mother.

They watched a news story about the noisiest cities in Latin America, then an interview with two Ukrainian soldiers. When the reporter asked the soldiers how long they thought the war would last, the old woman said, “See how handsome Joel looks?” And, for the first time, she smiled.

After two minutes of watching the weather forecast, Lidia went to the kitchen to call the institute.

“Graziano,” a voice answered.

“I think I found a patient of yours,” Lidia said.

“Do you mean a person who should be here?” There was no surprise in the voice on the phone. “One moment, please.”

She was transferred twice before she spoke with a doctor who described a “presumed runaway” and asked if that was the patient who was with her. Lidia peered into the living room to get another look at the old woman. The description was neither accurate nor fair, but she knew it was this old woman, so she said yes.

Back in the living room, she sat down at the table beside the woman and explained that she had called the institute. She tried to get a sense of whether the old woman understood what she was saying, but her face held no clues.

“The problem,” Lidia told her, “is that they can’t come to get you.”

The institute’s insurance required that patients be moved only by ambulance, and at the moment none were available.

“They said to call tomorrow morning to coördinate the pickup,” Lidia explained. She realized how annoyed she herself was with this news, but she tried not to let it show. “Do you understand? You’ll have to spend the night here. I hope that won’t be a problem.”

“What about Joel?”

Lidia shook her head, wondering what she would feed the woman.

“He’s always late, but he always comes,” the old woman said.

What if the woman followed a strict diet and she gave her something that was off limits? Lidia didn’t know what her mother’s diet was, or if she even followed one. And where would this woman sleep? On the sofa? In her daughter’s room? Would she actually sleep? Or would she spend the whole night wandering around? Should Lidia help her bathe or get undressed? She thought that maybe she should lock the apartment door and keep the key in her room. She regretted bringing the woman home with her. The leftover curry wouldn’t be enough for both of them. Lidia went to the refrigerator to see what she could cook, and then the doorbell startled her.

“It’s Joel,” the old woman called.

Lidia went to the intercom and lifted the receiver.

“Yes?” she said.

She could hear the sound of people on the street.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” a male voice said. “But is it possible my mother is there with you?”

How could this be? Had someone followed them? Had the institute called him and given him her address?

“It’s my sandal.” The old woman’s voice reached her from the dining table, though Lidia couldn’t see her. “The left one.”

Lidia looked at the sandals she had taken off the old woman and placed by the door. Without putting down the receiver, she picked up the left one. It had a plastic button the size of a watch battery, and, on the inside of the strap, there was a message: “If you find my mother, please press the locator :-).”

She buzzed the building door open, then smoothed her hair in front of the mirror where she hung her keys. She was tired, and angry, and nervous, all at the same time. Would she now need enough food for three people? Worst-case scenario, she’d have to order delivery. And just how old would this man be? She opened the door and looked out into the hallway, where she could hear the man climbing the stairs.

“He doesn’t take elevators,” the old woman said.

Lidia had an urge to close the door. She could still lock it and not reopen it—that was entirely within her rights. But the old woman had come over to the door. With cold hands, she weakly pushed Lidia aside, and now she was out in the hallway.

“Joel!”

Lidia saw the man walk up and let himself be hugged. He was slender and tall, more than a head taller than the old woman. His skin had a slightly orangish hue, like that of people she sometimes saw coming out of tanning salons. The old woman waved the man inside, but he politely turned to Lidia first, waiting for her permission.

“Of course, come in,” she found herself obliged to say. “Please.”

And now the man was inside.

He must have been about fifteen years younger than Lidia. Not young, but there was a distinct spring in his movements. He looked curiously down the hallway, toward the bedrooms, and then back at his mother with a smile.

“What happened, Mom? How is it possible that people still give you money?”

“You just have to know how to ask for it,” the old woman said.

Lidia gave silent thanks that she said no more than that. She asked the man if he wanted some tea, and he accepted. While she was making it, she could hear them talking and laughing in the other room. She was using more white tea today than in the whole previous month. Did she really have to feed him dinner, too? Was it still her responsibility to take care of the old woman, or could she simply leave her in this man’s custody? She considered calling the institute again, but realized that the man would hear her talking.