I remember the day my sister died.
She had always had trouble keeping a steady job; eventually she turned to prostitution to support her family. As a sea-faring man, I only visited her a couple of times a year. But it made her happy that I was able to distract Ragetti from her troubles and keep him company when she was "working". I should have known something was terribly wrong with my sister when she started to pale and cough. "I spend too much time in the shadows and inside, Pintel," she used to joke, "No sunlight gets to this skin, that's why I'm pale!" Her excuse for the cough was always, "Some dust flew down my throat." She was so adamant that eventually I gave up on nagging her about her health. We rarely talked otherwise; Ragetti was so desperate for attention as a child. He loved my stories.
I had been telling Ragetti the legend of the cursed gold of Cortez when she fainted. Nothing like this had ever happened around me so I had no clue what to do! I moved her to the couch, placed a wet rag on her head, and fanned her until she awoke.
I sometimes wonder if I had missed something, or done something wrong.
I sometimes wonder if I had unintentionally caused her death.
From then on, everything went downhill. She spiraled into bad health. Throwing up blood, uncontrollable tremors, nonstop coughing. She didn't get sleep and neither did I. It was I who made the money, doing odd jobs for odd people--for Ragetti was too young for the workhouse. Plus, it hurt me to be away from him. I didn't want to lose him. Too many horror stories flashed through my paranoid mind when he's gone.
When it looked like her time with us was growing short, I started sending Ragetti out to run little errands just so he could get away from everything. So he could deal with his grief in private. Scarring Ragetti for life was not something I intented to do; seeing his mother die would definitely do that. Seeing his mother deteriorate like that probably must've already done some damage...
It was one such day, where Ragetti ws out and I was alone with my sister, when it happened. She started to tremble more than usual, so weak she could barely open her eyes. I grabbed the family Bible, seven generations old, and opened it to her favorite passage:
Deuteronomy 31:8
The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you;
he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid;
do not be discouraged.
I have blocked out the exact details of the moment she died, but I remember, clear as Caribbean waters, that she grabbed my arm with surprising strength strength and whispered with her dying breath,
"Don't let his fate be the same as mine."
Well, I've tried my best, Lizzie.
I've never left his side until now. I'm so scared, Lizzie--what if I lose him? What if I fail you?
You know, he's the spitting image of you, Lizzie.
I love you both.