Bernardo

As you know, I teach ESL, at least for now. The classes are mostly one-on-one, in the students' homes, and the two-hour lessons usually occur once or twice a week. It's an intimate thing: faces about a foot apart, working together to discover something, trying to unlock a mystery and gain understanding.

On Monday evenings I have a class with Bernardo, a very sweet young guy from Costa Rica. We've been meeting for more than four months. He and his wife Cynthia have been here since last winter, working on a big project for a huge computer chip manufacturer. Since our classes emphasize conversational skills, I've asked him lots of questions and heard all about his family, his job, his favorite foods, his ideas about complicated modifications he wants to make to his bike, his dreams about running a big beach resort in Guanacaste, and plans for road trips to the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas and Disneyland (the three top destinations on most of my students' wish lists).

He is more than my student - he is my friend. To the extent that two people who don't have a common language can learn to like each other while discussing hypothetical travel plans and kitchen utensils, we have done so.

Last night, when Bernardo answered the door, he didn't give me his usual big grin and firm handshake, his usual, "Hallo, Mister Steve!" Instead he was completely silent and looked at me with the saddest eyes I've ever seen.

"Bernardo - what's wrong?"
"My wife . . . my wife . . . she die on Saturday."

Cynthia was 23.

Everything was fine Saturday morning. Bernardo went to work for a few hours. When he returned, Cynthia was asleep on the living room sofa. Bernardo gently called to her, "wake up," but she didn't move. He went over to shake her a little, and touched her face, and it was cold. She had lain down for a nap.

When the police responded to his 911 call, he was handcuffed and taken to police headquarters for questioning. The apartment was marked off like a crime scene.

By the time Bernardo was released and returned home, his wife's body had been removed and the apartment swept for evidence. In a daze, he called Cynthia's mother in Costa Rica to tell her what happened.

The coroner has ruled out heart or lung problems, and suspects a brain embolism. When the body is released, which may take weeks, Bernardo will accompany it back to Costa Rica for the funeral and burial.

How do you comfort a guy whose culture frowns on hugs and tears between men, unless it's related to a soccer match? Bernardo stood there in his living room with the Southwest-style rental furniture all around him, and demonstrated for me how he gently shook her pillow to wake her before he touched her face. I stared at the sofa. I stared at the immaculate apartment, as stripped of personal objects as a furniture showroom.

I stared at the pile of English language materials that once promised a new and wonderful life in a foreign country for an ambitious and light-hearted couple in love.

But mostly I stared into those sad, sad eyes.