Consuela and Sean

Consuela and Sean Through the nursery glass Carlos Montero peeks at Consuela, his twelfth, in the arms of a nurse. Blood from the uterus bright in black hair, Consuela is raw, bawling. The nurse takes Consuela away to be washed as Carlos digs deeps in his denims, locks elbows, gleams, turns to me. I feel odd in a suit and a tie as I wait to see Sean, our first. When the nurse brings Sean to the window, Carlos Montero swings me around, swipes a bullfighter’s pass, throws his arms in the air and shouts, “Ole!” Suddenly I am as happy as he. Donal Mahoney