The Dead Man (Gabriel Pérdido) Character Analysis

We splashed around in that cold, clear water like river nymphs, born to swim and bathe till the end of days. It was a magical time, full of dreaminess and charm, a time to watch the mariposas emerge out of their cocoons, gather their courage, and take flight while we floated faceup in the water. And that’s exactly what we were doing the morning the body of a dead man drifted into our swimming haven.

“Don’t you see? There’s a reason we found him instead of the border patrol. He came looking for us because he knew we could help him. It’s not a coincidence that he’s from the same place as Papá.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “You’re not making any sense.”

Juanita continued passionately. “Don’t you get it? We were meant to find him, so we could go see our abuelita in Mexico again. It was fate that brought him to us.”

“You were chosen for the goodness in your heart,” she explained. […] “Your sister was right when she said finding the body of the drowned man was not an accident.”

She took my hand once again, her touch still deathly cold. Standing beside the hackberry shrubs with hundreds of empty desiccated cocoons still clinging to their branches and a carpet of butterfly corpses under her feet, La Llorona did not look anything like a malevolent specter. She looked more like a tired, heavily burdened woman.

“This is about all of you: your sisters, your parents, even your abuela,” La Llorona continued. “You must travel to the other side, into the land of your ancestors, to find each other again.”

“Gabriel was never really here,” Inés continued, in her trance-like voice. “He was always roaming, always wandering. I think some men are just meant for the road. They have no sense of place or belonging, no concept of family. Anyway, he’s home now, finally, and I thank you for that.”

“Who would’ve thought this guy had abandoned his family?” she asked, joining our conversation. “He looked so happy in the picture. I thought for sure they’d be waiting for him.”

“Nothing’s ever the way it seems, is it? I mean look at Papá,” Juanita whispered at no one in particular. She sounded distant, sad.

As apprehension spread into every pore of my being, I did the one thing I could to quiet the guilt in my mind. I turned the radio on. But even with the sound of loud music reverberating through the car, I could still hear my conscience nagging at me. You could have stopped this, all of it, it whispered. This is more your fault than anyone else’s. You’re the eldest. You should have known better.

We splashed around in that cold, clear water like river nymphs, born to swim and bathe till the end of days. It was a magical time, full of dreaminess and charm, a time to watch the mariposas emerge out of their cocoons, gather their courage, and take flight while we floated faceup in the water. And that’s exactly what we were doing the morning the body of a dead man drifted into our swimming haven.

“Don’t you see? There’s a reason we found him instead of the border patrol. He came looking for us because he knew we could help him. It’s not a coincidence that he’s from the same place as Papá.”

“What are you talking about?” I asked. “You’re not making any sense.”

Juanita continued passionately. “Don’t you get it? We were meant to find him, so we could go see our abuelita in Mexico again. It was fate that brought him to us.”

“You were chosen for the goodness in your heart,” she explained. […] “Your sister was right when she said finding the body of the drowned man was not an accident.”

She took my hand once again, her touch still deathly cold. Standing beside the hackberry shrubs with hundreds of empty desiccated cocoons still clinging to their branches and a carpet of butterfly corpses under her feet, La Llorona did not look anything like a malevolent specter. She looked more like a tired, heavily burdened woman.

“This is about all of you: your sisters, your parents, even your abuela,” La Llorona continued. “You must travel to the other side, into the land of your ancestors, to find each other again.”

“Gabriel was never really here,” Inés continued, in her trance-like voice. “He was always roaming, always wandering. I think some men are just meant for the road. They have no sense of place or belonging, no concept of family. Anyway, he’s home now, finally, and I thank you for that.”

“Who would’ve thought this guy had abandoned his family?” she asked, joining our conversation. “He looked so happy in the picture. I thought for sure they’d be waiting for him.”

“Nothing’s ever the way it seems, is it? I mean look at Papá,” Juanita whispered at no one in particular. She sounded distant, sad.

As apprehension spread into every pore of my being, I did the one thing I could to quiet the guilt in my mind. I turned the radio on. But even with the sound of loud music reverberating through the car, I could still hear my conscience nagging at me. You could have stopped this, all of it, it whispered. This is more your fault than anyone else’s. You’re the eldest. You should have known better.