Learning to Swim at Forty

Osvaldo is forty years old, and this year he's going to learn to swim. When he was eight, he fell into a river, and his uncle pulled him out just in time. Since then, he has stayed away from pools, lakes and the sea.

He works until five. At the city pool, the only class for beginners after work is at six in the evening, on Tuesdays and Thursdays. On the first day, Osvaldo walks in and stops. All his classmates are seven years old. They're wearing bright swimming caps, and one boy has goggles with little fish on them.

The teacher, Ms. Paz, just smiles. "Everybody starts somewhere," she says. The children are good at kicking and blowing bubbles. Osvaldo is good at holding the wall. Putting his face in the water is the hardest part. Every time he tries, his chest feels tight, and he comes up coughing.

In the water next to him there's a small girl named Lupita. She never laughs at him. "Don't think about the water," she tells him. "Think about counting. One, two, three, and then you come up."

Six weeks later, on a Tuesday, Ms. Paz says it's floating day. No board, no wall. Osvaldo stands in the shallow end. Lupita holds out her hand. He takes it, breathes in, and puts his face in the water. One, two, three... four... five. When he lifts his head, Lupita isn't holding his hand anymore. He's floating on his own, and everybody is clapping.

On Thursday, after class, Lupita gives him a piece of paper. It's a diploma, and she made it with crayons. There's a blue pool, a yellow sun and a very big man with a very small head. At the bottom, in purple letters, it says: "BEST FLOATER IN THE CLASS. AGE: 40 AND A HALF."