«No abras los ojos»

«No abras los ojos» is the command Amaia Salazar repeats in her mind while lying in bed, afraid that her mother will come to watch her. The phrase is both a strategy for enduring that nightly terror and a measure of how completely fear has entered the child’s body and perception.

The command and its repetition

The words surface as a mental refrain when Amaia is five. The narration runs them together, repeating them until the command becomes almost breathless on the page. That compressed form gives the reader not a calm recollection but the persistence of a thought Amaia must hold onto: she must not open her eyes, even when she feels her mother approaching.

The command is bound to a particular ordeal. Amaia lies rigid, pretending to sleep, while imagining her mother leaning over her. She believes that even with her eyes closed she will perceive the woman’s approach and the contempt in her face. The repetition therefore does not reassure her that she is safe; it helps her withstand the moment without breaking the rule she fears to disobey.

The bedroom as a place of fear

The scene begins with Amaia awake near dawn, when her ten-year-old sister Rosaura tells her to return to her own bed before their mother finds her. Amaia gets down from the bed and sees the whiteness of her own bed among the shadows. It is not a refuge: she refuses to sleep there because she expects her mother to come and watch her with cold black eyes and a look of profound disdain.

Her fear is described through physical limits as much as through thought. Amaia’s limbs begin to stiffen from holding herself tense, and she fears that her bladder will give way. The refrain accompanies this bodily ordeal, as though keeping her eyes closed were the one action still available to her while she waits for the feared approach.

Sisters, protection, and the threat beneath the refrain

The mother’s threat is made explicit in the words she whispers: "Duerme, pequeña zorra. La ama no te comerá hoy." The assurance that she will not eat Amaia today makes the child’s fear more than a generalized dread of being watched; it gives the refrain its menacing context. Amaia continues to keep her eyes shut even as she imagines the mother drawing near and smiling.

Amaia knows she is less likely to be approached if she sleeps beside her sisters. Each night she begs them for permission, offering promises of service. Flora rarely agrees, and when she does, Amaia owes her servitude the next day. Rosaura is more easily moved when Amaia cries. The contrast shows how the child’s safety depends on pleading for shelter from her sisters, while the repeated command remains a private defense against the mother she fears.