He was not remembering anything.
Neither his name, nor his history, nor the reason why he had appeared in that place.
The only thing that he was understanding was that he had reincarnated in a baby. Perhaps in another world. Possibly one very different to the one he once knew.
Shortly after being picked up by that woman, he began to accept the new reality that was enveloping him.
At that time, his agonizing cries had taken effect. A couple that was passing nearby was moved and picked him up with tenderness.
The following days passed with a maddening slowness.
A week later, his senses began to develop little by little. However, the life of a newborn was far from being exciting.
He was spending the majority of the time lying in an improvised cradle, incapable of moving with purpose.
He was feeling bored and helpless.
He tried to gather information about the new world, but the task resulted arduous and frustrating. He was not even achieving to distinguish the passage of the days and the nights.
The limitations were evident.
He was sleeping almost all the time, like a bear immersed in hibernation. The body of a baby was inefficient in all aspects.
He fought against the constant drowsiness that was assaulting him like a drug, but it was a battle lost from the beginning.
As soon as he was opening the eyes with effort, his eyelids were closing again as if they were weighing tons of lead.
And when he was achieving to remain awake for a few moments, the hunger was attacking him with the violence of a hurricane.
It had no sense to resist.
When the need was becoming unbearable, he resorted to the only method of communication available: he was shouting with all his forces.
The pride and the honor of his previous life had no place in this new reality. To cry had become the only effective means to express his basic needs and ensure his survival.
Despite his unconscious efforts, his adoptive mother had not achieved to sleep adequately since the first day.
He was her only son, and she was facing for the first time the upbringing of a baby. She could not go to the bathroom alone nor sleep more than one hour in a row.
She was maintaining a constant vigilance over him when they were alone in the house. She was covering him every time that his limbs were escaping from the blankets, even if he was sleeping deeply. Every day, she was trying to help him sleep after feeding him and making him burp.
The daily routine of his mother was repeating without rest: feed him, make him burp, help him sleep. Again and again. An endless cycle.
He was pretending to sleep when she was desiring to rest. He could only sleep for a scarce hour when he was simulating a peaceful sleep.
But when the hunger was becoming unsustainable, he was breaking to cry. It was a lament instinctive, primitive.
As always, the response was arriving with rapidity. The warm and comforting voice of his mother was breaking the oppressive silence like a ray of sun that was crossing the darkness.
"Oh, it seems that our baby has hunger again."
Her arms, soft like a blanket in a cold winter night, were enveloping him with gentleness. His crying was ceasing at the instant, like by art of magic.
For what to continue crying and exhaust himself when he had already obtained what he was needing?
To cry was leaving him exhausted. In his state of constant hunger, he was only achieving to feel more weak and vulnerable.
"Hehe, I believe that you recognize mommy," she said with a charming giggle.
How not to recognize her?
Although his body was barely responding to his conscious desires, and his world was remaining as a chaos of blurry shapes and distorted sounds, he had memorized every line and curve of her angelic face.
She had saved him that day. He was owing her everything. He was deeply grateful to her.
A timid smile extended by his lips upon hearing her say "mommy" with so much love.
Despite everything, his mother was maintaining an optimistic attitude. She was speaking to him without ceasing, was telling him stories, was describing the objects she was finding, and was teaching him new words.
It was her way of giving him a little light.
He was knowing it and was responding as he could, with babblings and coos that, although simple, were seeming to fill the heart with joy of his mother.
Each one of her smiles was a reward that was encouraging him to continue trying to communicate.
The language was a challenge. Without clear references, his progress was slow but constant.
Atom had learned basic words like "milk" and "food," essential for his daily survival.
His body was growing, but his capacity to speak was remaining limited. No matter how much he was trying, he could only produce basic sounds.
The helplessness of not being able to express his thoughts was overwhelming him.
One morning, a noise in the exterior startled him. By instinct, he sought the face of his mother. Her warm eyes calmed him.
"You smile every time that you see me," she said to him with tenderness. "Do you like me so much? Am I so beautiful?"
In his consciousness, the words flowed with clarity: Yes, you are. I love you so much.
But his mouth could only produce a childish melody.
"My little one, are you singing?" she asked, amused.
The joy in her face before his attempts at communication was compensating the frustration that he was feeling at not being able to speak.
He wanted to show her his love in all the ways possible, although they were so simple as those inarticulate sounds.
"You are too adorable," she continued, brought the face to his. "Who is so adorable? Yes, you are."
Instead of kissing his lips or cheeks, she found his small feet that were peeking out from under the blanket.
She kissed them with softness, tickled him in a way that he could not avoid enjoying. Then, she hugged him. She was swaying her arms with softness.
His eyes were capturing better the details of the beautiful face of his mother, and his ears were perceiving every small sound around with greater clarity.
"Darling, grow healthy and strong," she murmured looking at him with gentleness. "I love you so much."
Incapable of responding with words, Atom concentrated all his energy in his gaze, was hoping that his eyes were transmitting the message that his mouth could not: I also love you, mommy.
He thought it with such intensity that he was desiring that somehow she could perceive the depth of his feelings.