Lina

by Diane Baumer

  The doorbell avoided a further argument. It was the catering service delivering the food. Poor old folks – now he’ll begin to inspect everything and complain. Luckily enough, I listened to Belén, so meals are no longer prepared at home. Lina smiled to herself as she remembered her friend’s words – “His Ignoble Highness always has to get the very best so he doesn’t feel he’s a second-class kept guy.” Belén did not understand why he was living there yet he did not take care of a single expense.

  I don’t want to quarrel with him over money. That makes me feel miserable.

  While François was harassing the caterer, she began to sweep the floor clear of glass. The Belgian stole a glance at her, hardly able to believe his eyes.

  “Why are you doing this? I can’t understand a thing. Why are you hiring cleaning ladies?”

  Lina ignored him to avoid arguing in front of other people.

  Hadn’t it been for Belén coming... What a kind-hearted, loyal person! Despite her animosity toward François, my friend is always by my side in parties – she refuses to leave me to my fate or, rather, to misfortune. I get sad whenever I think of the time when we got angry with each other because of him. She had referred to François as a “bird of prey,” “predator,” and God knows what other awful stuff. I shouted at her and asked her to leave and stop behaving like the sister I had never wanted or needed. I was so ungrateful! Who was that monster speaking in my behalf? I had never been like that to anyone. She really set me off. Belén still thinks that François approached me out of self-interest. It’s kind of offensive. Why wouldn’t he just have fallen in love with me? I may doubt him, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt to be told certain things by others. As usual, it was up to Belén to make the first move. One afternoon, she came asking for forgiveness. I know my friend wasn’t sorry – she just apologized because she loves me. I don’t deserve her. I never deserved being her friend.

  Belén came to the party on her own. Her plain red-and-white dress made her brown eyes look lively. The pianist, who was dressing for deep mourning, approached her.

  “Welcome. I couldn’t wait to see you!”

  “I'm glad to be here, too.”

  “You look gorgeous. That haircut suits you.”

  “Thank you. My dear Lina, it’s such a lovely day. Wearing a black dress suits neither the dead nor the living. It’s just too warm. Please...”

  “I’m not in the mood... If only I knew where Tuna is buried…”

  Belén led her to the room.

  “We’ll look for other clothes, still dark but cooler – is that okay? In that outfit, you’re going to pass out. By the way, here you are.”

  She handed her a wrapped package. Lina knew it was a book. Her friend would take every opportunity to bring her one. Lately, Lina had the feeling that Belén might have been dropping hints for her through the texts she chose.

  The Book of the City of Ladies9, by Christine de Pisan.

  As her friend was rummaging in the closet, she read aloud a paragraph that Belén had pointed out.

  “‘Like a gushing fountain, a series of authorities, whom I recalled one after another, came to mind, along with their opinions on this topic. And I finally decided that God formed a vile creature when He made woman, and I wondered how such a worthy artisan could have designed to make such an abominable work which, from what they say, is the vessel as well as the refuge and abode of every evil and vice. As I was thinking this, a great unhappiness and sadness welled up in my heart, for I detested myself and the entire feminine sex, as though we were monstrosities in nature, and in my lament I spoke these words:

  ‘Oh God, how can this be? For unless I stray from my faith, I must never doubt that Your infinite wisdom and most perfect goodness ever created anything which was not good. Did You Yourself not create woman in a very special way and since that time did You not give her all those inclinations which it please You for her to have? And how could it be that You could go wrong in anything? Yet look at all these accusations which have been judged, decided, and concluded against women. I do not know how to understand this repugnance.’”

  Belén turned around with her arms bent and a mischievous smile.

  “You need to take a daily dose of this book. Let’s see if you’re lucky and it kicks in,” she said in amusement.

  Triumphantly, the physicist showed her a gauzy dress.

  “This one is very beautiful.”

  “It is a see-through one.”

  “So what? You have a nice body.”

  “Shut up, please. I hate my body. I feel ridiculous trying to disguise how homely I am.”

  “Your features are harmonious, plus you have a great, delicate, elegant shape. You shouldn’t make yourself ugly until you understand how inventive your mind is. I wish you ever listened to me...”

  “I always do.”

  “However, you never seem to take my advice seriously.”

  Lina, who was a master at the art of switching gears, asked after Sergio, her friend’s husband.

  “He wasn’t able to make it.”

  “What a shame – I haven’t seen him in a while.”

  “Neither have I.”

  Her saddened tone worried Lina.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes, everything is alright. It’s just that he is overworked and barely has time for worldly pleasures,” she said, downplaying the whole situation.

  I shouldn’t lie, though my friend lately seems so downcast and nervous that I wouldn’t like to sadden her any more with my separation details. I’ll find the right time to tell her the truth. She already has her fill of worry with that greedy man. I hope he isn’t putting her through too much trouble. The Belgian appears to be a rogue guy.

  François approached smiling.

  “Lina, could you please come with me? Chuso would like to meet you.”

  “Who?”

  “Chuso Mínguez, my friend. The movie director! The horror movie one! You’re going to adore him. He is so funny! Keep him entertained, Miss piano lady. François has some business with the Mexicans. You should play something for them later, will you? I promised them.”

  “I already told you I don’t like playing the piano at parties. Forget about it.”

  “Come on... Be a good girl, please. After that, I’ll play your body as well. You excite me in that sexy dress.”

  Lina wondered if he had said that just to get her to play.

  François led Lina and Belén to the group of youngsters where Chuso Mínguez stood. Once everyone was introduced, he went on to talk with two Mexican guests.

  There was no need to insist so the movie director would reveal the plot of his upcoming movie.

  “The lead is the drummer in the orchestra. François came up with the idea,” he said, looking at Lina.

  An aspiring actress sighed.

  “Drummers are so primitive and sexy...”

  Before resuming the plot, the director explained that he had written it to gather merit in the hope that he would eventually be awarded a grant by the Department of Culture.

  “The drummer unintentionally happens to run over a butcher who has become infected with a dangerous virus that affects the nervous system – he came into contact with a piece of meat from his store.

  At first, the musician, afraid of being tested for alcohol, flees leaving him unassisted – he abandons the other man lying on the road.”

  “That was uncivilized!” the prospective actress exclaimed.

  “Yes, indeed. I want to instill values showing the harmful outcomes of alcohol.”

  “Are you really telling us that with a glass of whiskey in your hand?” Belén asked, prompting those present to laugh.

  Chuso was determined to apply for a grant at the Department of Traffic. He had a good connection there.

  Then, the drumme
r regretted his despicable act.

  “He returns to assist the butcher and gives him some mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Even so, the other man dies and becomes a zombie. Now, what follows is kinda shocking, huh? I’m forewarning you guys. You’ll see – you’re now going to see what a privileged mind like mine can imagine,” he said with sparkling eyes pushed forward by the intelligence he had left over after his work.

  Someone thought that the symbolic parallel drawn between both characters was a flash of genius. The drummer would make his drumsticks go bang; the butcher, in turn, would be doing the same thing with his knife.

  Belén whispered to Lina.

  “Claiming that he intended to avoid further cases of hearing impairment in music-loving drummers, he then applies for a grant from the Department of Health.”

  Lina saw François gesturing to two stunning girls to join him and the Mexicans. And then he goes around saying I turn him on? I look like a nun in comparison. He makes me so angry when he uses women to hunt investors... It’s certainly despicable. Well, let those girls play the piano today – no way I’m doing that myself.

  A couple of people joined in the moviemaker’s group, so he went back over the whole story. Belén gently pinched her friend. Listening to that once was certainly a punishment, twice being a real act of masochism.

  The plot then went on to focus on the musician, infected, murdering the orchestra members one after the other. Chuso stressed a relevant detail. The lead would be driving a Bentley Continental GTC.

  “I bet that was also François’ idea,” Lina said.

  Belén was not able to refrain from sharing her particular platonic version of the story.

  “A group of men, life-long prisoners held inside a Bentley convertible, decide to spend the rest of their lives in the vehicle, with their seatbelts fastened – they didn’t believe they could get out and touch, smell, and taste the reality they see.”

  “At least, they’re trapped in a flashy car,” the budding actress sighed.

  “You should have an open mind to understand what comes up next,” Chuso warned.

  “A burst-open one – by a butcher’s knife,” Belén murmured.

  Lina saw François leaving the two Mexicans in the company of the two beauties and approaching a couple. She was Mercedes de Arellanos, a middle-aged contemporary art collector and one of his best clients. The man in a wheelchair beside the woman was Lord Nottingham, her husband, who was already in his eighties. The three of them approached. Mercedes was interested in meeting Chuso Mínguez. She used to find his movies extremely amusing.

  “Those are not comedies, though,” he said seriously.

  “That’s why they’re so funny. You always take bizarre things to heart, don’t you?” Mercedes said with her distinctive joy.

  The collector made him start over and retell the story – not for anything in the world would she miss it. As her British husband did not understand a word of Spanish, they had no choice but to pause every now and then to translate it, which could be regarded as yet another repetition. Belén held on to her friend, who was crying with laughter.

  “I can’t understand how being trapped inside a black hole feels – though being trapped in a never-ending story is worse, that’s for sure.”

  Finally, they moved forward slightly.

  “The girl that plays the oboe in the orchestra is murdered. Her husband, a police inspector, swears before her darling’s body that he’ll find the murderer. The butcher’s wife goes to the police station to report her husband’s disappearance, only to find out that the inspector was her first love, the man she’s been in love with all her life. He, who has been infected and blinded by the virus, takes her for a prostitute that cooperates with the police in every way possible. The butcher’s spouse conceals her identity and has sex with her platonic lover, not feeling inhibited due to the education she received. She catches the disease and both die, just like in the Titanic movie, except that here she kicks the bucket as she clings to the ironing board during intercourse.”

  The actress-to-be let out a moan as she pictured herself starring in the scene.

  The director came up with something to contribute.

  “I think I’ll include some hardcore high-voltage sex. In her role as a fake prostitute, she’ll do anything for love.”

  François nodded in annoyance.

  “Please don’t do that. Kids do certainly need better models.”

  “It’s a damn adult movie,” the director clarified.

  “Adults that have kids. That means they’re in charge of raising them. I don’t like all that crap.”

  “You’re a little too preachy to be the appealing man you are, François,” one of the girls said.

  “So, how do the drummer and the butcher end up?” someone asked.

  “The butcher cuts off the drummer’s hands using his knife and, after gobbling those down, sets him on fire in the convertible – and then becomes a vegetarian.”

  “Gross!”

  “I’d rather call it metaphorical.”

  “That may well be Judeo-Christian with a Jainism-like touch…”

  “Be careful about what you write ’cause that just might come true,” a guest warned jokingly.

  Two girls approached Lina. They wanted to have her autograph for their parents.

  “Thank you for having us at your place, Miss Maldonado. It is very beautiful. We were so excited when François asked us to come.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “In fact, we don’t know him much. We are hostesses at the art fair.”

  “My mother showed me a recording of your concert. She says you are one of the best pianists in the world. I don’t usually listen to classical music, but when I heard you I got goosebumps.”

  “Thank you.”

  “I just barely know Für Elisa.”

  “Actually, I have a funny anecdote about that. One day, a woman approached me with her daughter, a piano student, to get my autograph, and the kid asked me why Beethoven had given that title to the piece. I replied to her, ‘That is simply a dedication.’ But the girl insisted, ‘No, I mean, why would he love so much Elisa’s fur? Was that his dog’s name?’”

  As they were laughing, Lina stopped to look at François worriedly. She had overheard parts of his conversation with Mercedes and Lord Nottingham. The couple had warned the Belgian to be extremely careful when it came to dealing with the Mexican agents. Mercedes had a bad feeling about those two. That stank of money laundering and drug dealing.

  François Remy suggested that everyone go to the study. Lina begged him with her eyes not to do it. The last straw was when he snapped his fingers at her in an attempt to give her an order. Well, this has now gone too far – I’m definitely not going to play. She shook her head angrily and turned around taking Belén’s arm.

  “Let’s go somewhere else. I’m sick of him exhibiting me. This time I’m not giving in. Since he told me about the party, I forewarned him of my not playing. It really gets on my nerves when he doesn’t respect my choices... Plus, did you see the kind of people he invites home? Offenders, girls he doesn’t even know...”

  She heard François excusing her as he made up a story about her having a tendinitis on her right hand.

  “Look how speedy he was in working it all out. Now you’ll see... He’ll make me pay for that. François is very vengeful. He will fool around to torment me. Would a man in love do this sort of things? Why?”

  “The right question is why you’re putting up with it.”

  No sooner said than done, François began to flirt with one of the girls to pester her.

  “Look, I told you. Now he is trying to humiliate me in public. I don’t want to be here anymore. Do you mind if I go to bed for a while?”

  “Quite the opposite. I want to go home – I’m tired.”

 
Safe in bed, Lina covered her ears with the pillow. Even so, the murmuring and laughter of the guests bounced inside her head. I urgently need a tranquilizer. She went to get some water. The glass slipped out of her hand and shattered. He will now remind me of how clumsy my hands are for certain things, and blah, blah, blah. Belén is right. I am a fool to put up with it. She was feeling so nervous that she lost her balance while bending over. Damn! Damn it! This is just too awful… A piece of glass just got stuck in my right hand. Lina wrapped her hand in a handkerchief to stop the bleeding. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to have to listen to, see, or imagine any more…

  She left the house and took the car, not saying anything to anyone.

  Cinnamon was probably around two years old. Brother Pedro often wondered if God had sent him to test the patience of them all. The unruly dog had been with the friars since it was a puppy. Apparently, some heartless person had decided to get rid of the animal by abandoning it on the road. Brother Bartolo, no one can tell how, had spotted the canine in the distance. Since then, there was a rumor around the monastery about the friar being nearsighted only for people, plants, and objects, not for dogs, which he was able to distinguish from a mile away. That was the story about how Cinnamon had joined the brotherhood.

  Like every single afternoon at the same time, Brother Lucas stopped in front of the dog, looking into his eyes with a knowing smile. Cinnamon was paralyzed, attentive, expectant... The friar made a slight movement, which he ceased as soon as he saw he was being imitated. The animal held its breath. The Mexican slowly vocalized a magic word – w-a-l-k. He had still not finished articulating it when his four-legged friend began to bark and jump around him. The young friar opened the door and the two of them went for a stroll in the mountains.

  Being a prisoner of her own nerves and tears, Lina barely managed to distinguish the curves along the road. She had been driving aimlessly for over an hour. The blood was completely soaking her handkerchief and started dripping. Cold sweat ripped through her body. When she made a turn, the sun struck her eyes and left her dazzled.