“What’s the Last Judgement?” Leandro asked.
“Don’t you know?” the demon said. “It’s the last day of all life, when God judges men to decide whether they go to heaven or to hell.”
“Where will you go? Heaven or hell?”
“Heaven, most probably. The jangling of our bells is the most beautiful sound in the whole world.”
“I’m not so sure. It’s a devilish sound. It makes me woozy so I don’t even know where I am. I am a good girl, you should know. It’s possible to see the goodness in people’s eyes, and let me tell you that as soon as I hear your jangling noise it makes me want to renounce goodness.”
“Oh come on. Don’t think badly of me. I’m exactly like all boys and girls in the world. You saw me opening this door.”
“The key is so stiff it doesn’t work. Don’t be angry.”
“I opened it, I opened it.” The key turned slightly and the demon spoke in triumph. “There you go, you opened it too!”
Seeing the chicken-spider, Ifigenia pushed everyone except Leandro into the room and locked the door on them.
“I think I’ll leave the tower soon,” she said. “It’s dangerous. There are very strange people appearing all the time, and one doesn’t know how to behave with them. There are supernatural beings who jangle bells, who open all doors with a master key, even though I’ve got that now. Really, it’s impossible to get any sleep here.”
“As long as I watch the door to each room, you’ll be able to sleep soundly. You shouldn’t get angry for silly reasons. Please, don’t threaten to go and leave me all alone.”
“I’m not threatening you, but I have a dog and a cat at home waiting for me. Who’s going to feed them? There’s only me, because no one else loves them like I do.”
“If they loved you, they’d have come with you.”
“They couldn’t come. They would have done if that had been possible.”
“Don’t cry.”
“I’m not crying, but I’ve got a lump in my throat. How do you think people manage not to cry?”
“You take a deep breath.”
“Teach me how.”
“Breathe. Hold your breath. Well, since you asked me, I will draw you a horse.”
Leandro started painting a horse, but Love stopped his hand by putting his little paw on the canvas. Each time Leandro started drawing again, Love used his paws to prevent him from continuing. Ifigenia, impatient, was trying to distract the dog, who kept insisting by putting his little paw on the canvas, where Leandro had only managed to draw the outline of a horse’s ear.
“Never, you’ll never be able to give me a little horse!” Ifigenia cried out. “Love doesn’t love me!”
Leandro, desperate, said to her:
“It doesn’t depend on me.”
“Let’s lock Love in the other room,” Ifigenia suggested.
“I wouldn’t like to do that.”
“Then you don’t love me.”
“I love you a lot, but I don’t want Love to suffer because of that.”
“Just for a minute. In one minute you could do the painting.”
Hearing these words, Love pressed himself against the door, and there was no force or cajoling that could make him move. Leandro used this moment to draw the little horse, but it didn’t look like a little horse, it looked like a marsupial. The horse didn’t move inside the canvas but stayed still, waiting to be called. Because of his tiger-like fur, they called him Tiger. All they had to do was to call his name out loud for him to start moving. He gave a jump and landed softly on the floor, like in a circus. Ifigenia patted his neck and whispered something into his ear, but she didn’t want to get on his back. Leandro said that she should trot around the room.
“I’m scared,” she said.
“It’s not very far to fall.”
“But I’d be scared and I would fall. He is so small. There are no horses this small.”
“Why did you make me draw a little horse, then? If it had been big, you’d have said it was too big to be locked in a room. Now that it’s small you’re scared of it. You’re scared of everything and you are ungrateful. I wasted my time drawing this horse. I’m very busy with a very important portrait I’m trying to do.”
“You can do whatever you want. I don’t need you to look after me.”
“Well, I’m very glad of that, because otherwise we’d end up having a whole zoo in the tower. Next time you would ask me to draw a cat, a rabbit, or who knows what. Who knows if you wouldn’t ask me to draw an elephant or a giraffe or an orangutan.”
“I will go and take Tiger away with me. He will follow me. But he’s not a horse, he’s a marsupial. Can’t you see the belly he has? I hope your portrait comes out all right. Can you say who you are painting?”
“My mother.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Of course she’s pretty, and she’s very good.”
“Will you show me the portrait?”
“If it comes out right.”
“You were very sure earlier that it was going to come out right.”
“Sometimes I’m so scared it won’t that I cry.”
“Scared?”
“Scared that it won’t look like her.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll be fine. Please don’t punish Tiger just because he can’t gallop. Where is the toilet?”
“For who, for Tiger?”
“Not Tiger, me. I want to wash my hands and comb my hair.”
They went into the bathroom with Tiger following them. It was a sky-blue and green room. Three different types of toilet paper were winding down from the sky. There wasn’t any bath, only a shower, held in place by little devils who invited anyone who looked at them to come and try the water, and who poured freezing or boiling water from their mouths. The toilet itself was beautiful, you had to climb a ladder in order to sit at it.
All those things, so shiny and pleasant, ended up disappointing them. They saw the three colored papers that furled down from the sky suddenly become entangled with one another and stop rolling down. When the rolls were touched, even very lightly, the machinery made a very unpleasant screeching noise, and there was no human skill that could grasp a single sheet of paper. The shower, held in place by the lovely devils who invited anyone who looked at them to come and try the water, was almost dangerous. The water was so cold that it turned into stalactites when it fell onto your body, or else so hot that it burned your skin. The picturesque toilet, the one you could only get to by climbing a quaint set of stairs, shook whenever anyone tried to sit comfortably on it. Ifigenia washed her hands in a blue basin, with a tablet of soap that looked like a jewel; she had chosen it from a selection of various soaps exhibited in little baskets, but the light shining from this jewel stained her hands violently red. When she chose the prettiest towel of all the ones on offer, the one with little hands painted on it, and tried to use it to dry her face, she felt the little hands, which had started out by stroking her, start to pinch her, and left her face and her hands greasy. When she finished combing her hair with a musical comb that had really caught her fancy, she noticed that the comb had actually been pulling out her hair.
Ifigenia, who was a very well brought-up girl, did not complain but merely put on her nicest smile and spoke to Leandro:
“Could I go into the kitchen? I’m hungry and thirsty.”
“Hungry, after I painted you so many puddings?”
“Man cannot live by pudding alone.”
They entered the kitchen, where there was a robot that fed anybody who dared to experiment with things they had never tried before. Hanging from the sky like tropical fruits there was an infinite number of desserts; some of them pretended to be clouds of pink and white cream, just hanging in the air; the little pots of ice cream, with a sea painted on the wall for background, had litt
le spoons that acted as oars. The hens waiting to be put into the oven had hats with cherries on them; the capons were turning on a strange mechanism, wearing dinner jackets. There was no beef, or fish; there were lots of greens and lettuce. But all the possible combinations of ingredients that promised a Pantagruelian banquet hid horrible surprises. The desserts were as hard as marble; the tropical fruits were a swarm of flies; the pink and white creams that were trying to be clouds were only painted foam; the hens with the straw hats with cherries on them were impossible to put into the oven or the pot because they pecked viciously at any hand that came close to them: instead of you eating the hen, the hen ate you. The capons in the dinner jackets smoked continuously, and this vice did not allow them to take a break long enough to get cooked; the lettuce was made of paper.
Faced with this, Ifigenia took a pink ice cream, and Tiger took three white ones; one for him, and two for his two sons. Ifigenia said farewell: “I have to go.” She took a couple of dancing steps in midair and, laughing, disappeared through the window.
* * *
—
Leandro sighed. His new task was to draw an automobile. He searched his memory for all the automobiles he had really liked, especially the racing ones. He liked the most modern automobiles, but if he found his mother, then a low-slung car wouldn’t be comfortable for her. He imagined it as being a lustrous green. The beauty of a car consists particularly in its speed; the next most important thing is suspension, or perhaps the liters of naphtha it consumes, or its oil consumption, because life has become very expensive. Last of all we need to consider the power of its motor. He would have to look for the sort of automobile he could take out for little spins. A racing automobile would be a caprice, and the price of automobiles means we shouldn’t be capricious about them. Even if it didn’t cost him anything, he would have to spend money on its upkeep.
While he was drawing it, he felt a little worried. What happened to me with the little horse is a bad experience. Instead of drawing a little horse I drew a marsupial. How could I have got it so wrong? True, there are animals that look like each other, but there was never any likeness between a horse and a kangaroo. I’m scared to draw an automobile that ends up being a lizard. They would be as fast as each other, but who could travel in a lizard?
Leandro started drawing on a piece of paper. He was so quick about it that he grabbed the closest thing to hand: colored pencils. He started with the chassis and the wheels, continued with the hood and the doors. He didn’t forget the color green, the color of hope. His hope increased with each stroke, each line he drew. It wasn’t the first time he had drawn an automobile. After karate class, he used to draw automobiles endlessly. He had also drawn them on the walls with green chalk when he was walking back from school, the same color green as he was now using for his drawing. It is difficult to concentrate; sometimes, one doesn’t concentrate most on what one really wants to concentrate. The drawing was perfect. Leandro thought that he had finished it, but something must have been missing, since it didn’t become real. It’s true that it had no headlights or windshield wipers, no rearview mirror, no tire pump, no jack, no tool kit, no spare tire, no seat belts…Could that be the reason why it didn’t start up? If it wasn’t real, it couldn’t start up. And how could he start it if he didn’t have the keys? How humiliating for a creator not to have foreseen all these problems! He put this task to one side and, disappointed, went to look for the portrait of his mother. Love, who was a guard dog, was next to the portrait. What danger could he be protecting it from? As if he were trying to point something out, Love whined, and gave a little bark. It was his first bark.
* * *
—
With the automobile in front of him and almost finished, he paused before getting in and sitting at the wheel. After checking that none of the keys he had with him fitted the lock, he leaned with his arms on the wheel and put his head into his arms. Anyone would have said that he was crying. Whose sympathy was he fishing for? He was alone. Or were there people gathering on the other side of the door: animals, ophidians, a pretty girl, a devil, a nice boy? Perhaps solitude was the best for what he was intending to do next. And what about the automobile, which he had put so much hope into drawing? Would it disappoint him and transform into a turtle? How would he make the motor run? Where would he get horsepower, h.p.? Why hadn’t I studied mechanics when that chauffeur kept inviting me to work in his garage? My father would have punished me, and in order to avoid a punishment I denied myself the chance of learning what would have saved my automobile. When will I, how will I ever become the owner of an automobile? A real one, not a toy one like all the ones I’ve had up till now? A brilliant idea came into my mind: to draw a mechanic and his toolbox. I grabbed my drawing paper. This time I sat in the driving seat.
He started to draw the mechanic. He did it quickly: he was tall, perhaps too tall, with a little black mustache, long curly hair, penetrating large eyes, and a long oval face, something which contrasted with his eccentric dress. When he finished the drawing, Leandro realized that the mechanic was much too tall.
“Can I be of some assistance? Do you need anything?” asked the mechanic, trying to look less tall than he was.
“My automobile won’t start up. The clutch and the accelerator don’t work.”
“How long have you had this problem?”
“How should I know? I’ve only had this automobile since today.”
“In that case, would you like me to check the motor?”
“Whatever you think best.”
The mechanic opens the hood, checks the motor, but says nothing. He tries to get the automobile to start with a key he has in his pocket, but it’s useless. Suddenly he stops dead.
“What’s wrong?” asked Leandro.
“I just feel faint. Where are the keys?”
Leandro moves away, and with a scrap of paper and a pencil, he leans against the automobile’s door and draws a key. He takes it out of the paper and tries it in the lock.
“What will we do? Don’t you have a little trolley so I can look at it from underneath?”
“There’s one in the next room.”
The mechanic leaves the room and comes back bringing the trolley. When he passes through the door he hits his head on the frame, he stumbles, he reaches the automobile staggering, he slips the trolley underneath the car and lies down on it.
“What’s happening? Did you hit yourself very badly? Do you want me to call a doctor?”
“Call one, yes, call one.”
With great skill, Leandro draws a doctor carrying his doctor’s bag. The doctor asks:
“Anybody hurt?”
“I don’t know,” answers Leandro. “He hit his head and felt faint.”
“Let’s see,” says the doctor. He takes a sphygmomanometer out of his bag. “It’s nothing. Just a fright. A mishap. You’ll feel better soon.”
“I must take the car to the garage and I don’t feel up to it. I feel very faint,” said the mechanic.
“I feel faint, I feel faint…you hardly hit yourself. What would you do in a race?”
“I would drive just like all the others.”
“Not like the others, no. I know someone who drove himself out of a window.”
“How did he do it? Was he Batman?”
“No, just someone who didn’t frighten easily.”
“Well then let’s see, since you say you’re a hero. What are you going to do to get out?”
“We’ll put some pieces of wood at the window, to make a ramp.”
“But don’t you see we’re very high up?”
The mechanic brings some pieces of wood. He gets into the back seat of the car. The doctor sits at the wheel and manages to start the motor.
“I have my own parachute,” explains the doctor.
The car starts up and disappears through the window.
* * *
—
Will they bring my car back? I don’t have the address of either the doctor or the mechanic. I will never forget that car. It was mine and it looked like a car out of a dream. My automobile, the nicest one in all of Buenos Aires. When will I find another one if this one doesn’t come back? If it doesn’t come back…my dog would come back if I whistled for him.
I will write a letter to Ifigenia. How will I send it to her? I suppose everything is possible if you really want it.
My beloved Ifigenia:
In order not to lose it, I am wearing the bracelet I will give to you; the fact that I do this should tell you that since you left I have done nothing else apart from think about your eyes, which are nearly the same color as the bracelet. How empty the world now looks without your words, inside the tower’s loneliness, the silence of its windows. To have known you in such an environment seems to me unreal, like being in a movie. When I move, I feel as if I was in a cartoon, filled with nostalgia. I haven’t eaten any dessert since you left; they all seem the same to me now, with the same icing, with the same consistency, with the same taste. They all taste of tears. Tiger left following you; if it were possible, I would imitate him like a dog. When I am old, if I marry you, I will be the director of a zoological garden, with tame animals, and you will help me to teach them the ABCs for exams. All the exercises they perform will have background music and when they give me back my automobile I will drive you around the world pulling a caravan behind us where we will sleep and eat. In each village we will perform with all the animals. We won’t take a circus tent, since the caravan will be place enough for us to sleep. What do you say to that?
How shall I send you this letter? Many things seem impossible, but they happen if one really wishes them to do so. I will find a way to make this letter reach your hands, even if no carrier pigeons or helicopters appear around here to pick up the post.
The Big Book of Modern Fantasy Page 42