She was crying as she screamed, “Joaquín!”
“Be quiet or I’ll hit you again! You’ll have all the neighbors in here!”
The cats circled around them, their eyes infected with excitement.
Cristina stopped crying and begged:
“I want to see my little brother.”
“I’ve already told you that you’ll see him this afternoon.”
“If you don’t let me see him, I’ll scream until all the neighbors come.”
“Before you do that, I’ll break your teeth and cut out your tongue to make you stop screaming.”
Cristina was terrified by the possibility of losing her tongue. Angustias guessed it, because she repeated it, adding another threat.
“I’ll cut your tongue into bits and then cut out your brother’s.”
“Joaquín is just a little boy!”
“Shut up! You’re going to do what I tell you. You’ll go to work with me, and when we get back, you’ll see him.”
“Who will take care of him?”
“Jesús.”
“Well, let me see him just once before we go.”
“Come,” and she held out a hand. “Wipe off your face with the bedspread.”
Cristina obeyed. Then they went to a room two doors away and Angustias told her to go to the window, but not to let her brother see her, so he would not make a fuss. Cristina saw Joaquín’s back. He was seated on the bed, playing with some paper figures Jesús was cutting out for him with a pair of large scissors. She was going to call him, but Angustias repeated the threat in her ear.
“Remember, I’ll cut out your tongue.”
Angustias took her by the arm and pushed her toward the street.
“If you say anything, anything at all, I’ll go cut out your brother’s tongue right now.”
A woman who was hanging up clothes said to Cristina,
“Don’t go with that crazy old woman, child,” and then, when she saw her closer, “What happened to your face?”
“I fell,” Cristina said, feeling the pressure of Angustias’ fingers on her arm.
By the time they got to the street, Cristina realized how much her nose and mouth were hurting.
13
Cristina burst out crying. Angustias stopped her at a corner and squatted down so she could talk to her looking into her eyes, as she moved her forefinger and middle finger back and forth like scissors.
“You’re going to be quiet, because if you’re not, look.”
Cristina blinked, seeing the movement of her fingers.
“Show me your tongue.”
“No!” She was going to run, but the woman grabbed her with a hand that to Cristina felt like pliers on her arm.
“So you’re going to behave now, aren’t you?”
Trembling, she nodded her head and looked at the ground. A drop of blood from the corner of her mouth made a red stain on her dress, like a confirmation of her fear.
“Now you’re going to take my hand and go where I tell you to, without crying or talking.”
Cristina obeyed. They walked two blocks, Cristina never raising her eyes.
“Do you have any money in that purse?” the woman asked her.
“No.”
“Let me see.”
“I have a hundred pesos.”
“Give them to me.”
Cristina clutched the purse to her chest with both hands, as if she were protecting her heart.
“They’re to buy food for my little brother.”
“Give them to me, or I’ll take them from you.”
Cristina slipped her fingers in the purse like tweezers. She gave the hundred-peso bill to the woman and closed the purse nervously. Angustias showed her gums in laughter.
“Stupid brat. I know you have more money.”
Cristina withdrew again, staring at the ground, and muttered between her teeth, “I hate her!”
They took a bus to a residential neighborhood and got off at a wide street with poplar trees. They walked down the street.
“Look, that’s the church I usually stand outside,” she said, pointing to a cross that seemed to float above the tops of the trees, “but today we’re going to do another little job.”
She took her to a house that looked like a castle with parapets, a fountain in the garden, and bare trees. They sat on the wall at the base of the high grillwork and the woman took a small jug out of her pocket, put two coins in it, and made them jingle whenever someone passed by—which was only sporadically. A woman pushing a fat, rosy baby in a carriage dropped three pennies in the jug and smiled at Cristina.
“And this little girl?”
“She’s my little granddaughter. So sweet, she’s keeping me company,” Angustias said.
“Is she your grandmother?”
Cristina nodded her head.
“What happened to your mouth?”
“I fell.”
“Do you live nearby?”
Cristina nodded again.
“What a pretty baby,” Angustias said, bending over to caress him, but the woman avoided that by pushing the carriage ahead. Then she left, with another smile.
“You did very well,” Angustias said to Cristina. “There are very few people on this street, but you have to be careful anyway. I brought you here so you can help me get into one of the houses.”
“Which one?”
“This one,” Angustias answered, looking out of the corner of her eye at the house behind them. “You can go in between the railings.”
“And if they see me?” and she touched the rusty metal and looked fearfully at the sharp arrows on top.
“They’re not going to see you. When I tell you, you’ll stand on this base, squeeze into the garden, and enter the house through the kitchen door. On a shelf above the stove there are some keys. Bring all of them.”
“Right now?” and Cristina looked at the parapets of the house as if at any moment someone might appear there.
“I’ll tell you when.”
Cristina sat back down on the wall while the woman cut some flowers off the shrubs in the street and put them in her hair. Cristina leaned her head against the railing and closed her eyes.
As soon as she closed her eyes, the dream from the night before continued:
Papá, Mamá, Grandma, and she were on the bank of the river looking sadly at the place where Joaquín had gone under. The rain was covering the water with concentric circles. All four of them were watching, without moving.
“Here, here,” Cristina was saying in a very low voice. In spite of the rain and the sound of the river, she knew Papá, Mamá, and Grandma were hearing her perfectly.
Again she awoke, happy it was only a dream. She longed more than ever to see her brother, give him a big hug, and tell him she was going to take care of him forever and ever. However, even if she could escape, she wouldn’t know how to find him. The woman was still walking around in the shrubs, cutting flowers. Her head was beginning to look like the designs Joaquín drew in school. It would have amused him a lot to see her, Cristina thought. Then, looking up at the sky, “Where are you, my little brother, where are you?” although she knew where he was and was sure nothing bad was happening to him. In a low voice, she said, “I’ll be with you soon,” while she clenched her teeth and frowned, as if sending a signal.
Angustias came back and gave her a flower, which Cristina put in her hair, too.
“My pretty little girl,” Angustias said with eyes that had softened. “Precious.”
14
A woman came out of the house, smiled at the old woman, and dropped a coin in the small jar.
Angustias watched her walk away and turn the corner, “Now,” she said.
She made sure no one was coming and told Cristina to squeeze into the garden, go in through the kitchen door at the back of the house, find the key ring near the stove that she had told her about, and bring it quickly.
“How do you know about it?” Cristina asked, again beginning t
o feel fear in the pit of her stomach.
“I worked there for ten years.”
Cristina ran through the garden, afraid of falling at every moment, imagining that the crackling of the dry leaves she was stepping on would betray her. And if a dog should come out? Or a man with a gun? They could take her to jail and from there notify her parents. She went past the stone fountain and walked slowly when she came to a narrow passageway—between a high wall covered with vines on one side and the side of the house on the other—which took her to the back patio, with its pirul trees and bare shrubs. She stayed close to the wall until she reached the screen door. What would happen if she opened it? Would there be a man waiting for her with a knife, ready to strike? And what was she doing there in that unfamiliar house? A terrifying image crossed her mind: that it was all a trick and her parents were inside (Papá with arms akimbo, and Mamá carrying Joaquín). She saw them outlined against the light without seeing their features . . . But that was absurd. They couldn’t be there, and she had better make up her mind to go on in.
She took the key ring off the panel behind the stove and in a moment was back, dizzy and breathless, more from the fantasies than from the running. She passed the keys through the railing and waited for Angustias to enter. She had trouble with the keys, and Cristina kept jumping around and saying between her teeth, hurry, hurry up. She became even more uneasy when Angustias, as she entered the garden, stumbled on the edge of the tile walk that led to the main door, and Cristina had to help her get up and even hold her up because she was limping and, between moans, pointing to her beet-colored knee with its knotty veins so swollen they were about to burst.
In the house Angustias fell on a large couch covered with red silk and put her hurt knee and foot on the edge of the seat. As Cristina was walking around, very worried, someone would hear them, catch them, a policeman or Papá, and she almost knocked over a cut-glass flower bowl on a table in the middle of the room.
Angustias waved her bony hands over her injury and told Cristina to get some alcohol from the bathroom.
“They’re going to put us in jail!”
“Be quiet, you wretched brat! The woman will be gone for a half hour, or longer if she’s seeing her boyfriend. Go to the bathroom for some alcohol.” She shook her fist.
“Where?” Angustias’ threats immediately had the desired effect on the girl.
“Upstairs. Go look for it.”
Cristina was looking at things as if she didn’t believe them, as if she knew that when she remembered them, she wasn’t going to believe them: the glass cabinet with small porcelain figures—why so many ducks?—the clock with a pendulum that was like a tired heart, the family pictures in gold frames, the tapestries on the stairs—whose house was it? And what were they going to steal? Before going up the last step, she stopped, stroked the handrail, and looked back at Angustias fussing over her injured knee; the windows with the curtains open so anyone passing on the street could see them . . . Her fear was like lead in her feet, keeping her from moving forward. Who was up there? There was no one who would defend her. She swallowed hard and began saying the Ave Maria. She went down a few steps to look into the dining room at the bronze fruit bowl with grapes, like a sun in the middle of the table.
Angustias suddenly appeared and yelled at her. “Bring the alcohol right now, you little fool!”
“I’m going to get some grapes. I haven’t had any breakfast.”
The look that hit her was enough to make her run upstairs.
But on the floor above, as she went near the first door, she heard a voice . . . A voice? She stopped with her legs rigid and a hand stretched out, like in a game of statues. Then there was someone. She dared to bend her neck closer and heard more clearly: “We-we-well . . . no-no-now . . .” It was a guttural, opaque voice, as if coming from someone speaking out of the depths of a cave.
She stumbled down the stairs, hardly able to talk by the time she reached Angustias.
“Someone . . . up there . . . I heard . . .”
Cristina could endure no more and started to cry. Angustias looked upstairs with an annoyed expression, but said mildly,
“All right, we’ll go up together.”
15
Going up, Cristina could not resist the desire to hold her hand, but since Angustias rejected her, she had to content herself with hanging onto her skirt. A Santa Teresa in a flowery frame looked at her with sympathetic eyes, as if caressing her.
“Poor Doña Luz,” Angustias was telling her, “I know her very well. She’s got time all mixed up. She thinks what happened yesterday is happening today and what’s happening today happened yesterday. Her daughter committed suicide twenty years ago, and if you ask her, she’ll say she has just seen her.”
Angustias calmly opened the door where Cristina had heard the voice. The man with the knife held ready, the police, Papá . . .
“It’s been so many years since I was in here,” Angustias said.
Cristina held back, leaning against the doorway, and from there she saw the elderly lady in the brass bed, among lace pillowcases, wearing a cap and a shawl around her shoulders.
“Good evening, Doña Luz. It’s Angustias,” she said, sitting at the foot of the bed.
“Ah, Angustias.” She opened her mouth so wide her jaw seemed to come loose and looked around with her eyes unfocused.
“Pretty soon I’ll bring your supper.”
“Yes, Angustias, yes.”
“But first I want to introduce my little granddaughter,” and she motioned to Cristina to come close.
Cristina walked as if before an altar. She was terrified of the old lady’s hands, almost transparent on the edge of the sheet. And she felt even more terror when one of those hands raised up to find her and pat her.
“Her name is Cristina.”
“A pretty girl.”
When she felt the old lady’s hand, it seemed to Cristina that a fish was grazing her cheek.
“Give Doña Luz a kiss, child.”
Cristina leaned over the bed to kiss her forehead. She was revolted by the wrinkled skin, the watery, yellow eyes without eyelashes that seemed to look through things, and the vague smile.
“Did your daughter come, Doña Luz?” Angustias asked in a tone that suggested a trick.
“Yes, Luisita.”
“Luisita, of course. Is she well?”
“Fine. With Tubby.”
“Tubby. What a handsome boy. By now he’s very big.”
“Ve-very big.” Her eyes were searching, as if she were talking with a shadow.
Cristina saw herself in the mirror on the wardrobe and again felt a slight dizziness. Was that herself? Standing there with her hands clasped over her stomach, near an ancient-looking bed where two old women were talking and remembering, their reflection seeming to fade away?
Yes, herself, there.
“Well, Doña Luz, I’m going to get your supper.”
“Yes, Angustias, yes.”
“A little atole?”
“Yes.”
“I’m also going to put some alcohol on my scratch. Look.”
“Ugh, ugly.”
“I did it down below in your garden.”
“Io-iodine.”
“Yes, later. Right now I’ll just put some alcohol on it. Cristina will stay with you.”
Cristina’s thumbs drummed rapidly on her stomach. She looked with pleading eyes at Angustias, who reinforced her order with only a nod of her head as she went out.
They were silent, although Doña Luz kept looking at her and smiling.
“In the wardrobe,” Doña Luz said after a few moments.
Cristina remained quiet, turning up her hands in question.
“There,” Doña Luz said with a movement of her chin toward the wardrobe.
“Should I open it?”
“Yes, yes.” Her smile grew wider, and a small gleam crossed her eyes.
Cristina obeyed. She had the feeling she was opening a casket, and she
looked at the row of old dresses as if they were ghosts.
“Up above.”
Cristina looked at the shelf in the upper part of the wardrobe.
“In that box?”
“Yes, yes.”
She had to stand on a chair. Lips trembling, Doña Luz watched her movements.
Cristina brought the box down. The dust made her cough. She opened it with the fear she’d had on entering the room, as if inside she might find something beyond imagining. Even though the old lady’s smile and even her confusion were gaining ground, Cristina’s confidence was growing. She put the lid on the floor carefully, as if it could disintegrate, and lifted the tissue paper. Inside were a straw hat with a veil, a notebook with blue covers, some peacock feathers, a photograph album, and a doll.
“How lovely!” she said, picking it up with both hands as if it were a baby. It had a muslin dress with lace on the sleeves and at the neck; rosy cheeks that contrasted with the pallor of the rest of the face; and curly, blonde hair.
“She’s very beautiful.” Cristina added.
“Beautiful, yes.”
Turning, she saw Doña Luz was weeping. Cristina’s smile evaporated and she put the doll on her shoulder, as if the movement might have hurt her and stimulated the old lady’s crying.
“It’s yo-yours.” Doña Luz said from within her tears.
“Mine?” The smile reappeared, covering her face.
She hugged the doll firmly, and looked at her as if questioning her.
“Oh, how wonderful!” she added.
“The pictures.”
“Would you like to see the pictures?”
Cristina felt obliged to do whatever she wished. She left the doll on a wicker rocking chair and went to get the album. Doña Luz took the album with a sigh, put it in her lap, and untied the blue ribbon. Emotion increased the trembling of her lips, pushing out her lower lip. Cristina felt her fright fading at last, giving way to a sad, salty tenderness that burned in her eyes like the dust from the wardrobe.
Lost in the City: Tree of Desire and Serafin Page 5