A Dead Man's Travail

by Susana Pagano

  ⎯ I don’t need you to tell me how to deal with this, Señor. It will be at least another ten hours before the señora is ready to deliver.

  ⎯ I’m warning you, don’t make this hard for me ⎯ you don’t know what I’m capable of.

  At that stage another doctor arrived, this time a real one. He was furious when he found out how I’d been treated. He said I should have had the baby at least nine hours ago, and he started to sort things out immediately. My cervix wasn’t dilating; it was so, so tight it just didn’t want to give. They did a caesarean but it was too late, Ernestina had already suffered some sort of brain damage ‘cause she was left too long inside. Because of that she still thinks they are gonna imprison her again in some dark room with no air and she’s not gonna be able to breathe.

  11

  Yellow suits you, son, but not egg yolk yellow, more of a canary yellow. That’s what you’ll look like, a little canary with cute waddle and the voice of an angel.

  ⎯ I don’t like canaries, Mamá, I prefer swans. So I’m going to buy the white one because I want to look like a princess, not a canary.

  ⎯ You’re right, sweetheart, you’re absolutely right. ⎯ Valeria holds the frilly white dress up against her son, Valerio⎯ . It suits you perfectly, my son, you look gorgeous.

  ⎯ Boys is on the other side, Señora, next to the stairs, says the shop assistant, a woman the size and shape of those old wardrobes, with tired doggy eyes and fleshy cheeks.

  ⎯ Did I happen to ask you where the boys’ department was? asks Señora Valeria as she continues to examine at the white dress closely.

  ⎯ You can’t buy a girls’ dress for your little boy, Señora.

  ⎯ Are you married, Señorita?

  The woman-wardrobe stares at her taken aback and, without really meaning to, she shakes her head just slightly.

  ⎯ I thought so. Valerio, my sweet, look at the beautiful embroidery on this one, try it on.

  ⎯ Ay, Mamacita, just look at this other one. Which one do you think the Prince of Orange would like best?

  ⎯ It doesn’t really matter which, son. He’s dying to rattle your bones anyway.

  Mother and son both giggle knowingly. The assistant looks at them horrified and rips the dresses out of their hands.

  ⎯ You’re perverts, she exclaims, utterly astonished.

  ⎯ Look, Señorita, says Señora Valeria grabbing the dresses off her again, it’s not my problem that you are an old spinster, but aren’t you ashamed of acting like a fish wife to your customers?

  ⎯ El Puerto de Liverpool is a store that caters for people with class.

  ⎯ What? Do they pay you for the cheap jingles too?

  ⎯ Have a little respect, Señora.

  ⎯ Well, you started it.

  ⎯ I’m calling the manager.

  ⎯ He’s taking his time. Ay! Vale, come here and look at these divine skirts.

  ⎯ I prefer dresses, Mamá, dresses accentuate my curves better than skirts do.

  ⎯ God help me! ⎯ The woman-wardrobe is about to scream and withdraws in horror.

  ⎯ Are you sure, Vale?

  ⎯ It’s just that if I wear a dress I’d have to use a corset and they’re not in fashion any more.

  ⎯ It’s a disgrace, an absolute disgrace.

  ⎯ Can you imagine, Mamá, when we buy my wedding dress?

  ⎯ Ay, son, I’ll go crazy, I won’t know which one to choose!

  ⎯ You’re forgetting that I’ll be the one to choose.

  ⎯ Yes, but you’re going to ask my opinion, aren’t you, sweetheart?

  ⎯ Of course I am, Mamacita, your opinion is very important to me.

  The shop assistant comes arrives back with the manager, practically dragging him along by the arm. The woman-wardrobe is almost in tears as she waves her arms around, complaining to the manager, whose face is solemn and deathly pale.

  ⎯ Good afternoon, Señora.

  ⎯ ‘Afternoon.

  ⎯ It seems you have got the wrong department, boys is ...

  ⎯ ...over there, by the stairs. Yes, Señorita Sweetness Herself was kind enough to show me.

  Señora Valeria doesn’t bother to look up as she continues to browse through the dresses, taking three more off their hangers and putting them to one side. – What about a pale pink one like this?

  ⎯ Maybe, it’s nice too. But I’ve already decided on this one and the one with the embroidery on the sleeves and the one with the lace on the collar.

  ⎯ And the pink one too. You must have it.

  ⎯ I don’t think you quite understand, Señora...

  ⎯ It seems to me, Señor Manager, that you’re the one that doesn’t understand. ⎯ Valeria looks as if she’s about to spit the dummy. The manager takes a step back and behind his thick glasses his pupils are dilated.- If I wanted to buy boys’ clothing, do you think I’d be here? Do you think I’m stupid? Listen, my dear fellow, you have no idea who you are dealing with. I buy thousands of dollars worth of merchandise here every month, you hear? Thousands. I don’t go to Paris to do my shopping because I hate flying. Why else would I bother to buy this rubbish? And just so you know, my husband is a major shareholder in stores like El Palacio de Hierro, El Puerto de Liverpool, Paris Londres and who knows how many others I haven’t even bothered to find out the names of. If I wanted to, it would take nothing at all, you understand, nothing, to have you and this old spinster here out on the street? So you’d better mind your own business. Now, you’d better tell me how much these five dresses are, unless you want me to go away without paying and for them to charge you instead; oh, and take that cadaveric look off your face, it depresses me.

  The manager and the shop assistant retreat as if they were avoiding the plague. Hands trembling and sweaty, they do one bill, make a mistake, tear it up, do another one and eventually hand the bill for the five dresses to Señora Valeria.

  Happy with their purchases, Valeria and her son leave El Puerto de Liverpool.

  ⎯ Is it really true, Mamá?

  ⎯ Ay, son, of course not, the thing is, you have to show this bad-mannered riff raff who’s the boss.

  ⎯ So, Papá doesn’t own all those stores?

  ⎯ If he owned all of those shares, son, we wouldn’t be paying rent. When you get married, use your head, chose a man for his financial attributes, not his good looks, ‘cause good looks you lose sooner or later.

  12

  My name is Jaime Cocinero at your service - and God’s. The last time I saw Lolo Manón alive was before I went to Quiroga about a month ago. I went to see my mamá ‘cause she was dying, again. The poor thing has been dying for years, according to her. I had to go straight away, ’cause when your mamá gets it into her head that she’s going to die, there isn’t much else you can do. Once I got there I realised that, as usual, it wasn’t such a big deal; thing is, she narrowly escaped death once before. You see, when I was little, Mamá got a very rare condition and the doctors didn’t give her long to live. For two months until she recovered, Papá didn’t leave her side even for a minute – he was terrified of losing her. She didn’t die, but she got into the habit of dying just to keep Papá tied to her apron strings. She’d say he didn’t care about her; that he was going around with other women; that he didn’t give her housekeeping money; that she was tired of being his dim-witted wife; and on and on about everything. On the other hand, how could he be expected to pay much attention to her if she kept getting herself pregnant all the time? Correct me if I’m wrong, but as a man I reckon a woman should always be pretty and dress nicely for her husband, be clean, in a good mood and all that. Instead of that, suddenly they get frumpy and fat. So when she realised that my Papá had stopped paying attention to her, she started doing the sickness thing, and time and again we’d think she was dying. That was forty something years ago and, as you can see, she’s as alive as you or me. My papá died first, would you believe it?

  I spent almost a month back at the pueblo ‘cause on the day I was about to
leave Mamá decided that this time it was “the real thing”. She’d get a little better, then as soon as I’d mention going back to Mexico City, once again, wouldn’t you know it, she’d have a relapse. Eventually I just grabbed her hands and said:

  ⎯ I’m going, Mamacita, so if you’re gonna die, get it over with, ‘cause if I don’t go back now, the store’s gonna go broke.

  ⎯ Off you go then, son, God bless.

  And that’s when I came back and she didn’t die or anything. You wouldn’t believe it, would you, my neighbour, Lolo Manón, dying first? He didn’t waste any time, he kicked the whole bucket and spade right over the fence.

  13

  It’s as if Natalia were having a bad dream, or she’s eaten some magic potion that made her have visions with the spirits of the afterlife. Her pain is intense. It could be a stomach bug but she hasn’t eaten anything bad, in fact she didn’t even have supper because after the big row she lost her appetite, became apathetic and could see no reason to continue her existence on this earth. Could be the bump I got on my head. It must be that because I’m feeling dizzy. I have a stomach ache, a really bad one. Natalia Madera de Manón tries to sit on bed, but loses her balance and ends up on the floor. Her pregnancy hasn’t begun to show, so she is still quite agile; she doesn’t fall face down, but lands on her backside instead. Anyway, it’s too late now; the hands of the clock have stopped for the life that was forming inside her, the life that has preferred to detach itself before it’s too late. The child-foetus has not withstood even the first blow, the first assault against its being, and has decided to go someplace else, somewhere more pleasant where there are no grumpy fathers or submissive mothers. Where would that place be? Natalia asks herself. Where are you going, little one? But the child-foetus doesn’t answer; it has begun its journey and is in a hurry. Natalia remains where she fell on the floor, legs spread, leaving the door open for her child who asks for its freedom. I won’t cry, I’ll just wait here for death. Take me with you, child, be kind to me. There are shouts and anxious voices. Someone else is in the room but Natalia doesn’t care; it doesn’t matter whether it’s God or the devil. She hears Lolo’s voice but she is so dazed she can’t make out a word he is saying. He must be swearing at me as usual. Then there are other voices and lots of shouting. Can’t they keep quiet? They going to make me more confused than I already am with so much screaming. It’s doesn’t matter, take me where there is no light, nor darkness, where neither I nor my kids exist. The voices have stopped and Natalia feels how the silence enters the depth of her being. How lovely is silence, I shall stay like this for the rest of my life ...or death.

  14

  Lolo and me grew up together. Our mamás were sisters and got on very well, so they always had us in the same play pen, the same house, in the same garden and even the same push chair; well, I imagine that’s how it was ‘cause I can’t really remember. But I do remember that we used to go everywhere together when we were little kids. We went to the same school, were in the same year and the same classroom; we spent holidays in the same pueblo and slept in the same room. We were not just like twins, we were like Siamese twins. But he was the one with all the bright ideas, Lolo would think up the naughtiest things to do. I was the quiet one and didn’t go looking around to see what new tricks we could get up to and I didn’t like getting into trouble; but I did everything Lolo told me to do; there was nothing else for it, ‘cause if I refused I’d pay for it. Lolo was always bigger, heavier and stronger than me, and he was a bully. If I didn’t do what he asked, he’d slap my face, kick me, whack me, pinch me and so on. He’d call me a queer, a coward, a girl; you’ve got loose wrists. And because I didn’t like to be insulted like that, there I was taking sling shots at ladies’ backsides, breaking car windows, knocking off guys’ hats. We were both punished even though my primo had made me do it. The truth is though, there were things I did enjoy doing, like getting up to no good with the maids. They may have been real country girls, but they didn’t mind at all, they‘d just hide behind their rebozosos and giggle like little birds. There was one young girl a couple of years older than me; we used to call her Crossy because one of her eyes wandered off to the side, but even so, she was really pretty and very likeable. One night I went to the park with her, we sat on a bench and we kissed. It was the first time I’d kissed a woman and I think it was for her too ‘cause she was as stiff as a broom stick. I got closer to her and put my mouth on hers and we stayed like that waiting to see who-knows-what would happen. I remember thinking how boring it must be to go around kissing girls, you don’t feel anything. But then she started to move her lips, opening and closing, opening and closing, and that was when I started to think the idea of kissing girls wasn’t so bad after all.

  Lolo was smarter at those things; he stopped being a child at twelve or thirteen, whereas it took me until I was twenty-something and that was only because Lolo paid Florencia to make sure I wasn’t a virgin or a dimwit any more. I used to be so self conscious when I approached a women and tried to start a conversation and take them to the hotel, but if I didn’t do it, Lolo would hurl insults at me and say: your tool is gonna fall off, you’re gonna end up being gay. None of those things happened and after a while I got more experience and there you had me saying: My, you do look lovely in that dress; what lovely eyes you have, they’re the most beautiful in the world; I love your curly, black hair; when I see you my heart beats so fast I think I’m going to die; and all that sort of stuff women don’t believe but still love to hear. In the end I managed to get a few of them to bed, but it never felt as good as it did with Florencia; so you see, that’s how I ended up becoming even more of a dimwit - she took my man’s heart into her own body and kept it there – completely -, damn her.

  15

  Valerio Cuadra’s beauty salon is located on Frontera, one street over from the main arterial road. It’s a peaceful place with little noise, despite being surrounded by clamour, violence and pollution. Francisco Tocino’s butchery, The Yogi Bear, is one block to the right, and to the left the San Jose building from which Lolo Manón and Aguinaldo Misiones stagger inebriated, laughing raucously.

  Valerio is sitting on a little stool reading Truman Capote, In Cold Blood. His assistant, Linda, cleans up the salon. There isn’t much work on Tuesdays and it’s a bit boring, it’s as if on Tuesdays the ladies don’t need to look beautiful and the guys’ hair is short enough and isn’t in need of the scissors. The glass door bears the sign, unisex, and several photos of models of both sexes proudly showing their very sophisticated, impossible-to-imitate hair styles.

  Lolo and Aguinaldo interrupt Valerio just as Dick Hickock is about to rape Nancy; they stagger into the salon making a hell of a racket. Lolo bangs into one of the chairs and almost falls over.

  ⎯ Bloody hell! ⎯ he exclaims as he rubs his shin.

  ⎯ What a pleasant surprise! ⎯ Valeria gets up from his stool and walks towards the recent arrivals. ⎯ It’s a pleasure to have you back at the salon but, if I remember rightly, it wasn’t so long ago that you had your hair cut.

  ⎯ My old friend! ⎯ shouts Lolo as he sees Valerio and gives him a hug. Valerio is taken aback, but responds to the hug-. I haven’t seen you for ages, my old mate, what are you doing here?

  ⎯ I work here, Don Lolo, had you forgotten?

  ⎯ Fucking Lolo... ⎯ says Aguinaldo who can barely stand and flops down into one of the arm chairs in the waiting area, a smile from ear to ear.

  ⎯ Oh, yeah? ⎯ Lolo looks around and bursts out laughing. ⎯ What an idiot I am!

  ⎯ Let’s just do what we came to do, Lolo. I don’t like coming into a place for women.

  ⎯ Yeah, hombre, yeah, what did we come here for?

  ⎯ To get your head shaved.

  ⎯ Ah! Yeah. Go to it, Valerio, get out the razor, get rid of every last hair, it won’t take you long – Lolo looks in the mirror at his distinctly receding hairline.

  ⎯ Ay, Don Lolo ⎯ says Valerio looking worried, ⎯ are
you sure you want to shave it all off? I think a crew cut would really suit you, a little longer here to make your face look slimmer and quite short on the sides to highlight your best features; and quite short at the back too, it’s the fashion...

  ⎯ I said, shave it.

  ⎯ That’s fine, as you wish, Don Lolo, but I can’t say it’s going to make you look particularly manly.

  ⎯ What’re you insinuating, eh? No pervert’s ever tried to hit on me, ya hear?

  ⎯ After so many years, do you really believe I’d come on to you, Don Lolo? You’re not my type.

  ⎯ Just as well, ‘cause my friend, Lolo, has a very bad temper ⎯ says Aguinaldo between burps and salacious grins.

  ⎯ You’re telling me ...

  ⎯ So, what? You gonna shave my head or not?

  ⎯ If that’s what you want...I suppose I have no choice, but may I ask you a question...

  ⎯ We made a bet, my friend Misiones and me. It’s a man thing, you wouldn’t understand.

  ⎯ You are so right; machismo and I do not get on. I find it tres reypugnant, says Valerio under his breath.

  Valerio closes his eyes and presses his fingers to his temples trying to concentrate on his work, sighs and sets to work.