You’re probably thinking I look older than I really am, but life leaves its mark, a very deep mark. Living with Lolo, having four kids and working all day long wears you out. Your bones become less strong, your mind gets slower, your skin sags and dies up. Look at the wrinkles on my face, each one of them is an argument, a worry, an anxiety because the pantry is bare and there is nothing to give the kids, nights spent waiting for the child that still hasn’t arrived home. Many times I had to beg from a friend, a neighbour, the parish priest. Believe me, life turns sour and one begins to think, why go on? Why put up with so much hardship? But we doggedly keep going, living the hard life and putting up with the same troublesome husband; we should at least give ourselves a bit of a break, don’t you think, Señor Lawyer?
21
I’m not going this summer.
⎯ Why not?
⎯ ‘Cos I’m tired of going.
⎯ Look, Lolo, don’t make me cross. You can’t stay here by yourself, end of story -, says Carlota as she continues to stir the frijoles.
⎯ Why can’t I stay here?
⎯ I know you and you’re still not old enough to stay here alone.
⎯ Ay, Mamá, I’m fourteen, I’m a man already.
⎯ A man? Horse feathers. You haven’t even got a beard; when you do and when you have your own money, then we’ll talk.
No one could argue with Carlota. Two days later the whole family set off in a crowded cattle class bus, bumping along, singing Mexican cowboy songs at the top of their voices.
Remigia Santos lived in a room in the same house that all of Lolo’s family stayed in. She went just with her mamá and they stayed in a tiny room on the ground floor with a few pieces of furniture. She was a year older than Lolo and as thin as a rake. Lolo was fascinated. They became friends, then sweethearts. Lolo used to buy her ice creams and Gloria would be furious because he didn’t buy her any.
⎯ Buy your own, that’s why you have pocket money.
⎯ Don’t they give her pocket money?
⎯ She’s my girlfriend.
⎯ But I’m your sister.
⎯ Get yourself a boyfriend and he can buy them for you.
⎯ I hate her, d ‘you hear? I hate her and I hate you too.
Gloria had the worst temper tantrum ever; she stopped eating and, if she was forced to eat, she threw up everything she’d been given. Carlota believed she was seriously ill and was about to take her to the doctor.
⎯ There’s nothing wrong with her. She’s just a spoilt brat. I’ll sort her out, you’ll see – Lolo told Carlota.
Lolo promised Gloria an ice cream and a piece of cake. From then on, every time he bought something for Remigia, he had to buy the same for Gloria, so the courtship ended up costing him twice as much, but it was worthwhile.
⎯ I’m in love ⎯ he told Francisco.
⎯ What? Didn’t you say that would never happen to you?
⎯ Well, there you have it.
⎯ ut Remigia is a bit on the ugly side, isn’t she?
⎯ Don’t be an idiot. I bet you wish you had such a good-looking girl friend.
⎯ If you say so...
⎯ Aside from that, she’s really good; she says yes to everything and never gets mad. I’m gonna marry her.
⎯ Are you crazy?
⎯ Maybe, but when you fall in love, you get married and that’s the way it is, no?
⎯ You’re not in love, you’ve just got a crush on her, that’s all.
⎯ You’re saying that ‘cos it’s never happened to you and it probably never will, you haven’t got what it takes to love. Touch wood one day you will.
⎯ You mean, I have to touch wood?
⎯ Sure.
⎯ Mahogany or pine?
⎯ Idiot.
⎯ Idiot yourself for letting that skinny, dull broad get you into her clutches...
Before he’d even finished the phrase, Lolo had sent him flying with a single punch. They rolled around on the floor, thumping, kicking, elbowing and scratching each other. Carlota wanted to punish Lolo by grounding him for the rest of the holidays, but this time Lolo refused, he stood his ground and did what he wanted.
Remigia looked after his black eye and fussed over him to an extent Lolo had never felt before in his life - despite all the bruises and the huge bite Francisco had given him on his arm -, nor would he ever feel this way again.
These had been the best and the saddest holidays of Lolo’s whole life. Every day he and Remigia would go for a walk by the football field (if you could call that vacant lot a football field); they’d go up the hill to the ghost pueblo, then back to the pueblo with no ghosts and for hours on end, they’d wander the streets, visiting the mine, the abandoned bullring, the semi-abandoned cemetery, the church jam-packed with saints and even the museum. There was no more peering into the well and playing statues and revolutionaries. Gloria wanted to keep on being Adelita and Francisco, Emiliano Zapata. You’re a big boy now, go get yourself a girlfriend. Francisco looked at him resentfully and took off with Gloria up to the ghost pueblo; for hours they tried to amuse themselves playing whatever, but got hopelessly bored. The ugly old scarecrow, sighed Gloria, she could be Adelita, if she wanted. It would be fun with the four of us, don’t you think, Francisco? Yes, it’d be fun. But Lolo and Remigia weren’t into playing at killing and hanging good people from the trees, nor pretending to eat dishes made by Gloria-Adelita with mud and dry leaves; they were happy as they were, holding hands, looking into each other’s eyes and saying a whole lot of clichéd stuff to each other.
⎯ Have you felt her up yet? ⎯ Francisco asked one day.
⎯ What are you talking about, you idiot?
⎯ Aren’t you macho enough?
⎯ Remigia’s my girlfriend, not a floozy. I’m not going to touch her until we’re married, so you better keep your mouth shut.
⎯ OK.
But they didn’t get married. There was no wedding, no engagement ring, no white dress, no bouquet, no dowry, no wedding guests, nor even a marriage proposal. There was, however, a wake, rosaries, a mass, a novena and a funeral. Remigia went to the pueblo with no ghosts to die and no one ever knew why. Lolo found her there one day, where they always agreed to meet after breakfast. There she was, sitting on a crumbling wall, her eyes closed and with an expression on her face that was neither happy nor angry, she just looked asleep. Lolo tried to wake her with a kiss on her brow. But Remigia didn’t wake up with that kiss, nor any other, ever again.
22
I don’t know why, but that day sticks in my memory, although I suppose it wasn’t all that long ago. I got up very early to do my aerobics, as I usually do. When I got back from the gym, I had a bath, then my usual light and healthy breakfast and set up the video to record Chepina in Your Kitchen. You probably don’t know – and I haven’t mentioned it – but I just love cooking. I find haut cuisine and making desserts fascinating. Since I was a child, I watched my grandmother make the most exotic dishes you could ever imagine. Thanks to her, I learnt how to make barbequed eel, crabs Gasgoine style, ox brains in Aurora sauce and almond and sesame seed macaroons. I’d help Grandma make sweet potato fritters for New Year, turkey with fresh coriander sauce or shortbread rings dusted with icing sugar. I know these sound like something out of “Picardía Mexicana”, but they are not. What happens is that there is a culinary tradition in my family that goes back to the middle of last century; so don’t give me that look.
You know, I’m saving up to go to Paris to study Cordon Bleu and do a specialty course in hairdressing; I’m getting stale here and I need to learn new things. Have you ever been to Paris? It’s the most beautiful city you can imagine, all those divine avenues, lined with buildings that take your breath away. No wonder Porfirio Díaz brought so many European artists over to give the city a bit of a face lift; one of those was my great grandfather...
Yes, sorry, I didn’t mean to get side tracked. So I went to the salon, where else? That day there was a lot to do becaus
e on Saturdays it is always busy, so I didn’t go out at all. I closed the shop at seven, but stayed on until eight to catch up on some overdue accounts from when we renovated the salon.
You must be thinking that isn’t a very good alibi, but it’s the truth and I have nothing to hide. I could have told you I was with Clau, my husband, and he would never deny it, but it’s not right to tell lies.
As soon as I closed the salon, I went straight home, I made dinner for Clau and stayed watching that night’s soaps and the Chepina programme. By the way, the recipe they gave that time was absolutely delish; it was chicken in the most exquisite chipotle and walnut sauce. I made it yesterday and it came out très delicioux, finger licking good. I can’t tell you what I did next because it would sound pornographic.
23
I’ve had it up the eyeballs, d’you hear me? Up to the eyeballs.
⎯ Up to where? Natalia! Is this the sort of language you teach your lay-about brats?
⎯ I’m saying, I’m sick to the back teeth with you.
⎯ What have your back teeth got to do with it?
⎯ Will you both stop fighting? I can’t concentrate on my book ⎯ Natalia wonders how Miguel Angel Buenrostro managed to get ensnared by that cheap slut.
⎯ Hey, stop reading that shit and pay attention to what I’m saying.
⎯ Don’t talk to my mamá like that, you jerk.
⎯ Careful how you talk to me, I’m still your papá and I demand respect.
⎯ My papá, the macho man. You’re a bludger, man. The only time you talk to the old lady is when you want money or beer, but that’s enough gravy off the train. From now on, you can get one of your lady friends to cough up with some dosh now and again. Don’t count on us to fork out any more.
Flor Gabriel Rincón y Gallardo crushed Miguel Angel’s farewell letter to her chest, knowing in her heart that that unscrupulous woman had finally managed to snatch her beloved away from her. Natalia turns the page roughly. How dare that bimbo do something like that to Flor Gabriela?
⎯ And who are you to tell me what I should and shouldn’t do?
⎯ I’m the big cheese now, maestro, I’m the one that puts the quesadillas on your plate. We’re the only ones around here pulling our weight.
⎯ You think you’re hot salsa, don’t you?
⎯ Of course, my horse.
⎯ You’re just a jerk, that’s what you are.
⎯ I may be a jerk, but I’m not a bludger, bro’. So I’m warning you, this is the last time we’re gonna bail you out. Next time your arse is gonna be out on the street.
⎯ No one’s gonna throw me out of my own house, let alone one of my own kids.
⎯ Enough! ⎯ Natalia bangs the table as hard as she can. ⎯ Don’t you realise that Miguel Angel has gone away with his mistress and Flor Gabriela is distraught? Why don’t you go and fight somewhere else and let me find out what happens next?
⎯ What he’s doing is unforgivable, ma. I reckon this time he’s gone too far. Why can’t he get a job and pay for his own damned stuff?
⎯ ‘Cos I ain’t gonna bust my balls, it’s as simple as that.
⎯ If you had any, you’d be totally ashamed at what you did at the salon, and you’d be doing something to pay Valerio back.
⎯ Stop arguing. I’m sick of hearing you fighting. Can’t you give it a rest so I can read? What’s broke is broke and it’s too bad. One way or another we’ll have to pay and that’s it, but I don’t want any more fighting.
⎯ Why do you always let him get away with his fuck ups...?
⎯ Shut up, Lolito. Can’t you talk civilised? Miguel Angel Buenrostro would never talk like that, it wouldn’t matter how badly off he was. I obviously didn’t clean your mouth out with enough soap when you were little. Have a little more respect for me and for your papá, will you?
⎯ You gotta be kidding, ma! How can I respect that miserable bastard? When has he ever done anything to deserve it?
⎯ He is your papá and that is enough.
⎯ Exactly, I’m your papá and that’s reason enough for you to talk to me respectfully
⎯ ou shut up too, Lolo Manón, now get out of here the both of you.
Lolo and Lolito, father and son, one of them old and fat, the other tall and slim, look intently into each other’s soul, and even deeper if that were possible. They exude hatred, accumulated resentment piled high like a pile of old newspapers, thrashings etched on the brain, the envy of youth that is long gone, the distance between them widening every day. Lolo is the first to avert his gaze. In his heart he knows his son is right but prefers to ignore it as he has always done. He has never stopped running away from himself and from others. What a shitty life!, he thinks.
Lolito breathes deeply and hangs his head; he sits on an armchair next to his mother who is reading Corín Tellado’s Love in the Mist. Damned old man, damned, fucking decrepit, old man, he thinks. Lolito feels like shaking Natalia hard to make her see that her husband is a filthy good-for-nothing; that his father is an uncouth son-of-a bitch. I hate him, I hate him more than anything else in the world, he thinks. I could just murder the bastard! Why doesn’t he go to hell once and for all? Why can’t he just die, dammit?
24
How would I know who killed him? It must have been one of those crazies out there. Christ is on everyone’s lips these days, as we wait to be assaulted, robbed, raped or murdered. If you’re lucky they just steal your purse and run away. You’re not safe on these streets any more, with all the crazies, drunks, beggars and the like. This city’s going to rack and ruin, if it isn’t already racked and ruined. They devalue the currency and make their treaties; they throw as many politicians into jail as they can and tell us the country’s coming out of the crisis and things are going to improve very soon and all that rubbish; and we’re still here dying of hunger. The little bit of cash we have isn’t even enough to live on any more. That’s why there are so many thieving beggars; the problem is they aren’t satisfied with stealing from you, they also take it out on others, as if we were to blame for the way things are. I reckon that Lolo Manón was killed for revenge or a bad debt. Poor old Natalia was always going to bat for him, paying his debts, his bad habits and even his women friends. Whenever there was a jealous husband wanting revenge, there was Natalia soothing his hurt pride with a hand full of dough and a “let’s move on”. But, no, that’s not what it was. I reckon it was some disturbed person. I don’t think anyone around here would have had any reason to kill him: my husband and him got on really well since they were kids; the neighbour in No.1 hardly even says hello; we don’t even know the names of the fair-haired people in No.7; I doubt that the German had anything to do with it because he’s straight up and down, his mind’s pretty rigid, very German - you know what I mean; I don’t reckon it was Valerio Cuadra, the hairdresser because he’d burst into tears if he killed a fly; as for Aguinaldo Misiones, I’d be surprised, he hasn’t got much of a brain and it wouldn’t have occurred to him to do something like that; and Natalia and I were in the Obregon cake shop getting something to help us get over the shock of what happened to Ernestina in the park. Try looking somewhere else, Señor. All in all, we’re good people and, if we had bumped somebody off, at least there’d have been a good reason for it.
Come to think about it, a few years ago Aguinaldo and Lolo had some things to settle. I mean, who in his right mind would get involved with the sister of a maniac like Lolo? Only Aguinaldo - thick as two planks he is. You see, some years ago, maybe about twenty, Aguinaldo met Gloria, Lolo’s favourite sister. Ah! They really loved each other, those two. Didn’t you see Gloria at the funeral in a sea of tears? Lolo talked about her as if she was a precious jewel (and she was too, the wretch). You see, Lolo even said to him, “Don’t even think about eyeing my sister because you’ll end up blind. But the fool, the first thing he does is to get involved with her. At first Lolo had no idea, until one day he found them all lovey-dovey at Aguinaldo’s place. I reckon Aguinaldo is very di
sloyal, bringing Gloria into his home when his wife, Maria Candelaria, was dying in childbirth only a few meters away. You can imagine, Lolo was like a madman. He whacked Aguinaldo so hard he almost did him in. Then, when Maria Candelaria died, he forced Aguinaldo to marry Gloria. But that’s not the end of it; shortly afterwards Gloria got pregnant and no one knew whether Aguinaldo was the father or the govmint official who’d been courting her for a while. Just in case, Aguinaldo threw her out on the street without pity; he divorced her and refused to recognise the child as his. Lolo never forgave him. He threatened to kill him and his kids as well. Aguinaldo had to accept the fair haired child as his and give Gloria a monthly allowance. But Lolo was a sly bastard and he wasn’t satisfied with that; as soon as Aguinaldo’s eldest daughter was old enough, he seduced her. He led her on until the stupid girl fell for him and got pregnant. Now we’re even⎯ Lolo told Aguinaldo. ⎯ Now we can be mates again, can’t we, bro’? Aguinaldo was really scared of Lolo and didn’t say a word; he stifled his resentment completely. So I wouldn’t be surprised if, after despising him for so many years and being forced to be his friend, he’d run reached the end of his tether. But I’m just making assumptions; I’m not accusing anybody; and I wouldn’t swear to any of this. All I ask is that you please don’t go with the gossip to Aguinaldo about all that I’ve told you.
A Dead Man's Travail Page 6