A Dead Man's Travail

by Susana Pagano

  Francisco goes to the kitchen and comes back with a beer and a lit cigarette; he hands both of these to Florencia, who takes a long drink and has a desperate drag on the cigarette.

  ⎯ Gracias, man, you really do know how to make a woman feel better.

  ⎯ Shall we go to the Manón’s and have a round of poker?

  ⎯ You’re on. Just let me take off my “danza de los viejitos” mask.

  ⎯ I’ll wait for you in the lounge, then.

  46

  Not so long ago I went to bed with the young guy with the tattoos, the one at the dry cleaners. I’ve never liked tattoos, I think they’re cheap. However, the one Ramiro has on his left should isn’t too bad - it’s an eagle with its wings extended. As well as the tattoos, he’s got about twenty piercings all over the place: in his nose, in his upper and lower lips, through his eye brow, in his tummy button, not to mention all the ones in his ears. I went to drop off some of my mamás dresses off at the dry cleaners and there he was, with a great big smile from ear to ear. He’s one of the few people in the barrio who still feels like smiling. Hi, Ernestina!, he said, and he looked at me as if he could devour me with his eyes. He counted the dresses and looked them over from top to bottom; he was probably expecting to find a great big hole to then have to say to me, “Look at this. Don’t come back to me and say this was done here”. There were two red dresses and one with little, yellow flowers that looks awful on my mamá, just like the others. He gave me the receipt with a very wide grin that showed his even, white teeth. I liked his teeth and his smile and his tattoo and all of his piercings. We just stood there for a while smiling at each other like dummies, doing nothing else; and then Ramiro came round to the other side of the counter, took my hand and led me to the back of the shop. I let him take me right behind the machines and the rails where they hang hundreds of suits, dresses, blouses, bed spreads and a whole heap of clothing of all colours. First he gave me a little, bird-like kiss, as if he was very shy; but I know he’s not at all shy and, because I’m not into the sort of little kisses that secondary school kids give, I gave him a great big juicy one. He was gob-smacked at first, but then he became more confident and so did I. In less time than it took for the cock to crow, he had me with my skirt up around my neck and my knickers on the floor; and his hands were caressing me here, there and everywhere. That day I didn’t have a bath, I felt clean and fresh.

  I’ve been back to the dry cleaners many times since then. He always greets me with a big, happy smile and leads me out to the back of the shop. Each time it’s different; each time I like it better; and each time I feel happier to be at the back of a dry cleaners, in amongst someone else’s clothes, the both of us wrapped in blankets belonging to goodness knows who. Sometimes he’s very gentle, other times he’s nervous, but I like it most when he holds me. He holds me against his chest as if he doesn’t want me to escape, as if he were afraid of letting me go. He talks little and I don’t speak at all. He simply looks at me and caresses my cheeks, my eyes, my mouth. I like his great big hands, so square and so soft. He doesn’t hurt me like the others do; he doesn’t leave me with that empty, dirty feeling that makes me want to spend hours in the bath to get rid of the filth. I like Ramiro and he likes me, and that’s enough for both of us.

  Today my mamá and Uncle Lolo came for me at the hospital; I learned that they had shot Ramiro down like a dog. If Ramiro dies, I will have died with him.

  47

  Francisco tugs at Lolo’s shirt, trying to make him stop him trying to spy.

  ⎯ Stop being stupid and let’s go play billiards – says Francisco.

  ⎯ Hang on a minute, dude, can’t you see the good-for-nothing from the dry cleaners is going in? I won’t have that tattooed, son of his dry cleaning mother lay a finger on one of my daughters.

  ⎯ Don’t worry, Lolo, Ramiro has a girl friend, he told me the other day.

  ⎯ Even so, he could still try and pull a fast one on Natalia.

  ⎯ It’s Ricarda.

  ⎯ Ricard, well ⎯ Lolo turns to Francisco with a look that could kill ⎯ And you? How the fuck do you know who it is?

  ⎯ Because, if you say Natalia, it’s Ricarda; and if you say Ricarda, she turns round angrily and says it’s Natalia. Logical, no?

  ⎯ Yeah, I suppose you’re right ... Look, the creep is smiling at her.

  ⎯ That doesn’t mean to say he’s about to take her blouse off.

  ⎯ That’s how it starts.

  ⎯ That’s the way it starts with you ⎯ says Francisco, who’s getting impatient.

  ⎯ Look, man, he brushed her fingers when she gave him the money.

  ⎯ He’d have to be a magician, ‘cos she still hasn’t paid him.

  ⎯ What’s he saying to her? Can you hear? He must be inviting her out tonight.

  ⎯ He must be asking her for a kilo of eggs, dude.

  ⎯ A kilo of eggs? How dare that dickhead ask her for a kilo of eggs? If I get my hands on him, I’ll fry the ones he’s got attached.

  ⎯ Stop this nonsense, let’s go play billiards. I closed the butcher’s shop early today ‘cos you asked me to, and now you’re wasting my time with this nonsense.

  ⎯ Ricarda smiled at him, did you see that? The slut is smiling at him ⎯ says Lolo, clinging to the tree in which he’s hidden.

  ⎯ Did you expect her to spit in his face because he had the nerve to buy something in the store? Look, he’s giving her a packet of cigarettes. That ain’t a sin, is it?

  ⎯ That lout’s gonna make me bust his tattooed teeth in.

  ⎯ What? He’s got tattoos on his teeth as well?

  ⎯ Don’t be a dork. She’s paying him now, isn’t she?; and now he’s taken her hand, he stroked her hand, the son of a bitch.

  ⎯ You need a drink, Lolo, you’re delirious.

  ⎯ I’m gonna kill him.

  ⎯ He’ll die laughing, you ass. Don’t you know Ramiro has a black belt?

  ⎯ What?

  ⎯ When he’s not at the dry cleaners, he’s at the Thai kwondow beating the shit out of six idiots at the same time. If you tried to touch him, before you knew it, you’d be on your way to the hospital like a sack full of broken bones.

  ⎯ Alright, this time I’m gonna let it go, but if i see him around here again, I’m gonna fill his eyes full of lead for staring. Let’s go and play billiards.

  48

  My kids? They never had a good relationship with their father. Since they were little they’ve been terrified of Lolo. That’s the way Lolo brought up his kids, he’d terrorise them to keep them in line. Imagine this, Solicitor. At night, he’d go into their rooms dressed as la Tigresa. You can imagine what an awful fright they got! He’d discipline them for any little thing as well. But in his heart of hearts, Lolo adored Lolito and Hortensio. If he was hard on them, it was because he wanted them to be good men, hard working, responsible honest men – even though my husband wasn’t exactly a good role model. On the other hand, I reckon he was too heavy handed with his punishments, but I couldn’t get in and draw the bull away, as they say, ‘cos it’s not good to contradict the father of your children. If he thinks that’s the right punishment, you can’t do anything, although I sometimes did say to him:

  ⎯ Don’t be so hard on them, viejo, they’re naughty kids, but what they did isn’t so bad that you have to forbid them from going to parties for so long.

  ⎯ Don’t interfere, Natalia, being soft with them does them no good. If you let them do whatever they want, they’ll end up getting involved in drugs or killing people.

  ⎯ Arriving fifteen minutes late isn’t a good reason to ground them for three months. I agree with you, but you shouldn’t go over the top – you understand, Solicitor, he took absolutely no notice of me.

  Lolo was very fussy about his kids while they were younger; but once they got past the rebellious stage, he indulged them; he took them out on the town and to whore houses, supposedly to make them grow up. One day the three of them arrived home absolutely plaster
ed. You know what I did? I bolted the door and didn’t let them in until the next day.

  ⎯ Your papá may be a no good drunk ⎯ I told them the other day -, but you’re not gonna do whatever you please while you are living in this house and not earning a wage to buy your own drinks. While I’m the one working to keep you, you’ll behave like decent human beings.

  ⎯ They’re young men who should be allowed to get a bit drunk ⎯ Lolo would say in their defence ⎯ leave them alone.

  ⎯ That’s all very well, but they ain’t coming into this house like they were last night, ‘cos I won’t let them in - not the next day, not ever.

  They haven’t done that again since; they aren’t stupid, that’s for sure. I’d had enough with Lolo’s booze-ups to have to put up with another two good-for-nothing bastards. I’ve had to be tough on my kids too; if I’d let them follow their father’s crooked footsteps, I’d have had a trio of lazy bums to have to feed. Forgive the bad language, Solicitor.

  The twins are a different story. They never did anything to make us cross with them, to have to punish or, even less, to hit them. If you think Lolito and Hortensio had a bad relationship with their papá, the twins didn’t even have one. From the time we were first married, Lolo told me he didn’t want to have girls, ‘cos, according to him, women are always a problem, you never know what they’re hiding under their skirts, a teddy bear or an orang-utan - well, that’s what he used to say. I always wanted to have a girl. When the twins arrived I was very happy, but at the same time, I was really terrified; I imagined Lolo drowning them in the toilet as if they were little chickens. He never killed them, but he never loved them, and he was even harder on them than he was with the boys. When they were very little, he didn’t take much notice of them; the problem was when they became young women. He forbad them to have any sort of friendship; he moved them to a convent school; he made them pull their hair back in a bun and wouldn’t let them use any makeup; if they did he’d scrub it off between slaps. He made them use loose clothing, never trousers, and their blouses had to be done up to the neck, even if it was boiling hot. He’d always think the worst of people, even in church; not even the padrecito was allowed to turn to look straight at his daughters, ‘cos he’d be itching to kick up a fuss. I was always trying to calm him down.

  ⎯ Do you really believe that the padrecito would be eyeing up the girls? ⎯ I’d say to him.

  ⎯ They’re the worst, didn’t you know?

  ⎯ They’re men of God and they don’t go around doing things like that.

  ⎯ You have no idea what real life’s about, woman. You’re hidden away in your store and you’ve no idea what your fuckin’ off spring are capable of doing.

  ⎯ Don’t swear, Lolo. I won’t allow it.

  ⎯ It’s the truth, vieja, but I’ll tell you one thing, Natalia and Ricarda will never set foot in this church again as long as I live.

  ⎯ Don’t exaggerate, viejo. Where else would they be safer from lustful stares than at church?

  ⎯ At home, where women should always be.

  ⎯ The girls need religious education and you won’t even allow them to come to church. How can they become good Christians?

  ⎯ In a monastery, maybe we should put them in a convent.

  ⎯ Don’t talk nonsense. One day they’ll find a man they want to marry and ...

  ⎯ Never!

  ⎯ What?

  ⎯ My daughters are never going to get married, do you hear? Never.

  ⎯ Now you have gone too far, Lolo Manón Martinez. Have you lost your mind? I’ve listened to you talk nonsense your whole life, but this is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard you say. You really outdid yourself, Lolo, you really did.

  ⎯ Look Natalia, I’m not gonna talk about this with you. You’re getting more and more worked up as you get older. I’m telling you my daughters ain’t gonna go to bed with any man ⎯ and I don’t care if it’s their husband ⎯ they’re gonna be virgins ‘til the day they die.

  ⎯ Well, get this. The girls are gonna marry even if I have to kill you.

  ⎯ It’s not the first time you’ve threatened me. One day you’ll regret your bravado. Natalia and Ricarda will always be virgins because, if they aren’t, I’ll kill them ⎯ and you likewise.

  ⎯ That was the sort of relationship Lolo and his daughters had. So you can imagine why they didn’t love him.

  49

  Francisco Tocino arrives at La Covadonga.

  ⎯ Where’s Lolo? ⎯ he asks Natalia.

  ⎯ What’s wrong, Francisco? You look like death.

  ⎯ I want to see Lolo.

  ⎯ He’s where he usually is, I ‘spose. Why do you come here looking for him? You know he never comes to the store.

  Francisco leaves La Covadonga, his soul weighing heavily on his shoulders like a sack full of kidney stones. He gets to the billiard hall, the air is full of smoke and human smells – sweat, drunkenness and cheap perfume. Lolo is leaning over the billiard table, concentrating on hitting the number eight ball. Francisco waits to one side, trembling, feeling sick, but he doesn’t interrupt Lolo because he knows he could become furious and tell him to go to hell.

  Lolo concentrates his five senses one hundred percent on making the shot; it has to be true, precise, perfect. He hits his mark; the eight ball rotates rapidly, hits the edge of the table, changes course forty five degrees to the left and goes cleanly into the hole. It’s a perfect hit and has won the game. Lolo smiles, he looks at Aguinaldo Misiones, who makes a wry face. Damned Lolo, thinks Aguinaldo. Francisco Tocino moves closer to Lolo.

  ⎯ I need a beer.

  Lolo looks at his cousin and says, What’s wrong, Francisco? Did you have another row with Florencia?

  ⎯ I was in the park, passing the time, you know what I mean...

  ⎯ Ah, says Lolo, I gotcha. Come on, let’s go and get ourselves a drink.

  ⎯ They get to the cantina Yo Aqui me Quedo, and stay there smoking Delicados without filter and drinking - Francisco, Negra Modelo and Lolo El Gusano Rojo mescal.but Francisco is silent, he is pale and shaken. All he feels like doing is getting drunk and smoking like a chimney. Lolo bombards his cousin with questions, which Francisco answers in monosyllables; he won’t talk until he’s really drunk; only then will he be able to let out all his misery and sorrow.

  ⎯ Are you smitten again, cuz? ⎯ Lolo throws in the question after Francisco’s fourth beer, when his eyes are looking red and glazed.

  ⎯ What do dyou think? ⎯ Francisco asks for a fifth beer.

  ⎯ How old is she?

  ⎯ Why don’t you ask me her name? ⎯ Francisco takes a mouthful of his fifth Negra Modelo and a drag on his umpteenth Delicado without filter.

  ⎯ That’s not important, you never know. Anyway, it’ll always be either Anita or Cholita.

  ⎯ She’s called Anita

  ⎯ Mmmm

  ⎯ She’s a child, Lolo. Do you understand? I’m an ass, a pig.

  ⎯ We know that.

  ⎯ It’s just, I’m gonna go to hell.

  ⎯ We’re all gonna go to hell, cuz. What are you worried about? Lolo takes a swig of his mezcal, he savours it, feels how it slips down burning his throat and his brain-. How old is she?

  ⎯ Sixteen, at the most. She’s gorgeous, so sweet, so innocent. She’s got two little limes on her chest and she’s very slender. She’s barely a woman, do you understand, Lolo? How can I keep on living with this pain? But still, I want her, I want her more than anyone in the world.

  ⎯ Yeah, I imagine ⎯ Lolo says this wearily, he knows this script almost by memory. ⎯ Did you talk to her?

  ⎯ No, I didn’t dare.

  ⎯ I can imagine. You never dare to.

  ⎯ This time is the real thing, cuz. Anita is the reincarnation of beauty, of chastity, of the purest and most sacred thing on this earth.

  ⎯ Yeah, I can imagine that too.

  ⎯ Don’t mock me, Lolo. Don’t you realise what I’m going through?

  ⎯ F
ucked, maybe?

  ⎯ Francisco remains silent and drinks the rest of his beer in one go; he wants to get even drunker still, unconscious with booze, so he won’t feel the deep sorrow that is eating away at his brain and his entrails.

  ⎯ Look, bro, enough of the fuckin’ remorse and let’s get to the point. Do you love the girl?

  ⎯ You know I do.

  ⎯ So stop the Chinese torture for a moment, will you? I’ll fix everything, you know that. There’s no need to get all stupid about it, is there?

  ⎯ I want her, I want her so much... Oh, God, I’m so weak, I’m so shitting weak... ⎯ (There’s no more Negro Modelo, says the waiter, just Dos Equis.)

  ⎯ We all have weaknesses in this life ⎯ (Bring me another mescal and a clean ashtray; what sort of a dive is this?) ⎯ There’s nothing wrong with you liking young girls, there must be something attractive about them.