Now what? What’s wrong with you? Florencia is surprised at the look on her husband’s face and stays holding the taco in mid air. Nothing, nothing. Francisco diverts his gaze to his plate. Florencia continues with her meal, trying to guess what is on Francisco’s mind and glancing over at him from time to time; but Francisco doesn’t return her gaze. Florencia finishes eating and without waiting for Francisco to finish as well, she gets up from the table, picks up her plate and goes into the kitchen to put away what’s left of the food, to wash pots and pans, wooden spoons, serving spoons, plates, and the rest of the things. Francisco takes his empty plate to the kitchen, leaves it on the bench and then stands in the doorway looking at Florencia, who has her back to him as she scrubs frying pans, cleans plates and rinses glasses. Francisco watches his wife’s back and bit of shoulder that shows above the neck of her wrinkled and faded, old sweat shirt. His mind wanders to Anita and her smooth, white skin, her closed eyes, her half-open lips that invite a kiss. He thinks nostalgically of Cholita and the other Anitas and the other Cholitas. He doesn’t remember how many there were, how many of their hearts, souls and sighs he managed to steal and how much of his seed was spent. Francisco moves over to Florencia who is almost finished washing the dishes. Florencia stops what she is doing as his long, thin fingers tighten around her throat.
Valerio Cuadra welcomes her with a smile and a kiss as if they were close friends. He sees her loaded up with bags and helps her put them in a corner of the salon. I did think of stopping by the house to drop them off, but there’s no point in going back and forth, so I decided to come straight here. You did the right thing, Doña Natalia. I see you bought lots of goodies, says Valerio smiling inquisitively. Yes. You know, Valerio, I hadn’t realised just how many things I needed. Natalia has her hair rinsed by Linda, then she goes and sits in one of the arm chairs in front of the huge mirrors. Valerio places a little towel around her neck and a plastic cape that covers her completely. The same cut as usual? No. No? I’ve decided that I’m going to change the way I look. I’m sick of looking in the mirror and always seeing the same prune face that sometimes looks more like a raisin. That’s not a problem at all, my querida amiga. We can do wonders with that gorgeous head of hair of yours. What do you recommend, Valerio?
Francisco tightens his grip, gently at first. When Florencia reacts, Francisco squeezes as hard as he can. It’s amazing that her slight, scrawny husband should have so much strength in those arms – they’re barely the width of a piece of rope. A shock of pleasure runs down Francisco’s back and intensifies the tighter he squeezes. You must have felt the same way when you strangled my sweet little girls, didn’t you, Lolo. The memories flood into Francisco’s head while Florencia wonders what the hell is happening. I didn’t dare kill them myself, ‘cause you were there and you were the brave one. You were always the bravest in the whole barrio, weren’t you, primo? Florencia is beginning to have difficulty breathing; she can no longer suck in air to fill her lungs. The pressure of Francisco’s fingers on her throat is crushing her wind pipe, cutting off the air completely. She tries to defend herself but she is getting weaker. Piece of cake, my querida esposa, murmurs Francisco to himself. Florencia tries with her hands to prise his fingers from around her throat. Thousands of thoughts go through her mind, but none of them make sense. It‘s a joke, she thinks, it must be a really bad joke. Wait ‘til I get rid of this mother-fucker, he’s gonna pay big time, you can count on it. But she’s finding it harder to breathe and she feels she’s going to choke before she can give this idiot what’s coming to him. Son-of-a-bitch, you’re killing me. This is the last thing that enters Florencia’s mind. For Francisco, the images appear one after another. When we were children, Lolo made me pee on his father’s grave, says Francisco out loud, as if Florencia was in the mood to hear such nonsense. I don’t know why he hated his old man so much, if he was already dead. I used to think it was funny and we both laughed heaps. Florencia is getting drowsy, her mind clouds over - then a complete vacuum. Florencia’s legs no longer respond and she slips to the floor with Francisco’s fingers around her throat; he doesn’t let go of her for a moment, it wouldn’t do to have her wake up again, the sly bitch. Now on the floor, Francisco straddles Florencia’s increasingly flaccid body and is able to exert even more pressure than before. You’re very pale, Florencia, you should have put more makeup on. I don’t like you like this and nor would any of your fucking man-friends, including Lolo. Florencia’s body convulses violently, still clinging to life that has all but left her. Francisco let’s go. Florencia lies on the ground, her face the colour purple, her eyes seeming to stare at Francisco with surprise and a thousand reproaches.
Valerio Cuadra brings all sorts of magazines to his customer and shows her a wide range of different, modern, youthful hair styles. He shows her the different tones of hair colour, from platinum blond and the fiery reds to the discrete browns, more appropriate for a lady like Natalia. They spend a lot of time looking at the magazines and joking. How do you think I’d look with one of these punk hair styles? Natalia bursts out laughing. Valerio realises that in all of the years he has known her, he has never seen her laugh like that, ever. There’s no doubt that widowhood suits her very well. They discuss very short cuts, ones a little bit longer, curls done this way or that, darker chestnut browns or golden lights. I just want to cover up the grey, says Natalia. Valerio agrees, he gives her advice and praises her knowledge of what’s in fashion and what will look best with the shape of her face, and so on and so forth.
Grabbing her by the legs, Francisco drags Florencia into the lounge. The kitchen floor is very cold and they might get a chill. With the greatest care, Francisco begins to remove Florencia’s clothes – very slowly, there’s no need to hurry any more. Little by little, Florencia, every part of Florencia’s body is revealed to Francisco. Momentarily, he feels a lump in his throat. Full of emotion, he kisses his wife’s lips the way he dreamed he’d do on his wedding night. Francisco looks for a long while at her naked body. I’ve spent half of my life waiting to see you horny and ready, like you are now. Francisco strokes his wife’s breasts brusquely. You look lovely like that, Florencia. I can’t understand why it took so many years for you to show me you bits. They’re lovely, really. Francisco walks over to the refrigerator and takes out a couple of beers and opens them. He goes back to his wife and makes a toast with her, making the two bottles clink together. He tips a trickle of the yellow liquid into Florencia’s mouth, which immediately starts to dribble out of the corners. Without taking his eyes off his wife, he takes a swig. You know, Lolo was a ratbag with women, but that’s not new. I have to admit, I envied and admired him. He could bed any woman he wanted. Of course, you of all people knew that. Francisco giggles like a child. Did you think I didn’t know? He had his way with Tinita as well, the bastard. Didn’t you ever wonder what made Ernestina go looney?
You know, querida amiga, says Valerio as he the locks of hair fall one after the other on to the floor. I’m leaving the country very soon. How come? Natalia looks at him in the mirror with surprise. Well, for some time now I’ve been saving money to go to Paris. It turns out that I now have enough to go, and voilá. And the salon? I’m going to sell it to Linda. Linda smiles as she sweeps up Natalia’s hair as it falls on to the floor. Ever since she started with me, I have been training her and she has the right touch. Are you going away forever? Valerio’s eyes are sad. I don’t know, I don’t know. And Claudio? Is he going with you? Valerio is quite for a minute. He brushes the hairs off Natalia’s shoulders. No, it’s all over between Claudio and me. But how? I mean... I don’t mean to be indiscrete, but you seemed to be in, like, a stable marriage, at least that’s what you always told me. Valerio plugs in the hair drier and, with very capable hands, dries Natalia’s hair. Both are silent for a while, waiting patiently for the wet hair to dry completely, ready for the colour and the permanent.
Now Florencia will never be with any other man, thinks Francisco. The idea excites him
and he holds Florencia’s body close to him and hugs her so violently that he cracks her back from occiput to coccyx. Hijole! Exclaims Francisco in Florencia’s ear, I’ve straightened up your spine for you. I love you, whispers Francisco as he rests his head between his wife’s breasts. I love you heaps, but not a lot more than I did my primo. He was the one who took me to find you, in fact. What might you be thinking down there. What might you be mumbling to yourself in that horrible, cold grave, primo of my soul.
I thought so too for many years, but when love ends, there’s nothing to be done. Valerio takes the colour mix from Linda and applies it to Natalia’s hair separating it out into thin little locks. How sad! You really were a lovely couple. Natalia thinks to herself for a minute. You know, Valerio? We’re gonna miss you a lot. Me too, believe me. But I promise to write and send you lots of postcards of the Eiffel Tower and the Arch du Triumph and the Champs Elysées. It must be a very interesting place, all those exotic names ... Natalia scratches her head, the colour is making her itch. It’s an amazing city, says Valerio dreamily, enjoying his trip in anticipation of actually being there. The City of Lights... So, when are you going? In a week, says Valerio, coming back down to earth. So soon? Well, yes, he says. We’ll have to give you a farewell party, says Natalia, excited by the idea. That would be nice, querida. Valerio checks the colour after twenty minutes and tells Linda she can rinse Natalia’s hair. Linda dries her hair once more, ready for the permanent. Valerio, Natalia and Linda chat about trivial things, things of little importance or consequence. Linda does the manicure, Valerio checks the permanent – he doesn’t want the curls to be too tight. He takes out the rollers, brushes Natalia’s hair, back-combs it, tidies up the stray curls and finishes it off with hair spray. Natalia’s hair is as stiff as a cake from Sanborns. She admires her new look in the mirror and cannot help smiling at the result. She gets up from the chair and hugs Valerio, unconcerned about ruining her recently painted nails. Valerio hugs her back. Natalia looks at her reflection again. She cannot believe it. She cannot believe that person is herself; she looks and feels more different than she has ever in her life. I can’t believe how good I look, Natalia murmurs. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees her daughters, Natalita and Ricarda, half running, hand in hand, towards Valerio Cuadra’s salon. Their eyes reflect their worry and anxiety, and the huge fright the police have given them both. But that doesn’t diminish Natalia’s happiness. If Lolito is in jail, that’s his problem. As far as I’m concerned, they can all go to hell.
Several empty beer bottles seem to float before Francisco’s eyes. Florencia’s stand still untouched around her head like a floral offering. Francisco hasn’t stopped talking. His throat is horribly dry, but this doesn’t deter him from his conversation with his wife. All the while he is gazing at her legs, arms, stomach. Sometimes roughly, sometimes not, he caresses her cheek, her breasts, her pubes. The door was half open, do you remember, Lolo? You’d left the keys lying there and I picked them up so they wouldn’t get lost. I put them on the little table in the kitchen where you always used to leave them. Francisco kisses the lids of Florencia’s half open eyes and traces the icy face of death with his lips. You were sound asleep in the middle or the corridor. I told you that the floor was very cold and that you’d get pneumonia. I miss you, Lolo. I miss you heaps, you bastard. Francisco undoes the buttons on his shirt one by one. I tried to get you into your bed, do you remember that, primo? But you just opened your eyes a little and let your head fall back on to the floor. You gave yourself such a whack! It must have given you quite a lump on your head, but you didn’t give a damn, just like with everything else. That’s why I got so mad with you at that moment, Lolo, ‘cause it was then that I realized I had meant fuck all to you your whole stinking life. The same went for Tinita and Florencia and stupid Natalia and your good-for-nothing kids. None of us meant a thing to you in your whole fuckin’ existence. Francisco is starting to feel hot, a few beads of perspiration appear on his lips and his forehead. Francisco undoes his belt, which moments later lands beside his shirt and shoes on the floor. His member, moments ago listless and reticent, gradually comes to life, like a tree reaching towards infinity. And that’s when I said to myself, what’s the point of letting this animal go on like that for the rest of his life? Francisco’s fingers dart excitedly, almost with urgency, over groin, umbilicus, cracks and folds. Sweat now covers his forehead and breaks out in his armpits. The rest you will remember better than me. My only regret was how bad it made Natalia feel; she didn’t deserve it, nor did the poor twins, who saw you ripped open and all covered in shit. Francisco’s organ looks as if it will burst into a hundreds of pieces. His breathing is more and more intense. You fucked up, primo, but you wouldn’t remember that. It isn’t beer, but spit from Francisco’s wet kisses that liberally cover Florencia’s rigid, inert body. I left your place and went straight to mine with my shoes in my hand, ‘cause the caretaker had just cleaned the corridors and I didn’t want to dirty them again. Francisco feels as if he is going to explode, but he wants to hold on just that brief, inimitable, unforgettable moment longer. A bit later I went out to the cantina you and me both liked so much. I had a drink for you on my own, then I had one with Aguinaldo Misiones. I got drunk ‘cause I was so happy. Francisco is unable to stand the agony of his erection. His body arches; he presses, trembles and penetrates. After that I was oblivious to everything, so when I heard the twins screaming, I was a surprised. They were crying so loud they woke me up as I was sleeping off the booze-up. I was fuckin’ sad you were dead, Lolo, and believe me, primo of my soul, I’ll never ever stop missing you ... and thinking of you.
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