What the hell was that? Eleanor asked in a weary voice.
The Olsen twins, Lorca Girl answered. Or maybe duendes. She met Eleanor’s gaze. I should get back to work. You gonna be okay? Need me to put you in a taxi?
Prelude to My Life as a Horror Movie
I dreamed of running away and changing my luck for years. I was twenty-five when I finally said to myself, Now or never, Agnes. You’re getting too old. I ran first to Lizard Point, then to General Johnson City, then to Manila, then Tokyo and Riyadh. I learned how to conceal my scar with thick makeup, dance naked and look indifferent. I dressed up like a French maid, sang anime karaoke, spoke Japanese and Korean. I was careless once and got pregnant. One of the girls from Orchid in Kabukichō told me where to go to get rid of it.
I met Vanessa and the doctor in Riyadh. Imagine finding a relative like Vanessa—distant, but definitely a relative—so far from home. Our resemblance to each other was uncanny, though Vanessa did not have an ugly scar on her cheek and she was curvaceous and much, much prettier than I was. Confident and outspoken, besides. Bossing her husband around with that big, naughty smile on her face. Making him laugh while he did her bidding. Making me laugh. I couldn’t believe how my luck had changed. Vanessa and the doctor had connections at the embassy. They fixed my papers, paid for everything, and brought me back with them to the States. To take care of their plump little pair of twins and live in Dream Come True, Change My Luck, New Jersey. Think of it as a paid vacation, Vanessa had said. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
St. Lucy’s Eyes was the name of the town where I was born. Ragged, garbage-strewn mountains surrounded us, shadowy mountains where a band of rogue soldiers were said to live. You wouldn’t know it except for the occasional sight of black smoke. There were fires raging and wars going on up in those mountains. People getting hacked up and dying all the time.
Sanda, my mother, stuck her hand inside herself and tried to rip me out of her womb when she was five months pregnant. She didn’t get very far, sickened by the pain and the blood streaming down her legs. She called out to Albertine, who lived across the dirt road. Fortunately, Albertine was home. You could have bled to death, Albertine scolded Mother, helping her to bed. Do you want this baby or not? Sometimes I do, sometimes I don’t, Mother had answered.
The humid days and nights crawled by. The weeks and months. Albertine looked in on Mother daily, to make sure that we were all right. She brought us fish and wild cabbage. Tea that tasted of red dirt. Mother refused to eat, but I was too ravenous and insistent and wouldn’t let her rest until she did. We grew bigger and bigger. Night after night Mother reported for work at Infinite Technology. She was a single woman with a gigantic belly that was hard to miss, but the other workers on the assembly line couldn’t be bothered. They’d seen it all before. The fatherless and unwanted children of St. Lucy’s Eyes, roaming the streets in packs like wild dogs. According to Albertine, most didn’t live past the age of five or six.
I floated in the dark, salty sea of Mother’s womb, wondering when she might try to kill me again.
She gave birth to me at home, with only Albertine to help her. Albertine was born a man but had lived most of her life as a woman. She came from the north, high up in the mountains, where people were poorer than we were. Albertine kept her age a secret. She was small but strong, and she wore her long white hair, which smelled of coconut oil, in a thick braid down her back.
Drink this special soup I made, Albertine said to my mother. It will ease the pain, Sanda.
Smells like the devil’s sweat. Tastes even worse.
Hold your breath and drink it down. You’ll thank me later.
It took two days of agony before I surrendered to being born. Mother bucked and heaved and grunted, bit Albertine’s hand and spoke in tongues. Water and mucus came out of her. Don’t push, Albertine said. The baby’s not ready. Mother crawled around the floor on all fours, howling. The Archangel Michael swooped in through an open window and jabbed her with his fiery sword.
It was nearly midnight when Albertine finally left. Only then did Mother look at me. I lay in the crook of her arm, a lizardy girl who weighed nothing and didn’t cry. Mother kept staring, as if trying to make up her mind. I puckered my lips, curled and uncurled my fists, waited for her to smother me with a pillow.
Mother gathered the strength to get out of bed, kept the lights off, and rummaged in the dark for more rags to stuff between her legs. Albertine had warned her that the bleeding could go on for days. Mother would tell me the gory details of her ordeal a few years later. I was still a child, but old enough to understand. Mother laughed softly as she talked, relishing her memories, oblivious to the horror in my eyes. You cannot imagine, Agnes. How my self burned and throbbed, a bloody flower, an open wound.
The night I was born, Mother scooped me off the bed, opened the front door as quietly as she could, and started walking. We stayed away from the main road and set off through a forest of charred trees to get to the river. The night swarmed with mosquitoes and bats. There was no breeze. Mother stood on the edge of the riverbank. The winding river was beautiful, polluted and deep. I made a soft, sighing sound, sensing what my mother was about to do. She started to throw me in, then hesitated. She tried to throw me in a second time. Again she lost her nerve. With a cry of rage and frustration, Mother clawed deeply at my cheek. I quivered. Let go my first pathetic sound, a whimper.
She turned back toward the house. I made a feeble attempt to suck at her breast. A beam of bright light, the sound of a low, familiar voice. Where have you been, Sanda? Albertine kept the flashlight aimed at us. What have you done? Why is there blood on the baby? Mother ran past Albertine into the house, bolting the door behind her. She was panting like an animal. None of your business, none of your business, none of your business.
The humid days and nights crawled by. The weeks and months. Mother hated me less and less. I wanted to name you Albertine. But I was angry with her for meddling, so I named you Agnes instead. After Agnes of Rome, patron saint of young girls, rape victims, and virgin martyrs.
I was a shy, brooding child who slept in the same bed as her mother. The cruel mark Mother had left on my cheek grew more pronounced as I got older. I hated and loved my face. People often remarked at how pretty I was, in spite of the scar. An accident, Mother said, to anyone who asked.
I hated and loved my mother and did everything to please her. She sent me to the only school in town, a hot, fly-infested place filled with other impoverished children who had nowhere else to go. There was one book, which we all shared. Never enough paper, or pencils to write with. An outdated map of the world was tacked on the wall. I liked staring at it while I daydreamed. Everyone daydreamed a lot, including the teachers. At the end of a long day of dreaming, we’d trudge home to our chores and secrets. I to boil rice and sweep the house and yard and do whatever else Mother expected me to do while she worked the night shift. Albertine had moved back up north. There was no one around to tell me stories. I turned on the battered transistor radio that Albertine had passed on to me before she left, hoping for a good song to come on. Something peppy, that would fill me with joy and make me dance. While I swept, I’d mouth the lyrics, pretending the voice on the radio was mine. Let’s get animal, animal . . . Let me hear your body talk, your body talk. . . .
My father showed up at our door when I was nine years old. What do you want? Mother was scowling. He kept smiling. I stood next to my mother and stared. He was short and powerfully built, with a boxer’s broken nose and thick, wavy black hair. His clothes and shoes, though dusty, didn’t look cheap. He had obviously traveled a long way to see us. Mother glanced at his large, canvas shoulder bag with suspicion. You can’t stay here, she said. I’ve brought gifts, the man said. Mother’s laugh was bitter. How nice. He dabbed at the sweat on his forehead and neck with a handkerchief. Who are you? I asked him. Your father, he answered. My name is Frank. Frank, I repeated. What kind of name is that?
He stayed a we
ek. Mother asked to be temporarily switched to a day shift so she could spend nights with him at home. I was forced to sleep outside, in a makeshift tent that Mother and Frank rigged next to the outhouse. Actually, I hardly slept. All I could think about was Frank lying in bed with my mother. Putting his thing inside her.
Every night after Mother fell asleep, Frank would sneak outside to smoke in the dark. Sometimes he would stand right by my tent. I’d hold my breath, half expecting him to bend down, look inside, and start talking to me. Agnes, let me tell you the story of my life. Then you can tell me yours. He never did. That Friday, while Mother was at work and I was at school, Frank left without saying good-bye.
Mother acted like she didn’t care that he was gone. She went back to working the night shift at Infinite Technology. She was starting to go blind in one eye but forbade me to mention it to anyone, terrified of losing her job. The humid days and stifling nights crawled by. The weeks, the months. Frank showed up a few more times. Always without warning, always with a smile. He brought more gifts. A bottle of Johnnie Walker for Mother, a pink Hello Kitty dress and a pair of canvas Vans for me. He never stayed more than a night. During one of those visits, Frank asked for permission to take me to General Johnson, the capital city. I want Agnes to meet my sister and her family, he said. Mother was drinking whiskey and in a fighting mood. What about me? Don’t you want them to meet me?
The day we left, I wore the Hello Kitty dress and checkered Vans. We took the bus to Lizard Point and waited for another bus that would take us to General Johnson. Frank bought me sardines, bread, banana chips, and soda from a kiosk at the bus station. Cigarettes and a pint of rum for himself. We boarded a clean, air-conditioned bus and took our seats in the back, so Frank could smoke. I wasn’t used to the air-con and began to shiver. Frank made me put on his jacket. He lit a Marlboro and started bragging about Dul, his older sister, a lawyer who was married to a former lawyer turned politician named Balthazar. I wouldn’t be surprised if Balthazar became our next president. That’s if they don’t kill him first, Frank said with a chuckle.
Why didn’t you invite Mother to come with us? I asked him. Frank took his time answering the question. Your mother would feel out of place, he said. I want to get off this bus and go home, I said, starting to cry. It’s too cold. Frank put his arm around me. Don’t cry, Agnes. We’re almost there. He poked lightly at the keloid on my cheek with his finger. How did you get that scar? An accident, I said, recoiling from his touch. Are my cousins going to make fun of me? Frank shook his head. Of course not. Do you like music, Agnes? I don’t know, I said. Your cousin Carmelo is a musical prodigy. Which means he started playing the piano and reading music when he was only five years old. Imagine that. What about my cousin Mimi? Is she a prodigy? I asked. Frank shrugged. There’s only room for one per family, he said. I looked out the window. Men and women on horses galloped wildly across green, watery fields of rice. It started to rain. Hey, asshole. Can’t you read the signs? No smoking or drinking allowed, the driver said in a loud voice. The other passengers turned to stare at us. My father didn’t budge, just took another swig of rum and kept smoking. I slid down in my seat and closed my eyes, hoping to disappear.
Dul and Balthazar’s house was the biggest I’d ever seen. A palace, Frank called it. Everyone was shocked to see us, but polite. Welcome, welcome, Dul said. Frank had forgotten to tell them we were coming. There were maids in uniform and tiny dogs and birds in cages and many telephones. Two televisions and a computer. Teardrops of shimmering glass hung over the dining-room table, giving off heat and light. What is that? I whispered to Frank in awe. A chandelier. It cost almost as much as this house, Frank answered in a quiet voice. Several men—dressed alike in crisp white shirts and creased black pants—hovered on the patio. Stop staring at them, Agnes. They’re your uncle’s goons, Frank hissed. I couldn’t help asking, Where are their guns? A little too loudly, probably. One of them overheard and gave me a sly wink. My cousins were summoned. Carmelo, the famous prodigy, was a tall, heavyset boy of fourteen. Mimi was a thin girl of nine like me. She stared at me with great curiosity. I didn’t know where to look or what to do. My wrinkled Hello Kitty dress felt tacky and cheap. So this is Sanda’s daughter? Dul finally said. She was a slender woman, with kind eyes and the same thick, black, wavy hair as my father’s. Balthazar wore eyeglasses and seemed a serious and preoccupied man, not too pleased by having unexpected guests. I don’t think he liked my father very much, though he shook his hand. Well, Frank. You’re lucky we were home, Balthazar said.
It felt wrong to call them “Uncle Balthazar” and “Aunt Dul.” The same way it felt wrong to call Frank “Papa.” I couldn’t do it.
Dul had the maid order KFC for dinner. Buckets and buckets of it, with rice and mashed potatoes and gravy on the side. Coca-Cola with ice. Beer and wine. Then we had three kinds of ice cream. Rocky Road, Purple Yam, Mango Delite. I ate and ate until there was nothing left. Is this your first KFC? Your first ice cream? Mimi asked me in English. She had a smirk on her face. Don’t be rude, Dul admonished her sharply. Then she added: Especially to your cousin. There were no more buses running until the next afternoon. Of course you should spend the night, Dul said. Of course, said Balthazar. My father got the guest room, while I was to sleep on one of the twin beds in Mimi’s room. Loan Agnes something to sleep in, Dul said to Mimi. Mimi frowned but didn’t say anything. Dul bent down so we could each give her a kiss. Good night, girls. Don’t forget to say your prayers. I was terrified of being left alone with my bossy, insolent cousin. She disappeared into her bathroom (she had her own bathroom! a toilet that flushed!) and came out wearing a giant Michael Jackson T-shirt that came down past her knees. Why don’t you just sleep in your dress? It looks really comfortable, Mimi said. If you want me to, I said meekly, which made her laugh. I was just testing you, stupid. She pulled open one of the drawers in her bureau, dug out a frilly nightgown that had seen better days, and handed it to me with a smile. If you tell me how you got that scar on your cheek, I’ll let you watch Sailor Moon on my VCR.
My father took me to see my cousins two more times before dropping out of our lives once and for all. I don’t know why I agreed to go. Mimi hated having to spend time with me. You’re so weird, Agnes. You just sit there, with nothing to say. Carmelo was kinder. He once caught me spying on him while he played the piano. I can teach you about music, he said.
Mother and I heard about the bomb that exploded in the city of General Johnson from a man on the radio. A rally in the market plaza had been organized by the PPPR—People’s Party for Progress and Reform. The bomb was planted in one of the stalls close to the stage. Balthazar was in the middle of a speech when it went off. A stirring speech, said the man on the radio. Dul had been sitting behind him, with the other candidates and their wives. The bomb was huge and powerful, full of nails. Everyone was killed, and the market was in flames. I wonder if your father was there, was all Mother managed to say.
I dropped out of school when I was fifteen. Mother got me hired at Infinite Technology assembling microchips. We needed the extra money so Mother could travel to General Johnson and see a specialist about her eye. The humid days and stifling nights crawled by. The weeks, the months. One afternoon I came home from work and found a letter from my father lying on our doorstep. Frank wrote that he was now married to an American woman. They lived in Colma, California, and he had no plans of coming back. I love you, dear Agnes. You are my blood, and I miss you very much. What was the American woman’s name? Where was Colma, California? His Stateside phone number was written next to his signature. Just in case you need me. I had to laugh. Frank must have lost his mind, since he knew that Mother and I didn’t own a phone. I started to tear up the letter, but something told me to keep it. I hid it in the bottom of my shoulder bag, which I took with me wherever I went. I never told my mother. For all she knew, Frank was dead.
Everyone said he was no good, but I fell in love with Shakespeare anyway. What did I care that he was
much too old for me, that he lived with a sour-faced woman he called his wife, that he was known to beat her when he was drunk, that they had many children and he beat them, too? Sometimes I dreamed of running away with him, sometimes I dreamed of running away by myself.
I finally found the courage when I turned twenty-five. Now or never, Agnes. You’re getting too old. Stealing from Mother was so easy it almost broke my heart. She made no secret of hiding what little money she had in a biscuit tin under our bed. When I die, this money will be yours. . . . But of course Mother didn’t die.
It had been raining for a week. Winds gusting at a hundred miles an hour. The floor of our little house buckled, and the tin roof caved in. Everything stank of mildew and rot. By the second week, there were power outages, incidents of looting around town, outbreaks of dysentery and cholera. Yet Infinite Technology—a concrete fortress built on high ground to withstand nature’s catastrophes—remained in full operation, its generators humming merrily away. Mother and I, along with all the other downtrodden IT employees, were expected to show up and work our usual shifts. When the river flooded, IT dispatched an emergency fleet of inflatable boats to ferry workers to and from the plant.
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