After signing off at midnight Rolando drives to his house instead of driving to Eva’s house because the night before she’d told him she wasn’t going to be home — errands to run she said — at midnight? really? — but because he wanted to focus on his first day on the air — for which he had drafted three segments and had rehearsed them in front of the bathroom mirror — trying on different personas — different voices — which he had to rehearse in silence because his father was asleep in the other room — which was an odd thing for Rolando to do — to murmur the grandiloquence he was after — and if an audience would have been watching they might have said that his voice was refusing to participate in the borrowed theatrics of his face — call now! — no I won’t — murmuring — don’t make me — murmuring — and because he wanted to focus on his first day on the air he tried not to think about how dubious it was for Eva to be running errands at midnight — at least she could’ve found a better excuse no? — and Rolando is parking his father’s pickup truck and he’s surprised all the lights in the house are out — the lightbulbs on the porch — the desk lamps in the living room — which is neither good nor bad — just is — and he can imagine his father sleeping in his armchair inside and operating the lights in his sleep — which is a ridiculous thing to imagine — so what? — his father shutting off the lights so that the darkness around him will filter into his dreams and console him there too — and although it’s late Rolando expected — what? — what did you expect? — nothing — because my father doesn’t see the point of my radio — because what my father probably wants is for me to chain myself to the Formica tables inside his restaurant so that he has time to transform another hole in the wall into a cheap lunch place — welcome to Don Alban’s Another Ton of Lunch — and he can imagine his father’s franchise of lunchrooms — thousands of caves underneath busted hotels — and what my father probably wants is for me to man a pickaxe and — what? — do you really know what your father wants? — no I don’t — why don’t you ask him? — what do you want from me Father? — to slave like you? — I’m sorry not to slave like you to grovel like you? — is that the best you can muster against your father? — there’s more — more what? — more ass kissing — so kissing him on the mouth is out? — shut up — and Rolando is parking his father’s pickup truck and all the lights are out and Rolando’s opening the door and — Surprise! — and the lights are on now and there’s a sign that reads congratulations — and there’s a cake decorated with candles and cookies shaped like radio dials — and his father embraces him and says congratulations Rolandazo — congratulations — and what Rolando will remember later is the stiffness with which he receives his father’s embrace — the abruptness with which he breaks from it — the ridiculous silence he adopts to suppress his gratefulness — and Rolando will see himself stepping out of himself and inspecting what’s left of him there — you son of a bitch — but then that night begins again and Rolando’s parking his father’s pickup truck and he’s opening the door and — surprise his father says — surprise! — and the lights are on now and there’s a sign that reads congratulations — and there’s cookies shaped like radio dials — and Rolando says thank you so much father as if accepting a medal from a bishop or a general — how could I forget Rolandazo — and later Rolando will also think of his sister — of how cold he’d been when he’d said goodbye to her at the airport — not cold — no — absent — because the week before she was to fly to Guatemala to begin her crossing of the border to the United States he had imagined saying goodbye to her at the airport so many times that when the day actually came he had already cried — had already emptied himself and embraced her — mi ñañita — and so repeating what he’d already imagined would have felt like acting so that morning at the airport he patted her too hard on the back and said don’t sweat it Alma it’s probably not as hard as they say to cross that border — which turned out not to be true — they didn’t hear from her for more than six months and when they finally did the news was excruciating — Alma corazón — but then that morning at the airport begins again and he’s embracing her and saying I’ll miss you so much ñañita — please take care — remember when we used to play topos? — topo / topo / topo — and Rolando is parking his father’s pickup truck and — surprise! — and the lights are on now and there’s a sign that reads congratulations — and there’s confetti sprinkled on the floor and toy trumpets on the kitchen table and Rolando’s embracing his father and Rolando’s saying you don’t know how much this means to me.
Someone bangs on the door — someone fusses with the doorknob although the door is open and — Surprise! — and Eva’s sprinting toward him as if to tackle him before Rolando can say what the hell are you — and she’s tossing the bouquet of orchids she has brought for him on his father’s armchair and she’s jumping on him and because she’s taller than him — bigger than him — no she isn’t — Rolando falls backwards — which doesn’t hurt — and on the floor Eva’s body encapsulates him and Rolando closes his eyes and places his arms around her and hears the translucent plastic of the bouquet crackling — the faucet in the kitchen running — a vase gently landing on the table — a chair trying not to creak.
Later that night at Eva’s house — on Eva’s bed — she says I heard it all — Heard what? — Your radio show silly — Ah — That Leonor and Aurora are quite something no? — I guess so — You should invite them back or hire them as neighborhood commentators — I guess so — The people were going wild when Leonor and Aurora came on — What people? — By Lucila’s food stand — So like three people — No Rolancho I brought chairs — What? — Ten foldable chairs — How did you carry them up? — Look at these arms and weep machote — Ha ha — Oh and your father helped me carry them — Really? — We arranged them in a circle and we sat by Lucila’s food stand and listened to you while Lucila stirred her soup to showcase its flora and fauna to the people who were peering inside her pot and asking where are the bollos Lucila? — And Lucila said abracadabra pata de cabra? — My bollos are packed with so much beef they don’t float — and when Leonor and Aurora came on the air she and his father noticed people were hanging around longer than before — They were slurping their soups slowly as if they were only allowed to stay if their bowls were full you should have seen them trying to laugh without displaying the food in their mouths their mothers must have taught them not to talk with their mouths open and you could hear some of them saying sock her Leonor that Aurora’s an ingrate and most of them didn’t want it to end the way it did — So? — So I had an idea — Did they like anything else besides the Leonor and Aurora Show? — and unfortunately Rolando’s question comes out too pleadingly — which is what he’d been worrying about while Eva was talking — but fortunately Eva hasn’t noticed because she’s steeped in her idea which she’s about to — Participation is key — I’ve been telling them to call now — No Rolancho what I mean is different — Call later? — No Rolandis — Call the day after tomorrow? — I was thinking that we could put on a play in the neighborhood plaza and let the audience participate — You mean like a singalong? — We’ll cast and direct the play but we’ll let them decide what happens next and then we’ll transmit it on Radio Nuevo Día — This radio wasn’t meant as entertainment — I know Rolanbobo but the plots of the plays don’t have to be about Lola’s betrayal or about Ricardo the Rich falling in love with Pepa the Poor or about Ricky Martin’s hairless chest but about the people — The people love Ricky Martin Eva — I know that — I know you know that — Did you like my radio voice? — Your voice was perfect the people hate acerbic screeds you were lighthearted and kind of funny — Kind of? — Call me now? — You come here now.
That week they wrote down ideas for potential plays dealing with unemployment — with subemployment — with privatization — with lack of sustentation — with the return of El Loco — with the partial demise of León Martín Cordero — with the rumor that an American transnational was partnering with a local consortium
to construct a fake snow sky resort on the hills of Mapasingue — which of course meant leveling what currently exists — and that’s the plot they decided upon which begins with the local magnate advising the Americans to hire elements from the local police to evacuate the people of Mapasingue who live there illegally — all of them squatters Mister Kissinger — and since the people of Mapasingue resist the local magnate advises the Americans to hire paramilitary squadrons to squash those cockroaches — and since the people of Mapasingue fight back the local magnate equips his people with crowbars and rifles — and since the Americans don’t like to hear about crowbars or rifles the local magnate tells the Americans not to worry — I’ll take care of it Mister Kissinger — not telling the Americans about the armed paramilitaries who are approaching Mapasingue and are raising their rifles and are aiming at the crowd but they remain frozen like that — Yes that’s it with their rifles raised like that — And now the audience has to decide what happens next — and hopefully the audience will clamor for the paramilitaries to lower their rifles and think differently — for one of the paramilitaries to shout stop — everyone stop — these are our brothers and sisters — we cannot open fire on our brothers and sisters — and after Rolando delivers a moving monologue the paramilitaries see the light and put down their arms and join the people of Mapasingue in their fight against the local magnate and the Americans — Ladies and gentlemen do we have a show for you this Saturday — Come to Roldós Plaza and help us decide what will happen to Mapasingue — Need help locating Roldós Plaza? — Call now!
On the night of their first show Rolando’s surprised to see so many people in the audience — some of whom are sitting on the foldable chairs and some of whom are standing behind the foldable chairs — and some of them are unwrapping the humitas that the Humita Lady has sold them from a wicker basket and others are improvising a circus show for a newborn who’s being burped and others are arguing jovially about something Rolando cannot hear — and on the tree by the stage the Christmas lights are flickering steadily as if to reassure everyone Christmas will come as it always does — and the generator’s burring and the night’s hot and humid like every other night — Ladies and gentlemen Los Guapayasos and Radio Nuevo Día present Snowflakes in Mapasingue — and the crowd applauds too effusively — as if they’re fans of the playwrights already — which in this case include Rolando Alban Cienfuegos and Eva Calderón and the people of Mapasingue — which means they’re partially applauding themselves? — and then a clown sporting a blue business suit that has been spraypainted with the word Pig enters the stage holding up what looks like blueprints — and next to him there’s another clown that’s dressed in the same kind of suit but without the sleeves and with shredded pants who’s obviously the Pig’s servant because the words Pig Servant have been spraypainted on his suit — and the crowd’s booing and jeering and yelling out with that Pig — Down with the Pig! — Hog! — Swine! — I do like pork chops though — Shut up Ramiro! — and the Pig clown approaches the edge of the stage by the angry audience and the Pig clown hesitates as to whether he should go on — looking askance at Rolando who from the side of the stage nods reassuringly — although Rolando isn’t sure if he should go on especially because next to him Eva looks worried — and then Rolando signals the Pig clown to please go on and the Pig clown cups his hand like a visor — Hmm this place looks dangerous — Nevertheless it will do for fake snow — We’ll just have to make these people disappear — Do you like magic? — I do — Enough about me — Yes patroncito that’s an excellent idea that way I won’t have to worry about feeding my pig wife and my pig kids anymore — Puff all gone from Mapasingue — Down with the Pig! — Toss him out! — The audience has spoken! — and some in the audience are hurling their humitas at the Pig and the Humita Lady is clutching her wicker basket to her chest as if afraid the people are going to raid the humitas in her basket but she doesn’t leave — and Eva’s hands are covering her face to not see but she does see — and Rolando’s ashamed he’s staring at Eva when she’s clearly in a state that doesn’t allow her to yell stop staring at me — and Rolando hopes she’s not thinking that he’s thinking I told you so Eva — nothing changes without violence — and as he reaches out for her hand she flails her arms and yells por Dios Rolando do something — and because the crowd seems ready to jump on the makeshift stage the Pig clown exits the stage so all that’s left on the stage is the Pig Servant — who has no idea what to do next — and then Rolando enters the stage and says ladies and gentlemen tonight you decide what happens next and you’ve decided to have no Pig — That’s right mosco — But we can’t have a play without a Pig — Improvise something you clown — And get off the stage — Yeah we don’t want clown paramilitaries on the stage — and then Rolando exits the stage and the crowd tells the Pig Servant to take off his suit — and thankfully the Pig Servant is wearing boxers without holes though his undershirt does have what looks like moth holes — and the crowd seems unsure about whether to laugh at his puny arms and what looks like a burn mark on his shoulder — as if someone had pressed an iron on his shoulder just for fun — and someone in the crowd throws him a white guayabera shirt and says put it on and pretend you’re El Loco — Yes be Loco — Loco! Loco! Loco! — and the Pig Servant looks grateful for the part and turns into El Loco shouting I’ll never allow those oligarchs conchadesumadres to take over our land — and someone hands him a glass of water which he pours over his head as if to cool himself just like El Loco used to do during his rallies — smudging the white paint on his face — and as he dries his face with his fingers the red paint of his nose spreads to his cheeks — and as he holds a humita from the floor as if it were a live trout he’s about to swallow the crowd goes wild — Bring in the Pig! — I’m not going back there — You’re making it worse they’re going to come get you — which is exactly what the crowd seems ready to do so the Pig enters the stage but stays on the side of the stage — and of course El Loco runs over and brings him center stage as if to present the people with evidence of how ridiculous his opponent looks — Loco! Loco! Loco! — and the Pig clown complies with the role assigned to him and tries to ingratiate himself with the crowd by impersonating León Martín Cordero who’s shouting at El Loco you savage only prostitutes and junkies voted for you — Loco! Loco! Loco! — You disgusting uncultured beast — Loco! Loco! Loco!
That night at Eva’s house — on Eva’s bed — Rolando doesn’t know whether to say that was a disaster or that was amazing — either way they’re both trying to pretend nothing much happened at Roldós Plaza — At least now we know what the people want — to which Rolando doesn’t reply by saying yes Eva the people want to trounce the same old stories — Yes Eva the people want a swine for president — You misunderstand them — Diagram it for me then — I’m not your schoolteacher — Ever tell you about our grammar teacher at San Javier named La Caballero? — Oh boy stories from boys’ school — Everyone pined for La Caballero because she was the only human resembling a female in a three mile radius and during class some of my classmates would install their mothers’ makeup mirrors atop their sneakers and when she walked down the rows of desks — That’s disgusting — What’s disgusting is that swine what’s the point of our radio if we live under a system that allows El Loco to run for office again and again? — which is the wrong thing to ask — already he can feel his irritation coursing through his voice — The point is to inform them — already he’s angry at how unconvincing she sounds when she says that the point is to make their lives better — that the point is to stop asking what’s the point all along the hypotenuse of our lives — Hypote what? — Nuse — Chanfle — That’s right — Hypotenuse of our — No Rolando it’s annoying and you still have clown paint on your ears — White at last — Not funny — Not even a tiny bit? — It’s annoying and it’s tiring — Isn’t it counter to our idea of ourselves not to question what’s the point? — Nothing’s ever going to change — Ugh — We both know all of this is futile leave
the people alone Rolando — I didn’t do anything — No one wants the apocalypse here — I didn’t say anything — You think I don’t know what you’ve been up to? — Radio Nuevo Día / la radio de tu — You think people here don’t talk? — I don’t know what you’re — You’re a terrorist — You’re exaggerating a little — You think the acts of vandalism you’re planning are going to help anyone here? — No one Eva — What do you think you’re accomplishing? — Nothing Eva but probably more than your stupid little plays — which unfortunately he does say — not unfortunately okay I’ll say whatever I want — and after Rolando says whatever he wants Eva shoves him out of bed — and she seems to resent that Rolando isn’t taken aback despite almost falling off her bed and that Rolando knows she knows there’s nothing she can say to rebut him — we’re conscientizing the people — she doesn’t say — we’re veering the discourse toward a truth they will willingly accept as just — she doesn’t say — through art we will transcend our condition — she doesn’t say — Get out — she does say — Go away — she does say — Fine — Okay — and he’s putting on his boots and storming out of her room and imagining how he will slam her front door and drive away and not talk to her ever again and then change his mind after a few days and call her three and four times a day until she picks up but she won’t pick up and his frustration at not being able to know if her anger has irreversibly ended their relationship will likely be greater than his frustration at her unwillingness to concede the pointlessness of their plays so he doesn’t storm out of her house but instead remains in her kitchen — hearing her switch off the lamp on her nightstand — although he knows she won’t be able to sleep — at least he likes to think she won’t be able to sleep — and after a while he likes to think she’s not asleep — although the room’s still dark and he hasn’t heard Eva shuffle even once — and after a while the sound of trucks speeding by and the crickets remind him of nothing — and after a while he thinks about El Loco — about his radio — about the radiant woman who reassured her plants — about silence giving the impression that one has no opinions — that one wants nothing — about his first day at the Universidad Estatal — about waking up on the morning he was to graduate from San Javier and finding that his scuffed black shoes had been miraculously polished — returning to Eva’s room and sitting quietly on the chair by her bed and thinking about the morning he found a soccer ball under their Christmas tree when he was five years old — When I was five my father gifted me a doctor’s kit and I would go around the house tapping the cement walls with my tiny hammer — to which Eva doesn’t reply — and after a while he thinks about his father changing his mind about opening the school cafeteria on the day he was to graduate from San Javier — okay Rolandazo go on and take your seat at the coliseum you’re in the first row — And in that short interval between my father’s day jobs at San Javier administering the school magazine and the school cafeteria and his night jobs hauling boxes at the harbor he would doze off in his armchair restlessly like a watchman who knew something was up which in most cases meant me not doing my homework — And when it was time for him to leave he would enact the same skit that included my sister until she left — My hair’s a mess he would whimper — As if the armchair wouldn’t let him out of its grip until someone fixed his hair — And then my sister would rush over to him gleefully — Pretending she was fulfilling some portentous duty — My sister and I both loved Topo Gigio by the way — When we were little she would put me to sleep by singing a / la / camita — Do you know that song? — According to my father on my sister’s first day of first grade I propped myself by the living room window and cried inconsolably after she left — And because that week and the week after I didn’t stop crying my father had to beg the director of the school to take me in too — And then my sister would comb my father’s hair — And then one evening when my sister was no longer with us my father wouldn’t wake up from the couch despite me banging my ruler on the kitchen table — Which is the kind of thing my sister would have scolded me for — And I could hear my father mumbling words at random — Nikon — Formica — Un solo toque — My hair’s a mess — And while he mumbled words at random I searched for my sister’s comb and found it under his pillow — Red with teeth like toothpicks — Which I’d seen my sister trying to soften with her fingertips — And which no longer smelled like her strawberry shampoo — In any case I combed his head while he was asleep — And as I did so my father opened his eyes and looked at me as if thinking the same thing I was thinking — This isn’t what men do — But my father doesn’t wave me away — He closes his eyes and pretends he hasn’t seen me — That he’s still asleep — And I go along with him — I go on — Back then my father was already bald by the way — but Eva doesn’t comment on what he just shared with her — Eva doesn’t move — and after a while the room is still silent and he thinks about finding a new white dress shirt on his father’s armchair on the morning he was to graduate from San Javier — about how years before he was a freshman at San Javier his father had included pictures of him in the school magazine — about how during his six improbable years at San Javier there had been more pictures of him in San Javier’s magazine than of any other student — about his father changing his mind about opening the school cafeteria on the day he was to graduate from San Javier so that Rolando wouldn’t have to serve empanadas to his fatuous classmates — so that Rolando wouldn’t have to serve chorizo to that Opus Dei woman whose plastic surgeries couldn’t conceal her contempt for everyone who looked as aboriginal as she used to look and who happened to be the wife of a tuna fish magnate — that would be Julio Esteros’s mother — and before his father changes his mind again Rolando runs out of his father’s cafeteria and runs past the soccer field that will never see grass and what does he care about grass not growing on a field where new batches of conchadesumadres will continue their awkward dribbling unlike his quick dribbling on the mini basketball court — which he’s passing now and on which he once scored eight points in less than ten minutes — the outdoor basketball court by the garbage cans that he’ll never have to empty again — and as he crosses the forest of eucalyptus and birch trees his tie doesn’t flutter because of his new tie clip — which according to his father belonged to his grandfather — and although his sprint from the cafeteria to San Javier’s coliseum doesn’t last long year after year he returns to this memory just as he returns to his radio — to the radiant woman who reassured her plants — to the first day he arrives at the Universidad Estatal — where by the entrance smoke is still rising from a tractor wheel — where by the entrance the gates are locked but bent enough for crossing inside — where the streets look as if decades ago trucks had dumped the belongings of a slum onto them and no one had bothered to clean up the gnarled tricycle — the spray cans — the tin or thatched roof — the broken glass still attached to rum labels — the rocks everywhere — as if someone had icepicked the moon and here was the detritus of that absurd effort — the metaphysical rebel declares he’s frustrated by the absurdity of the universe — the pamphlets glued to cracked bricks — and in its widest sense rebellion goes far beyond resentment — the emptied tear gas canisters — the rocks everywhere — Yankees Go Home — the smell of tear gas — My father used to fumigate the cornfields of a Polish American landowner in Portoviejo and sometimes Mister Henrik would ask my father to wear a brown body suit with tanks like in those movies about chemical warfare — And before heading to fumigate Mister Henrik’s land my father would always repeat the same phrase — He loved the sound of Mister Henrik’s words by the way — Try to say maaaska — Try to say tlenooowa — Goodbye children I’m off to do the monster he would say — Why are you telling me all this Rolando? — oh — so you were not asleep — he doesn’t say — what is he supposed to say? — I’m sharing all these tender memories with you so you’ll know — what? — that I am not what I am? — Rolando doesn’t say anything and she does not press him or turn toward him — Maaaska — she murmurs — Tle
nooowa — and then she does fall asleep — and then he tries to fall sleep on the chair by her bed and he’s dozing off and he’s running past the basketball court at San Javier and past the line of station wagons heading to San Javier’s coliseum — as fast as a chicken in Ethiopia — Rolando being both the fowl and the hungry Ethiopian — good one Facundo! — neither good nor bad señor — approaching the coliseum where Facundo Cedeño and the rest of his classmates are loitering outside and look Satan’s here — Guillermo Maldonado says — what’s up empanada — Antonio José says — yo empanada — Leopoldo says — looking good chorizo — Cristian Cordero says — empanaaaaaaaaada — Facundo Cedeño says — diavolo — Carlos de Tomaso says — gremlin — Giovanny Bastidas says — le empanada — Stefano Brborich says — with beef — Juan Lopez says — and cheese — Rafael Arosemena says — and molto chorizo — Jacinto Cazares says — shut up Jacinto! — everyone says — Rolando hurries inside the coliseum — the clanking of chairs — the crowds gathered around León Martín Cordero — empanada — gremlin — diavolo — gizmo caca — with beef — and chorizo — hey.
The Revolutionaries Try Again Page 13