Perfect Days

by Raphael Montes

  “I don’t know.”

  “I was hoping for a better answer.”

  Teo was relaxed and had even forgotten the nightmare. “I think people need to believe in a higher power for life to make sense. And to impose certain limits too.”

  “And what would that higher power be?”

  “For me, it’s science. I don’t need God, but I go to church.”

  “I don’t believe in him either.”

  She tossed her head as if defying the heavens, then poured herself another glass of wine before putting the bottle in a hole in the sand.

  “I prefer to think we’re all free and came from nothing.”

  “And what’s above you? What gives you limits?”

  “Well, my mother gives me limits. . . . And you too, now.”

  Teo found a certain criticism in those words. He didn’t like that Clarice had mentioned her mother. He drank the rest of the wine in his glass, but when she reached for the bottle, he said he didn’t want any more.

  “You’ve been a bit sullen the last few days. I don’t like it.” She stroked his arm.

  He wanted to get the necklace he’d bought her for Christmas, but he allowed her to continue stroking him. For an instant, the plan he’d put together for that night struck him as childish.

  “I want to apologize, Clarice . . . for what I’ve done.”

  “You haven’t done anything.”

  “I did, I know I did,” he said. He didn’t exactly regret what he’d done, but the urge that had almost caused him to kill the old woman had changed into something positive. Maybe he had overdone it a little. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you yesterday. It was silly to ask you to put on the gag.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “Sometimes I act a little crazy, but . . . it’s just that you make me feel something . . . I can’t lose you. You’re my reason for living.”

  She smiled. Her inviting lips were dark from the wine. “Thanks for this Christmas,” she said, and gently took his hand. “Let’s go for a walk.”

  • • •

  They headed away from the cottage. The lantern cast light only a few yards in front of them. Clarice asked how long he’d believed in Santa Claus and then launched into a description of her childhood Christmases. She got talkative when she drank.

  Teo’s replies were flat. He couldn’t understand what was going on with himself. It was quite absurd: previously, he had desired Clarice with a force he hadn’t even known was in him. Now he felt lost, despondent, foolish. He held the lantern as if it weighed a ton.

  “Here, let me carry that for you,” she said, transferring the lantern to her right hand and slipping her left arm around his waist.

  He wondered at which moment he had ceased to be the protector and become the protected. With Breno’s death? Helena’s suspicions? The tree shadows became monstrous figures in his imagination, the ruffled leaves muttering indiscernible sounds. They walked for several minutes, picking their way around twisted branches and swampy ground. It was a full moon night.

  The impact of the blow knocked his head back, and he fell to his knees. The bright spot swung down again, and he groaned and bit the earth. He saw the red hood, the light. Then he saw Clarice. Swinging the lantern through the air, she was beating him on the head.

  He howled with pain. He tried to get up, but she hit him again. The metal tore into his face and blood ran down his cheeks. He begged her to stop, but the blows kept coming. He felt his body grow weak and darkness close in.

  20

  It was coming from inside. The brain-crushing thumping made all thought impossible. He couldn’t speak, see, or move. His body was covered in pins and needles, which was a good sign: he still had a body. The rest was all a dark void.

  Then the light. Forces clashed: the impact of immobility and the desire to escape, to get away from the thumping. The ache had been there first, shut away in the black box of his brain. The light was external. He blinked, forced his eyelids to open, but couldn’t see. He felt stabbing pains in his head, which made him wince. Lines began to take shape, and colors filled the scene. He saw the curtain, open a crack, and the room lit by slivers of sunlight reflected on the white ceiling.

  He was on the bed. The furniture melted like hot wax. His nose was on fire. He breathed in, feeling a jab somewhere. His cry got stuck in his larynx. Something was filling his mouth, pushing on his cheeks and throat. His tongue felt a strange, leather-flavored object. He pushed on it, tried to get it out of his mouth. It was attached to his face, pulling open the corners of his mouth. His face stung, itched, stung, itched. It was extremely cold.

  His senses tried to bargain with the pain. Metal around his wrists and ankles. A bumpy mattress under his sweaty, dirt-covered body. A recollection: the strong light of the lantern. The shadow in the dark. A woman filled with hatred. Clarice in a red jacket. Where was she? The image of Clarice merged with the movement of the door. Another Clarice appeared. Red and dark. Have mercy. She sat next to him.

  Her cold hand touched his forehead, and he thought he heard the word sweat. He wasn’t delirious. Clarice was saying something. He saw her lips moving as if he were watching a television on mute. He forced his mind to be quiet.

  “Sorry, I’m not very good at this,” he heard her say.

  The pain came back. It was brutal. The noise shot through his brain.

  He saw the needle piercing his forearm, which had a loose piece of elastic wrapped around it. Clarice pulled the syringe out roughly.

  “I never find this vein on the first go,” she said with a smile.

  He wanted to scream. His eyes were heavy, his head spun. He saw the specter of Clarice stand and run her hands over his cheeks in a discreet caress.

  “Good night, my little rat.”

  • • •

  It was nighttime when Teo woke up, short of breath. He was startled, and it took him a while to recover. Breathing put pressure on his thorax, increasing the drowning sensation. A bolt of electricity ran throughout his body, causing involuntary reactions. His hips thrust forward, his legs shook, his abdomen contracted in spasms. He needed water, he needed food, he needed to go to the toilet. His bladder was swollen. It was a miracle he hadn’t wet himself.

  He tried to move his arms but couldn’t. His wrists were still cuffed to the posts of the wooden bed frame, his hand raised above his head, putting pressure on his shoulders. His shoulder blades screamed. The handcuffs held his numb arms firmly back, with only four inches of leeway. His body had slid down the mattress so that his muscles were stretched to the maximum, tingling from the tips of his fingers to the base of his neck.

  He twisted his arms to see the wounds on his elbows, covered in dried blood. The formal shirt he’d been wearing on Christmas Eve—the night before?—was torn, and his left nipple was visible. He tried to find a better position. He leaned his head against the headboard and tried to use his legs to push his body upward. Gravity got the better of him: his feet gave way, his buttocks bounced on the mattress, and his spine creaked.

  The smaller bedroom was unexpectedly suffocating. The window was closed and covered by a curtain with a pattern of little blue birds. The mattress was of yellow foam, and the headboard cast a discreetly disturbing shadow across the door. The china terrier on the bedside table stared at him with an expression of pity. Beneath the windowsill was a wheelbarrow. As far as he could remember, there hadn’t been a wheelbarrow there before. The observation was useless, since he hadn’t noticed the tacky curtain either. Everything was very big and close now.

  The doctor’s satchel with Breno’s glasses in it was on the chest of drawers, just slightly above his line of vision. He could see the combination lock, and it looked shiny, as if someone had polished it. The idea of Clarice polishing the digits—trying to discover the combination—produced a feeling of sheer terror in him.

  He
forced himself to stay calm. He knew Clarice wanted to make him suffer. Her persistent self-deception prevented her from seeing the benefits of their relationship. In a way, he understood the brief confusion, but wanted to clear things up. And forgive her.

  She came into the room a short while later holding a glass of water in her right hand. She was wearing white overalls and looked unexpectedly sad. With her head hanging, eyes downcast, and mouth pressed shut in a serious expression, she seemed possessed by the devil. Standing in front of the bed, she swayed subtly forward and backward.

  “Clarice, please, talk to me,” he said, breaking the silence. Only then did he realize he was no longer wearing the gag. His voice was rusty but strong. “Talk to me. Is everything okay?”

  “Drink.” She held out the glass of water.

  Teo moved his arms, but the handcuffs kept his hands at a distance. He tugged on the chains, scraping his wrists, but it wasn’t enough. He swallowed, dry-mouthed. He didn’t feel anything else. Just thirst.

  “Please, come closer.”

  She looked up, smiled at Teo, but didn’t move an inch.

  “Don’t be lazy. Come on, drink.”

  “I can’t.”

  Clarice glanced down at the glass in her hand and then back at him. Her eyes looked like black holes.

  “Gee, I’m really sorry!” she said. Her tone was irritatingly sweet. She tilted her head to one side, still smiling. “I’m thirsty too.”

  She drank the glass of water in front of him in long gulps.

  “Are you trying to get revenge on me?” he asked. His face was stinging and itching again.

  “Are you hungry, darling?”

  Without waiting for an answer, she left the room and came back holding a bunch of bananas in one hand and a long knife in the other.

  “What are you doing?”

  She sat on the bed and tore a banana off the bunch. She peeled it. They were only a few inches apart: he could smell her perfume, which was now too sweet. He wanted to touch her but was afraid.

  “I tidied the place up. There were dead insects and dust everywhere! All it takes is for a woman to get a little tied up, and everything becomes a mess,” she said. “I found a lovely set of knives under the sofa.”

  She sliced the banana awkwardly, as the knife was very big and heavy. She placed a slice between Teo’s lips, and he wasn’t able to resist it. He was starving. He chewed slowly, thinking about what to say to her.

  “Why don’t you let me go?”

  “It’s so nice like this!”

  “What are you going to do to me?”

  “Oh, stop asking such difficult questions!” she screeched like a fifteen-year-old girl who’d just found a cockroach in the bathroom. She shoved another slice of banana into Teo’s mouth and waited for him to chew. “Have you seen your new means of transportation?”

  She pointed at the wheelbarrow. Only then did he notice that the wheels were covered in dirt.

  “I needed it to bring you here. You’re pretty heavy—did you know that?”

  “Stop it. Let’s talk seriously now.”

  “You need to go on a diet. How much do you weigh? Over two hundred pounds?”

  “This isn’t right, Clarice. Revenge—”

  “Revenge?” She grinned, and her grin was so hypocritical that it rattled him. “I don’t know what you mean, darling. I’m just showing you what I feel.”

  “Everything I did was for your own good. Thinking about your well-being.”

  “I thank you for it.”

  “Clarice, you’re not a bad person.” He made a point of saying her name, a psychological tactic to create a sense of intimacy between them. “Anger only leads to bad feelings.”

  “My feelings are good, I assure you. Cleaning the place up did me good.” Her eyes flitted across the walls, and she stood up as if she’d just remembered something urgent she had to tend to. “I found lots of interesting things.”

  She hurried out again. Through the open door, Teo could see part of the kitchen table and the metal sink. There was a pile of dishes waiting to be washed, and he wondered how much time had passed for Clarice to have dirtied so many dishes. He also wondered if she’d been lying when she said she’d tidied up.

  “I used this time to think,” she said when she came back. She placed his toiletry bag on the bed. Teo felt nauseated. He glanced at the satchel on the chest of drawers before returning his gaze to Clarice’s hands. He saw her pull the packaging off a new syringe and screw the needle into place.

  “Please don’t sedate me.”

  She nodded her head slightly, unconcerned. It was disrespectful.

  “I might get contaminated!”

  “It won’t happen, darling.”

  Teo wanted to reply, but all the arguments he could think of sounded incoherent. From his point of view, lying with his arms over his head and needing to pee, Clarice seemed like an evil nurse out of a horror movie. He was scared.

  “Want some more banana?” she asked. She shook an ampoule of Thyolax in front of his eyes, measuring the dose.

  He was still hungry, but he said, “I’m disappointed in you. I don’t believe you’re going to sedate me again.”

  Clarice sat a few inches away and stared deep into his eyes. Her eyes made him feel something he’d never felt before. It was as if she knew about Breno’s death and believed it was all his fault.

  “I’ve thought a lot the last few days . . .” she said, plunging the needle into the ampoule and sucking the solution into the syringe. There was a tiny amount of liquid left, and if he wasn’t mistaken, it was the second of the three ampoules. “I thought about the first few times we talked, your ploys to get near me . . . you holding me prisoner with handcuffs, gagging me—”

  “Clarice, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t interrupt me.” This time she sounded like she was going to cry. “I thought a lot about what happened, Teo. And I really tried to understand. I put myself in your shoes. It all sounds crazy, but you wanted me to fall in love with you. You wanted me to love you like you love me.” She put the elastic on him and wiped the inside of his forearm with gauze soaked in alcohol as she felt for his veins with cold fingers. “Our story can’t end like this. You don’t deserve it. We don’t deserve it.”

  He was confused.

  “You had a chance to show me your side of things,” she said, wiping away a tear. “You feel something for me, I get it. But now it’s my turn. I feel something for you too. And I want to show it to you.”

  She nodded at the door, then stretched out the skin on Teo’s arm and slowly pushed in the plunger of the syringe.

  “Now let’s sleep.”

  21

  Teo was woken up with a bucket of cold water. The shock made him shiver, and the throbbing in his head returned full force. It was a sunny day. The closed curtain created a pleasant half-light: a few rays of sunlight came in near the ceiling over his head. He was in a cold sweat, shouting. When the pain eased off, he saw Clarice in the doorway, laughing her head off as she shook the empty bucket.

  “My God, you look frightened!”

  She shook her head solemnly. That movement, previously so enchanting, revealed all her perversity. Clarice was toying with him and appeared to be enjoying it. She returned to the room with the bucket full, holding it clumsily with her thin arms.

  She took a wet sponge out of the bucket and rubbed Teo’s legs with it. The texture was abrasive on his skin, pulling off scabs and causing open wounds to bleed. It was unbearable. He tried to move his legs, but it was useless.

  “Don’t be such a wimp,” she said in a tone of voice that was at once scolding and maternal. “You look awful. Look.”

  She took the mirror down from the wall. Teo was shocked by his reflection. He was unrecognizable, covered in swellings and festering wounds filled with yellow pus.
It looked as if his face had been sliced up with glass. His right cheek had become a large purple ball over which a beard was growing. He stank. How had Clarice left him in that state?

  She smiled, slightly flushed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “I woke up in a good mood.”

  She put her left hand behind his head, tilting it back. With her right hand, she lifted up a razor. The blade was rusty and probably blunt. He tried to lower his head, but Clarice held him by the chin. She wet his cheeks and rubbed household detergent on his neck and around his mouth until she’d worked up a lather, then positioned the blade near his jugular and carefully scraped it off.

  Teo imagined she was about to kill him. And the idea didn’t sound that bad. It would be a relief from his problems, resolved by a painless cut. His mother and her disabilities, Helena and her desperation, and Clarice and her ridiculous revenge would all be left behind. It was a settling of accounts. As a martyr, he had to die so that they could miss him.

  “Why don’t you kill me?”

  Clarice stopped for a moment. She let out a long sigh as she lightly pressed the blade to his skin.

  “I’m not like you,” she said, and then went back to shaving him with her previous diligence. She dried his face with the tip of the filthy sheet. It reeked of urine.

  Teo felt strange; something grotesque and repugnant was now a part of him.

  “Let me have a shower.”

  “You’re much better like this.”

  Clarice tended to his face with some ointment and gauze that she’d found in the toiletry bag. He tried to tell her the best, least painful way to apply them, but she ignored him. She returned the mirror to the wall and dragged a chair from the kitchen into the bedroom. She sat down, put her legs up on the bed, and pulled a packet of Vogue cigarettes out of her pocket.

  “I had a poke through your things and found these treasures!”

  She lit the tip of the cigarette on the flame in the lantern. She took a drag, filling her cheeks with smoke and closing her eyes with pleasure.