“I tried to talk to you. We talked about death and burials, and well, I hoped you’d remember at some point. It’s normal for things to come back slowly. I didn’t mean to hide anything. I kept Breno’s glasses precisely for that reason, to have some kind of material proof. It’s our secret, Clarice. I need you to trust me the way I trust you.”
She shrugged, but it wasn’t a gesture of indifference. Her slender body looked like a very taut wire. She raised her head, but instead of looking away, she stared straight at him with eyes as deep as an abyss.
“Something’s bugging me, Teo. About the day before yesterday . . .”
“What do you mean?” He didn’t like that she had changed the subject.
“When you pulled me out of the sea, I . . . was in a bad way.”
“You couldn’t even open your eyes properly.”
“Yes, but I wasn’t unconscious. I was awake, and I remember you carrying me out of the water in your arms. I remember feeling my legs.”
“It’s just an impression.”
“I remember feeling chills in my feet because I was wet and shivering. Do you understand what I’m saying? I could feel, Teo. I could feel my feet.”
Clarice sobbed without taking her eyes off him, and her anxiety made him anxious too.
“I just sutured your wounds,” he said. “Are you insinuating that I made a mistake as I was stitching you up?”
Clarice shook her head, and with that quick movement her expression became dangerously cruel. “I’m saying that you did this to me, Teo. On purpose.”
“I don’t believe you could think that.”
When he got up, his legs buckled slightly. He paced back and forth. She had managed to provoke him very cunningly, and he wanted to end the conversation that instant.
“All you do is tell me lies,” she said. “I know I didn’t kill Breno. And I know what you’re capable of. You’re a monster!”
Teo punched her. Then he realized it was the worst thing he could have done, because it made him look like the bad guy. He apologized, wallowing in resentment. He had saved her life. If Breno had been there, what would he have done? Would he have played Antonin Dvorˇák’s Symphony no. 9 to suture her wounds?
Teo was indignant; he felt as if he’d been robbed. He held her arms and shook her hard. He denied having done anything to Breno or her. He denied it again. Clarice shouldn’t have called him a monster. She had no right to. He wasn’t a monster. And he desperately needed her to believe it.
27
They didn’t talk to each other for two days. It was hotter now, and Teo imagined the papers announcing the hottest day of the year, the harshest summer of the decade, things like that. They’d blame deforestation and the depletion of the ozone layer. Due to the heat, he was eating less and had lost some weight. His face thinned out when he lost weight. Patricia would notice the difference, possibly Clarice too. But Teo made a point of treating her with indifference, as if he hadn’t noticed that she was acting strange.
Her calling him a monster was still tormenting him, and for the first time, it seemed obvious that they’d never stay together. Clarice was stupid, incapable of seeing anything more than a hand’s length from her own face, and she questioned his character? After the fight, Teo had left some books on her bedside table, as well as biscuits and a plastic bottle of water. He’d dryly told her to call him if she needed anything.
Teo used the time apart to study. He spent most of the day in the kitchen or outside the cottage. He slept in the other room and avoided contact with Clarice. She hadn’t called him once. On the Friday morning (if he wasn’t mistaken it was Friday), Teo was in the kitchen when he heard her crying behind the closed door. Normally, he would have left her to cry (it was all she did), but something guttural and very specific in her voice made him decide to go talk to her. Clarice was hunched over with her bare arms wrapped around her. The smell was bad.
“I told you to call me if you needed to go to the bathroom.”
She looked like a frightened animal peering out of its burrow.
“I can’t feel anything.”
He looked at her, trying to understand. Her voice was melancholic.
When she cast her eyes about the wet mattress, he finally understood but felt too uncomfortable to say anything. Her spinal injury meant she couldn’t control the urge to go to the bathroom. Teo chided himself for having forgotten that detail: Clarice would have to wear diapers.
• • •
He heated up two full pots of water, as he didn’t want to wet Clarice’s head in the cold shower. He rinsed her hair and massaged her temples. He ran his fingers down her neck, working out knots in her shoulders, and reached her ankles. As he touched her, he realized just how much he liked her. The war of silences was maddening. He wanted to say something to stifle the sorrow that was building up in him.
“The owner will be back in two days.”
He didn’t want to mention that they had to leave, but he thought Clarice would be interested in numbers. She remained quiet, allowing him to massage her. Her breathing was discreet—almost nonexistent—and Teo thought that, like an electronic device, Clarice was wearing out.
He asked if she wanted to sit in the sun. The weather was pleasant, and there was a refreshing breeze. She answered no and said she wanted to go back to bed. Teo didn’t believe she really preferred the bed—there was a heavy negative charge in the room—but he’d given up trying to understand her whims. He turned the mattress over and laid her on the bed. If he left the room that instant, he’d miss his only chance to make peace with her.
“I don’t want to fight with you.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Please—I can’t bear that you blame me for everything that’s happened. I didn’t go after Breno. He was the one who—”
“Go fuck yourself, Teo. I don’t want to hear it.”
He pulled up a chair, as he didn’t want to sit too close to her. “I’m not a bad guy, Clarice. I’m sorry I handcuffed you. . . . There were times when I felt you liked me. I want to go home, but I can’t lose you. I told my mother about us, and she can’t wait to have you over for dinner. I think your mother likes me too. It’s all so perfect. But I need you to want me, and I don’t know how to make it happen. I’m lost. You insist on finding fault with everything I do, no matter how hard I try.”
“That’s your problem! You forced your way into my life!”
“I’ve already said sorry.”
“I don’t care what you do for me. I was held prisoner, sedated with that shit . . .” She started crying again. “You can beat me, tie me up, kill me. I’m crippled, and I couldn’t give a fuck what happens to me anymore.”
“I saved your life. Come on, you have to give me that.”
She gave him a serious look. Teo thought she looked like she wanted to eat him alive, a hungry wildcat.
“You’re not in your right mind and want to transfer your own blame onto me!” he went on. “I know it’s horrible, but . . . I didn’t want you to get hurt. And it’s not my fault Breno came after us with a knife. He caused all this.”
Clarice was leaning forward slapping her legs. What was left of her was right there in front of him, and even if her chances were remote, he sincerely hoped she’d recover.
“I feel self-destructive. Because of you, I’m actually afraid of myself. I’m a worse person than I used to be.”
“Because of me?” He wanted to throw it all in her face. “Are you’re forgetting that I found you drunk, lying in a doorway in Lapa, after kissing a disgusting lesbian? You were throwing your future down the drain. I pulled you out of it!”
“You didn’t even ask me if I wanted out.”
“You were living a fantasy, Clarice. Breno was jealous and ignorant. A violinist without a penny to his name! Your mother had good reason not to like him.”
“I loved Breno.”
“Oh, come on, stop it! You helped me finish him off! And even though you’re trying to blame me, you know—deep down you know—that you helped me! We’re in this together, Clarice.” Their conversations had a certain intensity that was always the same. “You call me a monster, but you refuse to acknowledge everything I’ve done. The first version of Perfect Days was crap. Thanks to our conversations, your screenplay is better now, and someone might actually take an interest in it.”
“I’m not talking about screenplays.”
“But I am. I’ve always supported your artistic endeavors. I’ve always been concerned about your health too. I may have gone a little overboard banning cigarettes, but I didn’t do it to hurt you. I’ve never done you any real harm, Clarice. I didn’t bring any ammunition for the revolver because I’m incapable of hurting you.”
“You left me paralyzed!”
“The truth is, you think you’re so superior to everyone else. You think you’re untouchable, capable of anything. Maybe now you’ll eat some humble pie.”
“I don’t believe—”
“I have a handicapped mother, and I know it’s a drastic change,” said Teo. “Looking after her means renouncing a little of myself, of my life. It isn’t for everyone.”
He touched Clarice’s arm. Her skin was deathly cold.
“I try to be the best man I can. I don’t care if you smoke or can’t walk—I want to take care of you. I want you to write your screenplays and for us to go to your film premieres together. I think you’ve got talent, and this new condition might be your edge. It might give your texts an original voice.”
“Teo, I—”
“I don’t want you to say anything. In two days we’re going to Paraty. If you want, you’ll be free to live your life and find someone else, someone willing to put up with your condition,” he said, feeling cruel. “It’s really tiring, a burden. Not many people can do it.”
Teo stood up, certain he’d said everything that needed to be said. When he left the bedroom, he couldn’t remember the expression on Clarice’s face, but he felt he’d made an impression on her. It was obvious that she’d choose the solidity of a stable relationship. She didn’t have a lot of talent, and there wasn’t much left of her. She needed someone who would encourage her, not people who dragged her down, like Breno and Laura.
That afternoon, as he tidied the cottage and swept the sand out of the kitchen, Teo remembered the few short-lived relationships his mother had had since the accident—with middle-aged losers—and concluded that Clarice would be headed for the same if she gave up on him.
• • •
Because he didn’t know what time the old woman was coming, Teo sedated Clarice in the morning. He took the opportunity to remove the stitches from the wounds that had already healed. He rearranged items in the toiletry bag and satchel and folded the dry sheets. The ampoule of Thyolax was almost empty, and it was the last one, but he wasn’t worried. When they got to Paraty, he’d figure something out. The days had been slow, but he’d perked up mentally the day before. He’d happily give up life in the anatomy lab for an uncertain life with Clarice. He saw his face reflected in the bathroom mirror. He was tanned and more handsome. There was a taste of salt on his lips. His hair had grown a lot, and the curls gave him a good-natured demeanor.
The old woman arrived shortly before midday. Clarice and their clothes were already packed. After a quick look around, the cottage was closed and the boat took off. Teo asked the woman if she could take him straight to the mainland, but she mumbled something unintelligible and said she was going to Abraão Beach. Her expression was humorless, and Teo wondered if his photograph had appeared in the newspaper. Even though he was in the right, he knew people would never understand what had happened with Breno. They were all obsessed with codes and rules and he’d have no defense, even if he tried.
As they approached the coast, the feeling that the police were waiting for him at the port intensified, and he threw up in the water. As he disembarked, he was ashamed of his own overreaction. He bought a ticket to the mainland on a ferry that left in eight minutes. On the ferry, overcome with curiosity, he tried to turn on Clarice’s cell. The battery had lost its charge. He turned on his own cell knowing he’d received lots of calls from Patricia and Helena. He made a bet with himself: more than thirty, less than forty. There was no reception on the water, so the result of his bet was delayed.
When they docked, his cell beeped: eighty-seven calls and countless messages—he didn’t go to the trouble of seeing how many. He was so bewildered that he turned down all offers of help with his bags and carried them to the car himself. It was an awkward situation. He concluded that the biggest problem with middle-class Brazilian mothers was that they didn’t have anything to do. How could they be so invasive?
He laid the Samsonite on the backseat and, with some effort, put Clarice in the front passenger seat. She was deeply sedated, and her body flopped forward onto the glove compartment. Teo buckled her in and started the car.
He drove in silence, listening only to Clarice’s deep breathing. She was moving her head slowly, eyes tightly shut. Every so often she’d halt in a position of suicidal immobility, a bitter expression would flash across her face, and she’d start moving again. Teo imagined she was having a nightmare and wanted to pull over, but there was no shoulder on that part of the road. He glanced in the rearview mirror and slowed down a little, but a car behind him honked its horn instead of overtaking. He thought about shouting something out the window. Clarice’s sleep became even more agitated, and he tried to wake her up. He poked her arm, to no avail.
It happened very quickly. One minute Clarice was slumped over in the passenger seat; the next, she was hugging him tightly, preventing him from holding the wheel. The road curved, but the car went straight ahead. Teo felt the impact with the retaining wall, his body being thrown forward and tons of metal tumbling through the air with him in it. Then he didn’t feel anything at all.
28
Teo didn’t know if it was late, but everything was dark. There was a beeping coming from somewhere, and it grew faster, accompanying his heartbeat. It jabbed his brain through his right ear. He wanted it to stop but couldn’t make it. His hands clenched something soft. He was dizzy. A sliver of light shone under the door. The smell of hospital alcohol made his eyes want to close. He could hear footsteps and shushed voices behind the door. On the other side of the bed, the beeping continued. His head was raised on a thick pillow, and several blankets were keeping his legs warm. A frustrated attempt to make him comfortable.
When his eyes adjusted to the half-light, he looked at his body. Electrodes on his chest, thermometer under his left arm, oxygen saturation, blood pressure gauge, intravenous catheter in his jugular. He felt calmer, although it was odd to be the patient. The urinary catheter in his urethra stung. The tips of his toes and the soles of his feet were numb. The beeping grew louder.
Someone opened the door, bringing light and noise into the room. “Can you see me?”
He shook his head, and then he saw the doctor. “Now I can.”
The man was old and gray-haired. He was studying the vital signs monitor and barely gave Teo the time of day. “What’s your name?”
It took him a few seconds to answer. “Teodoro.”
“Do you remember what happened?”
He was immersed in a cauldron of confusing sensations.
“A car accident,” said the doctor, without giving him any time. “You lost a lot of blood.”
The images came back painfully. He remembered the road and some of his thoughts as he was driving. Death, screams, needles, iron, open wounds. He remembered Clarice. He glanced around the room: there were no flowers or cards or colorful balloons. There were no police officers either.
“How long have I been here?”
“Two days. I don’t kno
w where your friend is.” The doctor nodded at a long bench with a light blanket on it next to the bed. Someone had visited him.
“What about Clarice?”
“Who?”
“The woman who was with me in the car.”
“I don’t know. You were transferred here. Wait for your companion to come back.” He made some notes on the bedside file. “You hit your head, but you’ll be fine. If you need anything, press here.” There was a button near Teo’s free arm.
Teo suddenly understood that Clarice was dead. The sterile environment, the doctor’s objectivity, and the lack of police confirmed it. Clarice was fragile and hadn’t made it. He remembered the impact at the moment of the crash, the metal against his chest. It hurt as if it were happening all over again. He’d been in hospital for two days, and Clarice would have been buried by now. The thought emptied him out.
He was lost in thought when the door opened again.
“You’re awake!”
Patricia wheeled herself over and held his hand, squeezing it tightly. She started to cry.
“I was desperate. You don’t know how much I prayed—”
“I want to know what happened to Clarice, Mother.”
Teo noticed that her eyes reddened, and the bitter taste of medicine on his tongue seemed stronger.
“She’s in the ICU,” said Patricia in a wisp of a voice.
Teo didn’t really know how to react, so he said nothing.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I need to see Clarice.”
“She was taken to another hospital. And you need to rest. Maybe tomorrow.”
After so long without seeing his mother, Teo realized he didn’t have much to say to her. Patricia was wearing a dress as crumpled and old as herself. Her happiness at his recovery hadn’t been enough to erase her weariness. She tried to smile, but it was a sad smile.
“I spend the whole day here, and when I go to the toilet, you wake up! Marli came to see you. She really likes you.”
Perfect Days Page 19