It made her incredibly happy. If only she could pelt him with about two dozen other notebooks. Seized by a desire for destruction, Meche grabbed a bunch of records and flipped them at him. Sebastian evaded them this time, ducking. She kept throwing them, like Frisbees.
“Look! Take On Me. Now that’s a classic. And here, La Puerta de Alcalá.’ ‘Look at her, look at her, seeing time pass. The door of Alcala.’ It was a big hit back in 1985. Oh, look at this one?” Meche showed him the sleeve. “Mi Unicornio Azul by Silvio Rodriguez. My dad liked that song a lot.”
Meche buried her face in the pillow.
She felt Sebastian’s fingers on her shoulder; tried to shove him away and failed, then lay still and blinked.
“I hate this city,” she told the pillow, because she wouldn’t tell him.
Sebastian’s hand just rested there as it had so many times before: comforting her after the news of a bad grade; the nasty words some classmate spoke at school; even the time when she got so many zits she promised she’d never leave the apartment again and Sebastian had arrived, luring her out with the promise of the arcade.
A phone rang. His cell. The hand left her.
“Yes. Mom? Yeah.”
He walked towards the doorway and Meche rolled over, grabbing the blanket and wrapping herself into it. She was not cold in Oslo but this apartment packed the cold of too many winters in its heart.
Sebastian returned and sat next to her.
“Jimena said your mom is sick.”
“Cancer. Romualdo and I take turns looking after her. That’s why I’m back in the city. The chemo has worked. I’m betting she lives to a hundred.”
She thought of her own father, shuffling alone through his apartment in his slippers with no one to watch over him. Nothing but the songs for company.
“You’re going to go visit her now?”
“No. I can stay.”
“I’m not asking you to stay,” Meche said looking over her shoulder.
“You think I’d leave just like that?”
Well, you did once before, she thought. Well, technically she’d left. But only after he completely abandoned her by the curbside.
“I don’t know you,” she muttered. To the pillow, again. “You’re a stranger.”
He turned her around and Meche frowned as she looked into eyes which were exactly the same as she remembered them. But the rest wasn’t. And this man... she had never ridden down the boulevard on this man’s motorcycle, never scrawled idly in his books, never listened to vinyl records in an old pantyhose factory with him.
And that was that. You don’t get to rewind your life like a tape and splice it back together, pretending it never knotted and tore, when it did and you know it did.
Didn’t he get that?
They’d never be friends again. Never care like they cared, never dance like they danced. Time had sucked the marrow out of her and they were both too old.
He stretched his arms and pulled Meche forward, resting his chin upon her head.
“I know,” he said.
Meche squeezed her eyes shut and let him hold her for a good, long time. They’d lain like that on the factory floor, Sebastian wrapping his arms around her as they fell asleep.
“I can’t see you again,” she said. Her voice sounded dinted and strained.
“Why not?”
“Compartments. Plus, it’s not as if I like you.”
Sebastian laughed lightly.
“Then pretend to like me for a couple more days.”
“Why?”
“Because you’ll be gone after that.”
Oslo, with the little apartment. The shelves and the books—yes, she had bought them. She even had The Ambassadors, damn it—and the vinyl records proudly displayed on the walls instead of photographs of her family. Yellow walls and little white dishes as she sipped her tea and looked out the window, facing north. For half a second she wished he could see the place right now.
Meche shifted and slipped from his embrace. She looked down at him as she stood beside the bed and she shook her head, just the slightest movement.
She headed to the living room, pushed her hands deep in her pockets, brushing a pile of records on her way and making it tumble onto the floor. The front door was two paces away.
The keys.
Meche sighed, heading back towards the living room and bumping into Sebastian, who was standing there, leaning on the doorframe, looking down at her.
Sebastian stretched out a hand, pulling her closer and pressing his forehead against hers.
She felt completely lost and tried to shove him back, gently. He didn’t budge, instead pressing a kiss against her cheek.
“Second movement,” he said.
He kissed her mouth. Meche shook her head and looked away, staring at the shadows. She stood like that for a long time.
Coda, she thought. You mean a coda. She slid her hands up, touched the stubble of his jaw. It was odd, the texture of his skin beneath her fingers. Meche closed her eyes and kissed him harder than he had kissed her, wrapping her arms loosely around his neck.
He smiled against her mouth and she wished he was not so damn pleased with himself. Then she smiled too, only a little.
Mexico City, 1989
MID-JANUARY VICENTE VEGA withdrew all the savings from their bank account. He was investing them in the business venture of Azucena’s cousin. By the end of January, Azucena and the venture had vanished. Natalia found out at the end of February.
Vicente grabbed two suitcases and left on the last day of the month.
FEBRUARY WAS AN explosion of pink and red at Daniela’s house. Valentine’s Day approached with its excuse for her to indulge in craft-making on a grand scale. She went downtown and bought all kinds of supplies: silicone for the hot glue gun, fabric, shiny paper, bits of lace. She made Valentines for all her family—including the extended cousins in Mazatlán— and for all her classmates, even though they did not give her any Valentines. Then she began working on Sebastian’s birthday gift: he was turning sixteen.
Sebastian had been born the morning before Valentine’s Day and this gave Daniela the perfect excuse to put her talents to use for a gift which was part birthday present and part homage to this holiday. Her creations were all pink and sparkly, hideous and kitsch, best viewed from afar or not viewed at all. Sebastian, not wanting to hurt his friend’s feelings, accepted each with a smile, posed for a picture with Daniela holding the gift and stuck it somewhere on a shelf.
This year she was working on something which seemed to be a cross between an elephant and a zebra, a creature capable of giving Dali nightmares.
Sebastian observed her from the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket while Meche fumed.
“I thought we were going to practise some spells.”
“I’m here, ain’t I?” Sebastian said.
“I thought we were taking a break,” Daniela said, pressing sequins against the head of the deformed elephant.
“That was half an hour ago,” Meche said.
Daniela shrugged and Meche turned to Sebastian. It was cold in the factory with the broken panes letting in sharp winter air. He felt quite comfortable snuggled underneath the blanket, but he relented and walked towards Meche. Daniela, noticing it was now two against one, gave in.
They did not need to dance or hold hands anymore, though they sometimes did. For the past two weeks they had been working on something called a glamour, or as Meche pronounced it—gla-mur. She’d found out about it from a book of fairy tales she pilfered from the school library and was determined to make it work, although the results, so far, were far from perfect. There had been a creepy moment last week when they made Daniela’s eyes apparently vanish and she walked around as though she was a mole-person.
“Why don’t we try to imitate a whole person?” Meche asked.
“We can’t get eye colour right, let alone the eyes. Why bother with a whole person?” Sebastian asked.
“I have a feeling it m
ight be easier.”
Magic happened like that for them: in feelings and hunches and surprise insights which came in the middle of the night.
“Okay,” Daniela said. “Who will we imitate? A movie star?”
“Can I see one of your magazines?” Meche asked.
Daniela grabbed her purse and pulled out one of her teen magazines. Meche thumbed through it, finally ripping out a page and holding it up.
“This one,” she said.
Her choice was a pretty girl wearing a black leotard. Her hair was in a ponytail. Sebastian looked carefully at the photo, trying to memorize her face, her expression.
“Who are we focusing on?” Sebastian asked.
“How about Daniela?”
“Fine.”
Meche fiddled with a record. A song began to play. Take On Me. Sebastian tapped his foot, picturing Daniela as the girl. Erasing Daniela and sketching a whole new face on her, a whole new body. Clothes stitched themselves together, hair changed colour and grew, Daniela gained height and the contours of her body were reshaped. The final result was a good approximation but though it looked like an accurate copy of the picture, it also looked a bit glossy, perfect and two-dimensional; too much like the picture in a way, their imaginations producing a young woman whose skin had the rubbery quality of a mannequin.
Daniela walked around the room. It was like she had become a large Barbie doll, taking extremely long steps with her new slender legs. Then the outlines of Daniela’s body seemed to fizzle—like one image had been superimposed upon another. Streams of colour cascaded down Daniela’s shoulders, tumbling down; the threads of the illusion came apart, golden dust drifting towards the floor and disappearing as soon as it touched the ground.
The three of them sat down in unison. That had been interesting but not exactly what Sebastian had imagined.
“We need to keep working on it,” Meche said.
“It’s almost four,” Daniela said, putting the crafts she had been working on back in her big market bag. “I need to go to my tutoring session.”
“Really?” Meche said. “It’s Saturday.”
“Yeah, it doesn’t matter,” Daniela said. “I’m paying for it. We can meet tomorrow.”
“Can we come by your house around noon?”
“Sure.” Daniela rubbed her eyes and yawned. “My mom will make us lunch. Anyway, my sister’s picking me up. I better go.”
“Bye.”
Daniela waved a happy, cheerful goodbye and clomped down the stairs. Meche locked the door behind her and looked at the picture from the magazine, biting her lower lip.
“Maybe we need to look at a moving picture instead of a still image,” Meche ventured.
“What are you getting me for my birthday?” Sebastian asked, flopping onto the couch and grabbing hold of the blanket again.
“You’ll have more than enough with Daniela’s awesome birthday present. Did you see all that glitter?”
“I did.”
“I think she mistakes you for a five-year-old girl,” Meche said.
“She means well.”
“Of course she does.”
“Come here,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
Meche sat down next to him, propping her legs over the arm of the couch and resting her back against his arm.
“What?”
He cracked open his copy of The Ambassadors and pulled out a cut-out from a magazine.
“I got it the other day. It’s from a National Geographic. The Northern Lights.”
“Cool.”
“We have to go to the North Cape to see them.”
Meche handed back the clipping. She grabbed the blanket and pulled it over herself so that they were both covered. Things were back to normal between them—the December incident vanished—except when they weren’t; moments like this when Sebastian felt there was a little splinter in both of their brains.
He opened his mouth to ask Meche something. The trouble was he wasn’t sure what question he wanted to ask.
Sebastian sighed.
DANIELA’S SISTER DROPPED her off in front of Mr. Rodriguez’s place and told her she’d be back in a couple of hours. Daniela rang the bell and hummed as she waited for him to come down the stairs and let her in.
Her teacher had told her she was progressing well with her essays and Daniela felt proud of herself. She was not a brilliant student, rather average in her achievements, and it felt good to know she could shine at something.
Mr. Rodriguez let her into his apartment and smiled.
“Hi,” he said. “How are you doing today, Daniela?”
“I’m good,” she said, peeling off her sweater and putting it in the entrance closet, before following Mr. Rodriguez inside.
He had a little apartment with potted plants by the windows. The living room/dining room combo contained numerous shelves crammed with books. Photographs of a girlfriend Daniela had yet to meet adorned one shelf. The furniture was all a bit worn but it all looked rather chic and effortless.
Daniela sat at the dining room table and took out her notebook and her books, piling them all neatly.
“Do you want a soda? Some water?”
“No, sir. I’m fine.”
The living room had a view of the kitchen and she watched as Mr. Rodriguez poured himself a glass of water. Daniela opened her notebook.
“I finished the assignment you gave me.”
“What did you think of the book?”
“I thought it was fun.”
“Wuthering Heights was fun?”
“Well... yeah?” Daniela said cautiously.
She realized she should have said dramatic, moving, romantic—any of those words. Fun was such a stupid choice.
“Here,” he said, setting a glass before her. “I figure you might get thirsty.”
“Thanks,” she said, though she didn’t need it at all.
“You were saying it’s fun?”
“Yes. I mean, I finished it quickly and it wasn’t hard at all. I wrote my impressions on it, like you asked.”
Mr. Rodriguez stood next to her, leaning down to look at her notes. Sometimes, when Daniela stood in line at the supermarket, boys brushed by her, touching the side of her breasts. Meche would not allow anyone to cop a feel, but Daniela just tried to ignore it. It didn’t happen too frequently, anyway, and she tried to tell herself the boys did not mean it, that it was an accident.
When she felt Mr. Rodriguez’s hand brush against the side of her breast Daniela stiffened and stared at her notebook, figuring he hadn’t meant it.
“What did you think about Heathcliff?”
Daniela’s tongue clicked. Yes. Just an accident. “He’s a complex character. You’d think he’d be the hero, but he acts like the bad guy sometimes...”
There. She felt it again. Large fingers brushing against her breast.
Daniela looked down. She scooted a bit to the right, reaching towards a book, moving away a little from him.
“... there is a part where...”
The fingers again, though this time they rested on her thigh.
Daniela’s eyes went round. She swallowed.
“Mr. Rodriguez, you’re making me uncomfortable,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry.”
The hand tugged at the hem of her purple peasant skirt.
“I’m going home,” she said and stood up.
Mr. Rodriguez smiled at her and it was such an innocent smile that for a split second Daniela thought maybe she had imagined it, that her overactive imagination was mixing a plot from one of her books with real life.
“Look here, I know how you look at me,” Mr. Rodriguez said. “Let’s not be a baby about it.”
The shock of his words numbed Daniela and she sat in her chair, motionless, an overstuffed doll. Mr. Rodriguez’s hand returned to her thigh.
“Look, I’m doing you a favour.”
The books she read did not contain scenes like this; they offered no solutions and
no maps through this forest. Daniela tried to think, tried to move from the chair and was only able to utter a weak, “Please stop, sir.”
He reached for her shirt, about to take it off, and Daniela raised a leg and kneed him in the balls. He howled in pain, bending down. Daniela pushed him away and rushed towards the door.
For a few panicky seconds she thought the doorknob would not turn, but the door swung open easily and she rushed out like a scared rabbit, running faster than she thought possible. Two blocks from his place she tripped and skinned her knees, but she got up again and ran and ran until she was out of breath.
“SHE’S STILL IN bed,” Daniela’s sister said.
“But it’s noon,” Meche said. “She told us to come at noon. Is she sick again? Can we see her?”
“Well... you can try. I took her breakfast up today and she wouldn’t even open the door. She says she has a cold.”
“We were supposed to have lunch together,” Sebastian explained.
“Yeah, I know. Maybe she’ll come down if you talk to her. She’s been acting weird since yesterday.”
“Alright,” Meche said.
They went up the stairs to Daniela’s room. Her door had a colorful sign bordered with flowers which read ‘Daniela.’ Meche knocked three times and waited.
“What?”
“Hey, it’s us,” Meche said. “We’re here for lunch.”
“Go away.”
Meche frowned and glanced at Sebastian. When Daniela was sick, she liked having them around. They read to her or played board games. She enjoyed the company and, in fact, felt sad when they didn’t show up.
“Stop kidding and let us in.”
“I’m not kidding. I don’t want to talk to you.”
“Come on. We’re not going to go. What’s up with you?”
“If I tell you... you can’t tell anyone else.”
“Who are we going to tell?” Meche said. “Open up.”
Daniela unlocked the door. Meche and Sebastian walked in. The curtains were drawn. Daniela, in her pyjamas, looked tired and her eyes were red from crying. She shuffled back into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin.
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