“Remember not to open them until the end. Right?
“Once upon a time there was a very beautiful princess called Tama. From the moment of her birth the king and queen loved her so much that they set out to ensure she would always be very happy and know nothing of the evils of the world. Their daughter deserved only the best. She slept on a mattress with springs of gold, her head resting on pillows stuffed with peacock feathers and covered by a counterpane of the finest silk, freshly woven each day to ensure she slept sweetly. The king and queen had the designers of the most expensive brands, the chefs of the most luxurious restaurants, brought from distant lands. Princess Tama had never worn the same outfit or enjoyed the same dish twice.
“So as not to expose her to the dangers of life, they kept her shut up in an immense palace. Award-winning architects designed gardens of enviable ingenuity for her. Her favorite was the vertical garden that adorned the façade of the most exclusive nightclub in the world; the princess adored the horizontal palm trees. Her retinue of friends—hired from strictest model agencies—watched out each night to ensure that no coconut fell on her head as she entered the club. The king and queen packed the venue with celebrities, who would arrive, radiant, in streamlined sports cars; the most sought-after DJs played dance music for the beautiful people of the species, brought there each day to Princess Tama’s complete satisfaction; the walls were decorated with photo after photo of the princess being hugged by the rich and famous. She knew nothing of ugliness.
“In the mornings her servants applied face packs made from the purest avocados and cucumbers. A sumo wrestler gave her relaxing massages to eliminate accumulated fat. The king and queen acquired a team of the best cosmetic surgeons in existence to remove any imperfections on the princess’s body.
“Travel could be long and dangerous. What’s more it was a bore. Why go all the way to some place to see what the princess could have at home? She only had to name a place for her parents to reproduce it in the palace. There were artificial beaches and snow, scale replicas of the emblematic monuments of a diverse range of countries, whose natives were even hired so she could sample their customs. Princess Tama got to know an infinite number of places without the need to leave the palace.
“Her life passed like a permanent vacation in the most desirable locations, to which only the crème de la crème went. Their pride at being able to give their daughter such happiness moved the king and queen to tears.
“One day, when the princess was passing the quarters of her favorite maidservant, she heard moaning coming from the bedroom. Alarmed, she knocked repeatedly. After a pause, the maidservant breathlessly opened the door, wearing her blouse back to front. The princess asked if she was feeling all right and noticed something strange in the flat tone of the reply; she decided to verify what was going on.
“She ordered a servant to give her a duplicate key to her paid friends’ doors. Then, one afternoon, during the siesta, she went quietly to their quarters and heard similar moans. Silently, she opened the door. The princess had no idea what was happening: a girl was sucking the penis of one of the male models, while another penetrated her from behind. Three more, entwined with yet another male in a chair, were provoking mutual spasms and whimpers. The princess let out a scream that froze the scene. No one knew what to do. They all feared the worst punishment in the realm: to have their names removed from the guest list of the nightclub. In despair, two girls sinuously approached the princess. While one kissed her, the other guided over her nude body. The princess didn’t stop them. She too was soon naked. Although it was all new to her, she was a natural.
“Her encounter with one of the boys became more intense. They gradually distanced themselves from the rest until they were alone in the adjoining room. The princess made it clear that she was ready, but the young man decided that, as it was her first time, he would take her carefully; he lay her gently down and slid on top of her. When he met with the first difficulty, he attributed it to the usual virginal narrowness. He pushed more forcefully, but there was no way to break through the barrier. The princess was panting with anticipation. The model gathered a little momentum for another assault on her hips: the result was the same. The princess stamped her feet in the air in desperation.
“The youth then asked a friend to take over from him. Under the expectant gazes of the other members of the party, the princess and the replacement slowly aroused each other. The princess felt her legs opening in response. With his penis in his hand to gain greater force, the nervous boy attempted to break through and satisfy her. Nothing. It was no good. Just as with his friend, the obstinate barrier began to cause him pain, to the point where he gave up.
“There was a generalized sense of panic. A mulatto girl tried with her tongue. Then with two fingers. Impossible. Nor did it work using the tip of one finger to ease the passage. The princess was, quite simply, impenetrable. In the funereal atmosphere, they dressed and attempted to console her; said that’s how it was at first. The princess left in a flood of tears. The others stood in mourning for fifteen minutes before starting all over again.
“The princess burst into her parents’ bedroom: ‘Mother, father, why is that no one can penetrate my vagina when they can my friends’?’
“The king and queen had expected this moment. The king kissed his daughter on the forehead before leaving the royal chamber, closing the door behind him. The queen sat the princess on her lap and began a patient explanation.
“‘My child, you’re not just any maiden. You are Princess Tama, heiress to everything you see around you. Haven’t we done enough to please you?’
“‘Yes mother, but I want to experience the thing that makes everyone else cry out.’
“‘I understand, child. Don’t worry, the day will come. But there’s something you should know: when you were on the way, your father and I made a vow to dedicate our lives to making you happy. Absolutely nothing would get in our way. While we were planning every detail, your father had a dark thought: What if some opportunist were to come along, wanting to take advantage of your dowry? Just the thought kept him awake for nights. He consulted the wise men of our realm in search of a solution. No one knew how to protect you until a mysterious stranger appeared a little before your birth. He offered a costly way out of our dilemma. We were willing to give him whatever he asked, but he didn’t want money: he asked for your father’s dignity. He gave it up without hesitation in exchange for protecting your happiness.
“‘The stranger handed us a potion and told us to give it to give you on your birth. It was an age-old formula for detecting the deepest intentions. Whenever a person attempted to make you his own for the wrong reasons, it would form an icy barrier inside you that would prevent this happening. Only the penis of the chosen one could break through it to join with you in eternal happiness.’
“The princess became calm on hearing her fate. From then on she would dedicate herself to finding the prince capable of breaking the spell. She spent hours imagining him: only someone who united the best of everything would be worthy of her. She felt more special than ever.
“Candidates destined to failure began to file past. Naturally, the princess first concentrated on those of greatest worth: actors, rock musicians, communications magnates, politicians, textile manufacturers, yoga teachers. The rumor of her search spread, so that aspirants came to shower her with gifts. They would relate daring exploits, hoping for the opportunity to put their penises to the test, then go home under a black cloud of shame, swearing never to return.
“The number of suitors diminished; the palace was emptier by the day. The princess lived between frenzies of excited anticipation and disillusion. The last suitor to make an attempt was the bloated presenter of a celebrity gossip program. After that, the palace was deserted. The princess passed her days in her room, lamenting her lot and looking back with nostalgia on the innocent euphoria of days gone by.
“The king and queen were desolate. They once again consulted th
e wise men of their realm to try to remove the curse. Hundreds of inefficacious remedies were tried, until an old man with a luxuriant white beard and small round spectacles appeared. He analyzed the problem while puffing away on his unlit pipe: when the king heard his suggestion, his first thought was decapitation. But the old man was not afraid. Love of the princess would overcome all: the preparations were made to put his theory into practice.
“The best artisan in the castle devoted himself to the commission, making very careful note of the size, curvature, and consistency. He worked the piece with a mixture of the finest materials: a combination of hardness and ductility was required. The artisan locked himself away until the task was completed, then he handed it to the king and queen, exhausted but satisfied. Now it was just a matter of waiting to see how it fared.
“The queen entered the princess’s chamber and gave her a mahogany box, then left without saying a word. The box contained a small penis with a close resemblance to the royal member she had once accidentally glimpsed.
“She stroked it slowly, holding it between her two hands. The penis began to swell. The princess let her fantasies run wild. When she’d helped it grow to full size, she decided to carry out an experiment: she pressed lightly and heard the barrier break. The penis had passed through the wall of ice and slipped smoothly inside. Between tears and howls, the princess manipulated it. Finally, she knew what carnal love was. She climaxed with a shriek of jubilation, releasing years of frustration. The sorcerer had been as good as his word.
“From then on, so the legend goes, on nights of a lunar eclipse, the princess can be seen masturbating on the surface of the moon, in eternal union with the royal penis she never again forsook. The subjects were inconsolable. Nothing mattered any more. The royalty had gotten a liking for cloistered opulence. And they lived happily enslaved ever after.”
Max would close the book noisily, as if to startle the girl from her trance, before deciding on the next step.
The reactions varied widely. Some of his guests thought that the story was an affected cliché, of no interest at all; these girls would ask Max if they could turn on the television. Then came the ones who felt deeply uncomfortable; they would hurriedly gather up their belongings and leave, hardly bothering to say goodbye. A third group captured, with flattering perspicacity, the underlying meaning of the story; the most direct of these took the initiative. Max’s favorite reaction was when the girl got so wrapped up in the story that she forgot where she was. The most aroused began to touch themselves up or even masturbate. Max would look on delightedly before joining his companion.
Each of them had her own threshold and Max respected these limits. Sometimes too much: even in the cases of the least inhibited, he would stop just short of the final step. It wasn’t that he had prejudices. Or felt remorse. In fact, he didn’t know the exact reason; it was as if he refused to leave the confines of those worlds where one could do whatever one wanted. His life had passed among malleable parabolas, based on concrete reality, but unconstrained by its rough surface. While he might be able to use tricks to seduce minds, he was paralyzed by the honesty of naked bodies. At that point, all his constructions served no purpose; from that moment on he was reduced to being nothing more than Max. The girls would acquire presence just as he began to vanish. His rhetorical structure crumbled as if afflicted by an acute case of leprosy. Max was left vulnerable. He would brusquely leave the room and not return until sufficient time had passed to find that evening’s girl dressed—in the case that she’d waited around for him.
On one occasion, he tried out his technique on a willfully precocious subject of somewhat complicated lucidity, the daughter of a pair of therapists from a country known for its hermetic complexity. She calmly accepted Max’s invitation, ready for anything.
The girl listened to the fairy tale with a slightly bored expression; she was more interested in its object than the wrapping. Lost as she was in her own fantasies, Max had to lightly shake her leg to indicate that the story had finished, at which point she threw herself on him. Max made an effort to follow her lead while the girl guided him with unhurried mastery until they were on the verge of the point of no return. She interpreted Max’s hesitation as a typical case of repression, requiring a slight nudge. With an agile movement, she placed herself at Max’s back, lying on one side. As if ensuring it wouldn’t be stolen, a hand took hold of Max’s penis; the other moved downwards until the phalange of an index finger had been inserted in his anus. The hand holding the penis sensed its growing hardness, thus corroborating the girl’s theory. Max allowed her to go a little further, more fearful than excited. The girl judged that she had done enough: it was her turn to enjoy.
When she was already on top of him, Max pushed her away to make his escape from the room, staying away longer than usual so as not to have to see her on his return. The girl came out of the bedroom, screaming his name; Max made certain that the bathroom door was locked and tried to breathe quietly. His nanny watched the girl in her panties, her breasts hanging loose, pass through the living room. Before banging the apartment door, she shouted in farewell:
“Know what you are? A fucking cunt-tease!”
13
The nanny had laid the table with the best cutlery and crockery. Dr. Michels was giving an important dinner that night: he’d invited a client and his family to celebrate a favorable outcome in a family dispute over the control of a waste pipe company. On the doctor’s advice, the client had carried out a meticulous operation involving buying up the shares of minority stockholders. He’d cooked the figures to show a bleak outlook: in fact, he was doing them a favor because of the responsibility he felt to them as long term investors in a family business. To avoid unnecessary problems with his brother, he failed to mention these private arrangements until he had majority control of the company. His first act as chairman of the board was to order an audit of his brother’s management. Then, without showing him the results, he asked for him to either resign or face the consequences. The brother had gone to court to fight for his right to continue manufacturing the pipes through which passed the shit of the city they lived in.
Dr. Michels made use of all the judicial resources at his disposal: he hired a private detective to uncover every extravagant habit of the belligerent brother; he had the proceedings postponed by means of the disappearance of the case file, a maneuver known in the professional argot as a judicial review; he pulled the necessary strings so that the case would be heard by a judge with whom he occasionally went on drinking sprees. After years during which Dr. Michels had deployed an ingenious range of delaying tactics, the judge ruled against the bankrupt brother, the sentence being based on an obscure legal technicality.
The dinner was to celebrate the verdict.
Max had been holed up in his bedroom for hours, looking for answers in the blank pages of the storybook, unable to understand why he was a prisoner to that nothingness. He felt like a mime artist who can’t find the way out of the enclosing walls his own hands had created. Having inhabited a world of representations for so long, its objects showed themselves to him as phantasmagoric compositions, unified by a trick of perception. For an instant, the girls in his room would change from attractive women, panting with the desire Max had aroused, to strange beings composed of a heap of bones and viscera, draped in a façade of treacherous tits, asses and pubes. The function of those body parts was to lead him into a state of rapture in which, in exchange for a few moments of pleasure, he shed the invulnerable armor plating he had, with so much effort, forged. His guts decreed a break on reminding Max that he hadn’t eaten anything all afternoon. He went to the kitchen to make a ham and cheese quesadilla.
“Maximiliano, what a pleasure to see you! I’d like you to have the honor of meeting my friends the Sierras, who have been my most valued clients for some years now. We are here together to celebrate a piece of wonderful news. Sit down for a moment and join the festivities.”
Without turning round
to look at him, Señor Sierra held out a flaccid hand to Max. The young wife stood to give him a kiss on the cheek and rested her hand on Max’s shoulder as Dr. Michels outlined the most outstanding features of his son’s life. She expressed her pleasure in these achievements by gently massaging his collarbone. The couple’s small child was kneeling on the floor, playing with a toy gas truck that went flying into the air when he crashed it into the dinner table.
Max sat for some time in complete silence. Without any movement on his part, he felt the scene before him retreating a level, leaving him outside its frame, so he could watch it with detachment. The texture of movements, objects, and voices seemed to blur; images went into slow motion, the conversation was more diffuse. In contrast, Max was gaining a sort of outlying vision from the interior of each element of the scene. The most subtle gestures and phrases, their hairstyles and clothes, and the voraciousness with which they attacked the pâté and olives, spoke directly to him in code. He understood things he couldn’t have explained if asked. His father and the client were two hunters of silences, lying in wait for the least break in the conversation to grab control and display a mixture of wit and encyclopedic knowledge, making incisive pronouncements on some pressing topical issue. The wife listened to it all without hearing. Suddenly, she’d join the conversation with expressions of agreement, admiration, surprise, shared reproach, and other manifestations of inanimate life. She took a circular compact from her large purse, opened the mirror to add a layer of blush to her makeup, freshened the red of her lips, and corrected the angle of her long wispy bangs until she was once again ready to pass unnoticed. The toy gas truck continued to crash into the dinner table.
A Zero-Sum Game Page 14