“We want to?”
“You’ll get it later on.”
“And what do you expect me to do?”
“Be my lantern. My method can extract any information, but it has to be pointed in the right direction. Read the document. This community has evolved in the only possible direction. Each individual has to be free to triumph or fail according to his own abilities. It’s even immoral to help people who don’t deserve it. A waste. From the point of view of the species, it’s to do with maximizing pleasure. What matters is the absolute value, not how it’s distributed.”
“But then, does your theory of absolute value mean people whose lives are fucked up don’t suffer? Don’t you think, in that case, you have to subtract their level of misery from the well-being?”
“They suffer because they haven’t learned to accept themselves. Because they’re still duped by the promise of a better world for everyone. If they understood that everyone has what they deserve—opportunity or otherwise—they’d live in the unworried calm of resignation. Ugly people understand their limitation: that’s why they interbreed. Unless they’re rich or famous, they generally don’t rub shoulders with the good looking. It’s the same with the have-nots. They need to understand there are forces with a life of their own, forces as arbitrary as genes that determine the direction their existence takes. In fact, they know and accept it. All that’s needed is a last turn of the screw. Calling things by their proper names. It’s time to see if they’re ready for the words to match the reality. I can’t overemphasize that, deep down, they know it. Now we’re going to find out if they can tolerate hearing it.”
“How do you plan on doing that?”
“Go home and study the document. We’ll continue tomorrow.”
5
THE ART OF BLOWING GLASS WITHOUT BREAKING IT BY ORQUÍDEA LÓPEZ
A GLASSBLOWER HAD A DILEMMA: HE WANTED TO CREATE A RECEPTACLE FOR HIS COLLECTION OF STONES. THE FEW MOST BRILLIANT STONES NEEDED THE ORDINARY ONES TO SUPPORT THEM AND ALLOW THEM TO SHINE. THE GLASSBLOWER TOLD HIMSELF THEY WERE ALL EQUAL. IT WAS JUST THAT SOME WERE MORE EQUAL THAN OTHERS. HE TRIED MAKING A CYLINDRICAL RECEPTACLE: THE STONES MIXED ANY OLD HOW, THE MOST PRECIOUS WITH THE COMMON HERD. THE GLASSBLOWER WONDERED HOW COULD HE ARRANGE IT SO THAT EACH STONE STAYED IN ITS PLACE. HE INCREASED THE WIDTH OF THE BASE, BUT THAT DID NO GOOD. THE BEST STONES STILL TUMBLED DOWN AMONG THE MASS OF OTHERS. WHAT HE NEEDED WAS A RECEPTACLE WITH A WIDE BASE FOR THE POOREST STONES, A NARROW NECK FOR THE MEDIOCRE ONES, AND ABOVE THAT A FUNNEL SUPPORTING THE MOST VALUABLE.
THE EUREKA MOMENT CAME WHEN HE REALIZED EACH STONE WANTED TO FEEL IT WAS ACTIVELY PARTICIPATING IN THE PROJECT. AT THAT, HE TRIED PUTTING THE GLASS PASTE INTO THE KILN WITH ALL THE STONES, CAREFULLY CONTROLLING THE TEMPERATURE. FROM EXPERIENCE HE KNEW THE MOST DANGEROUS MOMENT WAS WHEN THE HEAT MADE THEM GLOW RED. THE ANGRIEST MIGHT TAKE CONTROL OF THE SITUATION AND DECIDE ON THE SHAPE OF THE RECEPTACLE. THE GLASSBLOWER HAD HEARD SOME AWFUL STORIES. THE STONES WERE VERY RESENTFUL AND SUSPICIOUS OF ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING. THEY SPENT THE WHOLE TIME SNITCHING TO THEIR SUPERIORS. THAT’S WHY HE HEATED THE GLASS VERY CAREFULLY.
FIRST, HE BLEW THE BUBBLE FOR THE BRILLIANT STONES. THEY WERE THE ONES THAT WOULD BE REMEMBERED. WHEN HE SAW THEM IN THE MUSHROOM-SHAPED CYLINDER, HE WAS DEEPLY MOVED. AMONG THEM WERE SOME THAT STOOD OUT, BUT THE GLASSBLOWER HAD SELECTED THEM CAREFULLY SO THAT EVEN THE LEAST HANDSOME REPAID HIS EFFORTS TO SOME EXTENT.
THE NEXT STEP WAS THE MOST DELICATE. THE GLASSBLOWER FORMED A NARROW TUBE THAT WOULD PERMANENTLY SEPARATE THE DESTINIES OF THE TWO RACES OF STONES. HE BLEW THE GLASS, FEARFUL OF DISRUPTING THE NEW ORDER: THE NECK WAS SO NARROW THAT A SNAP OF THE FINGERS MIGHT BREAK IT. THE TRICK WAS THAT THE STONES WERE BY THEN SO CLEARLY SEPARATED THAT IT DIDN’T EVEN OCCUR TO THEM MAKE A FUSS. IN THE END, THE RECEPTACLE LOOKED LIKE AN INVERTED WINE GLASS WITH AN OSTRICH NECK.
THE FINAL PHASE WAS TO MAKE THE BASE SINK DOWNWARD TO CREATE A HOME FOR THE MASS OF STONES. THE GLASSBLOWER MADE IT AS SHALLOW AS POSSIBLE SO THAT THEY WOULD FILL THE ENTIRE SPACE. ALTHOUGH THEY DIDN’T KNOW IT, THESE STONES SUPPORTED THE ONES LIVING ON THE PEDESTAL ABOVE THEM.
THE GLASSBLOWER WAS TIRED BUT SATISFIED. HE HAD FINALLY FOUND AN ARRANGEMENT THAT DID JUSTICE TO EACH GROUP OF STONES, AND, THEREFORE, TO THE COLLECTION AS A WHOLE.
WHAT LESSON DOES THE GLASSBLOWER’S STORY TEACH US? WE ALL KNOW THAT FOR MANY YEARS VILLA MISERIAS HAS PUT A LOT OF EFFORT INTO TRANSFORMING ITSELF. THE OLD STRUCTURES DID THEIR JOB, BUT THEY HAVE RESISTED THE NECESSARY ADJUSTMENTS WITH ALL THEIR MIGHT. THEY ARE LIKE THE MOST STUBBORN STONES THAT WANT TO HAMPER THE ASCENT OF THE BEST. LUCKILY, WE HAVE QUIETISM IN MOTION. IT’S LIKE A GLASSBLOWER THAT DOESN’T IMPOSE PREFABRICATED MOLDS ON ANYONE, BUT PUTS US ALL IN THE KILN SO WE FALL INTO OUR CORRESPONDING PLACES. THAT’S WHY IT’S THE BEST MOLD, BECAUSE IT DOESN’T ALLOW ANY OTHER TO SHAPE IT.
IN ALL THESE YEARS, OUR COMMUNITY HAS............. AND TODAY WE CAN SAY THAT WE HAVE FOUND.............TO CONSOLIDATE THE GROUND WE HAVE CONQUERED WITH SO MUCH EFFORT.............
6
Nelly’s metallic voice began to sound in Max’s head. Despite the onslaught, he managed to go on reading a few more lines of Orquídea’s pamphlet, until it annexed the last of his attention. Max wasn’t even conscious of the transition; he was simply there in his apartment once more, listening to her, spellbound. After that, he didn’t even make an effort to resist.
“So, like I was telling you, my aunt Orquídea took charge of my education. She sent me to school and helped me with my homework in the evenings. Ah, I can’t tell you how patient she was, because my dad had made sure we were as ignorant as sin. I can still remember how I felt when she gave me a map of the world to hang on the wall. Can you imagine? Me, who’d never even left the farm, and now I had the whole world in my bedroom. She used to spend hours there with me, just looking at it. I drew a knife where the farm was and used a ruler to measure how many inches it was from the places I imagined to be so incredible.
“Well, when I was fifteen, the first part of my life came to an end. My aunt Orquídea knew how it was when my dad set up those cow-walk shows on the farm. She was really kind, and organized almost the exact opposite, a private party where I had all her attention. The beardie with the beret was there too. And like she’d read my mind, she took me to my favorite hamburger joint. The waiters put a paper hat on my head and sang happy birthday, and—you’ll never guess—they pushed my face in the cake. I was so happy I didn’t want them to clean off the cream. I’ve still got a photo from that day stuck on my wall. My eyes are like black jaws nibbling at the white cream.
“But then, you know, the way it always is, there has to be something bad. So, what happened was that—I’m not sure how to put this—well, the thing is that the beardie started being very affectionate with me. If you get my meaning. Imagine. He was giving me the same looks as that farmer I told you about, only that my body was in better shape to receive them by then. The pig used to whisper secrets right in my ear, or sit me on his lap while I did my homework. When we were in the car, he’d lean close over me, supposedly to fasten my seatbelt. If my aunt went out and he stayed to look after me, he used to read me revolutionary poems about free love with no restrictions, and talk about the feast of naked bodies floating in clouds of ecstasy. What an idiot. And so cheesy, right?
“But you see, I was still pretty innocent and I started having fantasies. I used to dream that we went off together somewhere, anywhere, the farther away the better. And I couldn’t even look my aunt in the eyes for the guilt. But the worst wasn’t even feeling like a traitor. I got that out of my head, thinking I hadn’t responded to any of his advances. What tormented me was that I liked it a lot, that I was pleased with those advances. I’m even ashamed talking about it, but, like, the truth is, right then, I could have spat in the face of my aunt, the only person who’d ever been kind to me.
“So then, one morning when my aunt was making me a sandwich for school, I couldn’t stand it any longer and told h
er everything. I was sure she’d put me on the next bus back to the farm, but, anyway, it was a great relief.
“You won’t believe it, but that was when my aunt became almost a goddess for me. You can’t imagine how well she reacted. She hugged me so hard it made me cry. Yeah, she told me off, but not for what had happened. She was mad that I was having to put up with that good-for-nothing’s stupidity. She was already fed up with him—the beardie spent the whole day going on about his theories and proclamations, but the one who paid the bills was my aunt—and now she’d found out about the other…Well, I don’t have to tell you. I’m sure she only did it to make me feel better, but she said she was grateful to me for giving her a reason to send him packing. Then she said something that stuck in my mind like it was chiseled in marble. She asked me to listen carefully, because she was going to tell me the only thing I needed to know to stop me ever again being a victim of sly, abusive hicks. That is, men in general.
“‘Every woman is sitting on her most lethal weapon. If you learn to disguise it with the fantasy men need, they won’t be able to fuck with you.’”
7
THE DUST WE INHALE HELPS TO REMIND US OF THE PAST WE’VE THANKFULLY LEFT BEHIND. THE PERPETUAL CONSTRUCTION WORK MEANS WE REMEMBER THAT ALL THE TIME. VILLA MISERIAS WON’T BE STOPPED, WHETHER THEY LIKE IT OR NOT. THOSE WHO CAN JOIN THE TRAIN WILL ENJOY THE BENEFITS, AND NO ONE’S GOING TO SHED A TEAR FOR THOSE WHO CAN’T.
THIS IDEA TOUCHES ON ONE OF OUR MAIN ACHIEVEMENTS IN RELATION TO EVERYDAY LIFE: CREDIT. WE’RE VERY LUCKY THAT ALMOST EVERY HOUSEHOLD IS IN DEBT IN ONE WAY OR ANOTHER. THE MAJORITY OF PEOPLE BUY THEIR BRICKS AND MORTAR IN INSTALLMENTS, ENSURING THEY ALONE ARE THE OWNERS OF WHAT IS THEIRS. THEY HAVE ADVANCE EXPERIENCE OF THE HORN OF PLENTY THAT IS PROPERTY. THEY ALSO TAKE ADVANTAGE OF THE POSSIBILITIES OFFERED BY THE PRODUCTS IN OUR COMMERCIAL ZONE. RESIDENTS OF THE COMMUNITY ANSWER WITH THEIR WALLETS THE FUNDAMENTAL QUESTION OF OUR AGE: WHY WAIT A MINUTE LONGER TO HAVE WHAT CAN NEVER FULLY SATISFY ME ANYWAY?
THE PILLARS OF THE COMMUNITY STAND OUT FROM THE PARASITES IN THAT THEY ALMOST ALWAYS TRY TO LIVE BEYOND THEIR MEANS. THOSE WHO ARE CONTENT WITH WHAT THEY HAVE NEVER CATCH UP. THAT’S WHY QUIETISM IN MOTION LAYS SO MUCH STRESS ON LACK, BECAUSE ONLY IN THAT WAY CAN THE COMMUNITY CONTINUE TO ADVANCE. THE EMBITTERED PHILOSPHER EXPLAINED IT VERY WELL WHEN HE SAID THAT THE IMPORTANT THING IS THAT WE KEEP MOVING OUR LEGS AS WE GO DOWN THE SLOPE, BECAUSE IF WE STOP, THE INERTIA WILL HIT US.
THAT’S WHY CREDIT ALSO WORKS IN ANOTHER WAY. IT FORCES THE RESIDENTS TO BE DISCIPLINED AND STAY IN THEIR ALLOTTED PLACE. THE DEBT COLLECTORS DRESSED UP AS YELLOW JESTERS WITH THEIR JINGLING CAPS SHOW THE ENTIRE COMMUNITY THAT THOSE WHO DON’T PAY UP HAVE NO SAY. AS SOON AS THEY HEAR THE JINGLE, THEY BREAK INTO A SWEAT AND RUN OFF TO FIND THE MONEY TO COVER THEIR DEBT.
IN THIS LAST PHASE OF THE HISTORIC DEVELOPMENT OF VILLA MISERIAS, TO FINALLY GET WHERE WE WANT TO BE WE NEED TO CALL THINGS BY THEIR PROPER NAMES, JUST THE WAY THEY ARE. WE HAVE TO DO AWAY WITH ADJECTIVES THAT SOFTEN REALITY, SO EVERY RESIDENT CAN TELL HIS DREAMS FROM HIS NIGHTMARES.
FOR THOSE WHO SAY THIS ISN’T TRUE, HERE’S THE EXAMPLE OF OUR EMPLOYEES. WHY ELSE DO THEY STAY WHERE THEY ARE IF IT ISN’T BECAUSE THEY LIKE STAGNATION? NOT ONE OF THEM HAS COMPLAINED ABOUT NOT BEING ALLOWED TO BUY THEIR APARTMENTS. THEY EAT THE LEFTOVERS WE GIVE THEM WITHOUT COMPLAINT. THAT’S THE CHARITABLE SIDE OF OUR PROJECT. WE WANT TO HELP THEM SEE IT’S NO ONE’S FAULT, IT’S JUST THEIR PLACE TO BE ON THE WRONG SIDE OF AMBITION. I’M SURE WHEN THEY UNDERSTAND THAT, THEY’LL FEEL LESS INFERIOR. THEY’LL UNDERSTAND THEY’RE JUST DIFFERENT. IT’S TIME FOR THEM TO ACCEPT THEY WANT WHAT THEY HAVE. WITH THAT MINOR CHANGE, THEY’LL BE ABLE TO ENJOY THEIR VULGARITIES, AND NOT STAND AROUND STARING, WITH THAT VICTIM LOOK, AT PEOPLE WHO REALLY DO SET OUT, EVERY MORNING, TO GET EVEN A LITTLE BIT MORE.
8
“And you won’t believe it, but it took me a long time to understand my aunt Orquídea’s words. The thing is, I thought, with all the education I was getting, I’d lose that rustic farm-girl air, and then I wouldn’t be always feeling like an overflowing drain. But that wasn’t how it was at all. The more I learned, the more confused I felt. Complexes are really sly, and they came out of corners I didn’t even know existed. I felt like a fraud the whole time, a fraud anyone who got close enough could show up. It was as if I had a stamp on my forehead I had to hide any way I could.
“The boys in my class at high school started bothering me the whole time. Overnight, I’d become the one they were all after. And the truth is, I can’t tell a lie, getting to fuck me wasn’t exactly difficult. Just a bit of a come on, and you were almost there. It was like the worse they treated me, the quicker I gave in. And as my reputation spread, more of them wanted a slice of the cake. And the stories they told about me. Some were true, there’s no denying it, but they got exaggerated a lot in the telling. The other girls hated me. And none of my girlfriends were exactly good looking, so things got worse. We were always talking about my tangled love life. And even if their boyfriends were less handsome than mine, I couldn’t stand it. I used to play the innocent until the boys felt I’d got my eye on them, and then they couldn’t resist. I lost several friends that way. But don’t go thinking those affairs lasted long. No way.
“The few who didn’t notice me paid dear. I made sure they fell for me, behaving as if I was drooling over them. Like I was ready to be their slave, be whatever they wanted. And they were clueless, but once they’d swallowed the hook, I sent them packing. I’m not trying to boast, but some of them were obsessed with me for years.
“When I masturbated, I almost always used the same fantasy. I imagined a rough man had me in a corner, trying to rape me. I’d run as fast as I could, beg for help, scream, scratch, hit, and bite him. I’d resist as long as I could, then he’d overpower me and tear off my clothes, sometimes with his teeth. When the inevitable was about to occur, I’d surrender, saying ‘Enjoy me,’ and we’d be bumping and grinding in the ultimate fuck.
“All the guys who jumped on my carousel were crazy with jealousy, but, like, you might not believe it, usually I hadn’t done anything to cause it. The truth is, it was always the same accusation, that I loved getting a reaction out of men anywhere I went. To avoid problems, if we went to a bar, I’d stick to them like a limpet, kiss them every so often so they’d feel safe. I wouldn’t even turn my head to look at someone who wasn’t sitting in our group. But it was no use, things always went wrong. I’d go to the bathroom and someone would try to chat me up, or they’d send a drink to my table and then the boyfriend would feel insecure. One of them—he was really crazy—kicked me in the ass because he was sure I was flirting with the waiter right in front of him.
“The quarrels could be bad or not so bad, depending on how drunk they were at that moment. But when they got mad, they all felt the same hatred of my beauty. When we went into a bar, they were real proud to have me on their arm, but that same vanity made them imagine I was always wanting to throw myself at someone else, anyone. Like, you should have seen it, they’d go from doing absolutely anything to please me to telling me I was an out and out slut. They’d say I only wanted to be with them until something better came along. I can’t tell you how many times we left places screaming and crying.
“I’d get home really terrified and go over every detail of the evening, trying to understand what I’d done wrong, why they’d got so aggressive. I’d feel bad about things I hadn’t done. It’d take me hours to get to sleep, going round in circles, feeling I’d done something awful. The next day, it would be the same old routine; the call to say sorry, dying of shame but acting like nothing had happened. The excuse was always that they were drunk and couldn’t remember anything. Sometimes they’d make themselves believe their own paranoid fantasies, and got even more highhanded. They were so sure I spent my whole life planning who to fuck next. But the joke is it was never them who ended it. With the exception of one boy, who really regretted it later, it was always me who called the whole thing off
, and, I have to admit, it was almost always because I’d got someone else lined up.
“But look, it’s like they say: if you can’t beat ’em…Gradually, I began to think the men, my aunt, and nature were right. That’s when I decided to really let my instincts have free rein. If they wanted me to be the slut everyone could enjoy but nobody owned, hey, I wasn’t going to put myself out to show them I wasn’t. The more I told them about my promiscuity, the more they wanted to be with me. I warned them from the start I was extroverted, and wasn’t going to change just for them. I spent the whole time talking about my previous experience. I acted like a vamp, even with their brothers, but stopped just before the point when anyone could complain. Now that I think of it, what I was doing was taking revenge for all the harassment I’d suffered before, and not even really going with other guys, because, up to then, I hadn’t cheated that much. I was just shooting off fantasies that tortured their imaginations.
“My life began to center around finding new guys to swallow up, see what they tasted of, and then spit them out. And however cold I was about breaking up with one, I’d start on the next with real passion. I had such convincing ways of letting them know I liked them. I took an interest in what they were interested in and—this is going to sound weird—it was like I adopted some of their characteristics too. If they liked baseball, I went happily along to the stadium to watch their team. With the TV addicts, I’d stay up till dawn, watching anything. If they were those hippies with money, we’d go on vacation to unspoiled beaches. But when they were like dummies with gel, it was designer hotels with only a few rooms, like the ones film stars go to. Their friends became mine. The truth is, I’ve been so afraid of being alone, for a long time I’ve been everything without really being anything. But I’d discovered that having them always on their guard, afraid I’d throw them over for someone else, was infallible. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it’s been.
A Zero-Sum Game Page 20