She stared at me, waiting for an answer.
Bewildered, I shrugged.
Just then, an airplane passed overhead. She ran over and slammed the window shut, holding her fingers to her ears with a pained look.
“Tecnologia! Arggghhhhh! I got enough of these focking noises an’ I don’ wan’ it no more! If Santos Dumont come up out from de grave today, I gonna take a big e’sheet on his head for all de e’stupid airplane traffic that make me crazy, got it? What de fock I doing here, Cigano, hein? Why I gotta e’stay on these e’stupid planeta? What it can be my mission with de earth peoples? Is no my tribe! No way I ever gonna believe I got de e’same DNA like these focking race of machine builder an’ telemarketer! No no no!”
Her voice changed again, into a haunting little robotic drone.
“ ‘Din din! Hello? good afternoon! My name is Maria, Joanna, Talita, Sofia, Julia, Alessandra, whatever. Din din! We got it de e’special promotion for you, can you buy it? Din din! You got de credit card? I wanna sell to you so I can get more money, so I can buy it on installment plano too. Din din! My name Maria, Talita, Julia, Whatever, bla bla bla . . . ’ Fock! E’stupid! Porra! Que merda! Affff . . .”
I watched as she loaded another huge rock into the pipe, fired it up and took a deep, long hit. When she exhaled, there was no smoke.
What th’ . . . ? Where’d all that smoke go to? Narcisa! Strange alien physics!
“I don’ wanna participate in any of these e’stupid e’sheet, got it?” She sat up, yelping, her eyes blazing, interrupting my drowsy musings. “Get me de fock out from here, mano! Out!! Arrrggghhh!!”
I cocked my head like a curious dog as she ranted on.
“All de human systems only exist for disguise it de true nature of de existence! Is only by de anarchy system where peoples ever gonna know them-self! De human being is de beast, de killer, de savage, de who-ore! I don’t even wanna take a e’sheet on you consumer world an’ all de human waste production machine! An’ I don’ wanna make no waste or influence nobody! No focking way! I don’ wanna do no-thing on these e’stupid earth! Nada! Porra! Frustration! Arrghh!”
Struggling to follow Narcisa’s mad discourse, I felt like I was interviewing an elusive extraterrestrial visitor who was on a tight schedule. Maybe I was. Transfixed, I got out my little notebook and began scribbling away like a nuthouse scribe.
“Arrrggghhh! Din din din din! Hahahaha! Everywhere I go on these e’stupid planeta, de focking earth peoples all de time come an’ ask to me e’say all what I know! Arrgh! Fock, Cigano! Why me? I don’ wan’ it! Don’ wan’ know ’bout nothing! What I gonna do with so much informations, hein? If I live five thousand more year here, I can’ e’say all de thing I already know ’bout! Affff! Why?”
I shrugged and kept writing down everything she was saying.
“Is good!” She smiled, gesturing at my note-taking. “Cuz I always gonna be these way, Cigano, you know, so I wan’ only for you keep going an’ write it down all these e’sheet. I give it all to you, all of who I am, for you to do whatever you wanna do with all these informations. Hah! Maybe you can figure these e’sheet out. I only e’say it to you these one thing: Narcisa can be de beginning an’ de end of all de thing, de Alpha an’ de Omega. But they never gonna put me in de middle of de road here, got it? Nunca! Ne-ver!”
Her face seemed bathed in a strange, majestic, angelic glow. “Porra! I can think of a million thing to do, mermão. Whatever thing any human being can do, I can do it better. So that’s it. E agora? What now, hein? What I e’suppose to do? My mind? Hah! Completely without ambition! Afffff! Only I wan’ exist anymore for teach it all to you now, Cigano, got it?”
I got it. I nodded and kept writing, scribbling, scrambling to get it all down.
“ . . . But I don’ understand it all de peoples who wanna be de animal doctor, de veterenario, Cigano. Why? They wan’ be e’specificly doctor to de dog? Or only for horse. For de poodle, or maybe de pony, hein? Or maybe de pato, de duck! Qua qua qua quaaaa! Pato-logia? Hah!! What about de insect? How come they no got de doctors, Cigano, hein? They got it de cats doctor, de donkey doctor, even de rat doctor, but no got it de insect doctor! Why? Injusto! Porra! Discrimination! Why, hein? Meow meow! Woof woof! Qua qua quaaa quaaaaa! An’ what about it all these e’specialist doctor? De foots doctor, hein? Do insect got de foots? Wear de little e’shoe? What is it de size, hein? Where do this subject e’start? What it is de relevance, hein? An’ then they e’say is me gotta be lock up in de crazy house? Where they get such e’stupid idea, hein?”
I looked up from my writing, holding back laughter.
“I really wan’ try an’ believe it there some kinda force fields or de metaphysical e’sheets like that, or some very big Somebody who responsible for all these focking question. Serio! Is better for me if there gonna be some kinda gods or something, got it? Cuz, fock, mano, what if I gotta be in charge of so much e’sheet only by my self, hein? Arrrggghhhh! Fock! Nothing can fill it, de void of de existence, got it?”
I was fading fast, but I got it. Sort of. The bottomless pit ain’t got no bottom.
“An’ what about these e’stupid E’Stephen Hawking guy, hein?”
“Huh?” I looked up again. The room shifted in and out of focus. My brain was shutting down, melting. Everything was going fuzzy and weird.
“Oí Cigano!” She nudged me on the arm, snapping me back to attention. “What is it de ambition of all these cripple deficient peoples, hein?”
I shook my head and shrugged.
“Conspiracy! They wanting to teef it what can’ never be teef or be for sale or purchase or find it or give or even inherited, but only can be acquire, Cigano, only by de intellectual naturality of de biological sanity, de e’shielded e’spirit body, perfect, unaffectable, infinito! An’ then they only wanna use it all they knowledge an’ understanding, for go an’ destroy ever’thing! Destroy destroy! Why? Arggghhh! E’stupid human race! Clone peoples! E’stupid focking military machine! Heroic champions of destruction! Chaos! Ridiculous competition! Porra! Why, Cigano, hein? Para que?!?”
I shrugged again and again as Narcisa ranted on, her big, mad eyes bulging out of her head like a pair of rocket ships about to shoot off into space.
“Better they got de focking pope in de Holy Vaticano than all these e’stupid politico e’sheets in charge of de earth now! War! Hah! Fock! Was better here when you got it only de priest and sacerdotes to rule you e’stupid planeta! Better I go an’ look inside my own focking poo-sy an’ ask inside my ass-hole, ‘Hey, where is de God? Anybody home?’”
That did it.
I began to chuckle out loud. I laughed and laughed, until I was crying; the irrational, cackling, delirious laughter of the insane.
I looked at Narcisa through a haze of humid, sweaty tears.
Her face was fading in and out of focus.
Like a ghost.
47. TOSS UP
“WHO WILL PITY A SNAKE CHARMER BITTEN BY A SERPENT, OR ANY WHO GO NEAR WILD BEASTS?”
—Ecclesiasticus 12:13
My brain was burnt toast.
I stopped laughing, feeling dizzy and faint. Cold sweat. Delirium.
Sleep! Please, God, I gotta get some fucking sleep!
I put down the notebook and squinted at Narcisa, trying to focus. I was fading away, and she was still going strong, traveling at a speed of thought way beyond my ability to keep up.
“Pay attention, Cigano!” She stabbed me on the arm with my discarded pen, nagging like a cackling crow. “De imposed earth disease can’ never kill it de immortality of de chronic intellectualism! E’stubborn! Hard! Persistent! Inflexible! Water-resistant! Bulletproof! Hah! What to do? Look around an’ wait for de inspiration?! Fala serio! Ashamed for de imposed want of de irrefutable changing mental attitude, hein? Para que, Cigano, hein?”
What the fuck? Sleep . . . Gotta sleep . . . I sat there, shrugging like a drooling idiot child. I was done in, down for the count . . . Gotta go lie down.
“Nothing is de secret of de sensorial existence of de earthly physical matter in all de material e’states! Nada! Got it? Solid, liquid, gaseous, elasticity, indivisibility beyond all de human measurement! Hah! An’ what about my little decadent reality, hein? To accelerate de aging process? De bruise an’ de contusion, ‘Crack Monster,’ hein? Aggghhhh! What to do, hein? Fight? Yell? Insult? Fart? Spit? Vomit? Yawn? Burp? Sneeze? E’say, ‘God bless you’? Jump? Dance? Push? Pull? Fall down? Get up? Fly? What? Hein? What de fo-ock!? Arrrggghhh!! Need something to relax! Por favor! Confused! Turbulent phases of de thought process, so much focking informations! Too much talk! It only serve to complicate de afflicted consciousness! Porra! Fock! Aggghhhh!”
“Huh?” Half delirious, hallucinating from fatigue, I rubbed my eyes.
“Ei, wake up, Cigano!” She pinched my arm, hard. “Where is it my lighter, hein? Give it to me! Where is it my little white Bic lighter, hein? I gotta e’smoke some more now, bro! Bic Bic Bic! Hah! Pick! Pick! Crowwn crowwwn crowwwwn, ha ha! Din din din! Thank you come again . . . doiiingg . . .”
Sleep . . . Oh God, I need rest . . . I was feeling overwhelmed, confused, disoriented, lost, like little Ignácio watching his mother as she toppled over, again and again, in the fuzzy barrooms of my warped, mangled memory banks . . . A crazy woman . . . Drunk, raging, raving, shouting wild, incoherent, incomprehensible words . . . words . . . words . . .
Narcisa ranted on and on about mad, fantastical things that were way too strange and much too big for my baffled little mind to comprehend anymore. My brain was throbbing like a sore, beaten, bloody nose. I rose to my feet. As she raved on, oblivious, I crawled up to the loft bed, fell back, and closed my eyes. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I could hear her storming around below. Then, just as I began to fade, she jolted me awake again, singing, screeching at the top of her lungs.
“Arrrggghhh!! From hee-ee-rrrrrre to eee-terrrr-nit-yyyyy!!” Again and again. Over and over. “From herrrrrre to eeeterrrrnityyyyy!! Arrrggghhh!!”
It was as if she was doing it on purpose, trying to drive me mad.
But I knew better. Even with all her grandiose talk of a big Satanic Master Plan, I knew she was just being Narcisa . . . Just doing her thing, wrecking shit, making noise, singing, screaming, freaking out, go go go, nothing personal, got it?
She called out. “Eiii, Cigano . . . Cigano! Cig-ah-noo! Oiiii!”
I groaned. “Huh? Wha’ . . . whassup?”
“Wanna play a game of chess?”
What?!? Chess?!? Shit!
I rolled my eyes and grunted. “Uh, I’m just gonna rest my eyes up her for a minute, princesa, I’ll come down and play with you in a bit, okay? Promise . . .”
I settled back into the pillows . . . Sleep, sweet sleep! Soon, I was dreaming my way down, down, into a deep sea of slumber.
I don’t know how long I was out. Everything that happened next was a blur. Awakened with a jolt, I felt that creepy death house chill, like when the weird phantom shadow tapped me on the shoulder. I cracked my eyes open in that foggy state where you don’t know what day it is or if it’s day or night . . . Coming to . . . Some weird noise . . . What’s going on?
I looked up and saw Narcisa’s face, hovering over me on the bed like a bad acid hallucination. I blinked, rubbed my puffy eyes and looked again. It was really her this time . . . But there was something about her look. Something strange.
Her eyes . . . What the fuck? It gave me a chill right down to my core. She just sat there on the edge of the bed, staring at me with this goofy, distant look on her face, making these constipated little choking sounds.
A sudden wave of panic froze my gut . . . What the fucking fuck? Oh, shit! No! She’s having an overdose! Shit! Oh, God! No! She’s finally done it! Any second now, she’ll be foaming at the mouth, bleeding from those big bugged-out eyes, flipping around on my fucking bed like a hooked trout! Oh God! No! Shit!
With a short gasp, I sat up and shook her by the shoulders.
“Baby, what’s wrong, Narcisa? Talk to me . . . Narcisa! Say something!”
She said nothing. She just sat there making those odd little hhuaa hhuaa noises, like a cat choking on a hairball.
Edging toward me, she put her face over my chest, as if she was trying to tell me something important . . . Oh God, please make her be all right! Please, God!
Praying, I moved closer so as not to miss her dying last words.
Suddenly—huuunnhghhh! A gushing geyser flew out of her mouth, bathing me in vomit! A steaming shower of beans and rice, chocolate, Coca-Cola and half-digested pizza . . . Fuck! Chocolate-colored puke, spewing all over me like a fucking shower! Jesus! No-oo!
Paralyzed with shock, I watched in mute, creeping horror as she cocked back that gaping, toxic blowhole. I saw the gates of hell creaking open, then she let it fly again . . . Huunnngghha! Splash!
What the fuck? Where does such a skinny little thing keep so much food and liquid waste!?! Holy shit! A round little green pea rolled down a slimy vomit trail into my belly button . . . Jesus, look at this shit . . . A pea! And it’s intact! There’s another one! Fuck! And here’s a baby carrot! Christ on a shish kebab! This batty bitch swallows small legumes whole! Oh God! Fuck, what the fucking fuck?!?
There were bits of white rice everywhere. Suddenly, I thought of maggots . . . What the fuck is this shit!?! Oh God . . . What if she’s infested with internal larvae!? Shit! Please, God! No . . . No, it’s rice! It’s gotta be rice! Fuck! What next!?
Slowly, Narcisa turned and rose up from the bed. She slithered back down the ladder and slapped across the room as if nothing had happened, dripping a slimy trail of puke—fwap fwap fwap—across the floor behind her.
“Are you fucking insane!?!” I bellowed like a stabbed gorilla.
Wide awake now, realizing the full horror of it all, I lifted myself from the bed. Vomit slid down my torso—fwap—onto the floor as I climbed down and searched for a towel, cursing her under my breath.
Narcisa just looked right through me, as if I weren’t even there.
I lost it. “The bathroom’s over there, Narcisa!” I stood pointing my finger at the door. “The bathroom! The toilet! The fucking sink! Bathroom, bathroom! O banheiro, porra! Ya know, the place where ya spend half yer miserable life smoking crack and staring at yerself in th’ fuckin’ mirror? Bath—room!”
She continued to stare off into space.
“Why, Narcisa? Just tell me, okay? Why do I deserve this shit? Why?”
She faced me with a glazed expression. “I will clean it, Cigano.”
“Yeah, right!” I began cleaning up, mumbling muffled curses as I mopped away at the slimy wreckage. “Fucking crazy bitch . . . Shit . . .”
Feeling better now, lighter, all cheerful and perky after her nice, healthy purge, Narcisa sauntered over and turned up her boom box, full blast. Then she started dancing, gliding across the floor, moving her feet around—spreading the stinking trail of puke far and wide as I tried to wipe it up.
It was a losing battle. I stopped and stood watching her in disbelief, aghast.
“What th’ fuck are you doing, ya fuggin’ psychopath?!”
“I am dancing, Cigano.”
She’s talking to a simpleton, an idiot! I dropped the towel and kicked her boom box across the room with my barf-coated foot, bouncing it against the wall, breaking it, silencing the accursed torture device forever.
“Wha’ happen to you now, hein, Cigano? You de one who e’say always how much you love to watching me dance!”
Oh, Jesus! Really?
It was true, of course. When Narcisa danced, it was pure electricity; spellbinding, kinetic alien poetry. But this was different.
“Not like THIS, ya fuggin’ freak! You’re dancin’ around in yer own fuggin’ vomit, fer fuck’s sake! Who th’ fuck DOES that?!? You’re completely insane!”
Narcisa continued dancing around, without any music now, struggling to keep her dying crack buzz going.
I leveled an ang
ry finger at her. “In-sane!” I repeated, as if I had just discovered some Great Truth.
She shot me a bitter, condescending look. She stopped and sat down in her ash-strewn corner, talking to herself, muttering.
“Is no fair!” she whined, accusing me with those big, sad eyes that made me want to cry for her—or just kill her and put an end to her terminal madness.
I turned my back on her and kept mopping.
That did it. She jumped up, glaring at me, shouting, crying, wailing.
“You so focking hipocrita, Cigano! All de time you e’say to me how much you love when I dance, e’say me I dancing like de angel! An’ then I go make de nice dance for you, an’ you yell at me, e’say I am insane an’ criticize me! Why?”
I stopped cleaning and stared at her in horror.
“ . . . Is alway e’same e’sheet with all de mans! When I do bad thing an’ I treat you bad, then you love me an’ wanna eat de e’sheet from my asshole like candy! An’ then I feel e’sorry an’ I try make it better, an’ I dance for you to make you happy, but then you hate me an’ e’say to me all these insulto! An’ you think is me who insane? Hah! Is you! All you mean, jealous peoples de one who insane!”
She stopped yelling and stood there, scowling at me with her hands on her hips, like a bewildered, offended child.
The effect was immediate. I was consumed with shame . . . Shit! Poor Narcisa . . . What have I done? I was a heel, an ingrate, a selfish, self-centered shit.
I questioned my own sanity.
“Okay, okay. Lissen, lissen, I’m sorry, baby. I love you! I was just . . . Look, I’ll get ya a new radio, I promise. I didn’t mean it, okay? But it’s just not, not normal to throw up on somebody when they’re sleeping, and then dance around in vomit while they’re trying to clean it . . . ya know . . . ?”
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