Curva Peligrosa

by MacKenzie, Lily Iona;

  A bevy of butterflies fluttered around Xavier, and one landed on his head. They must think they’ve landed in Mexico, he said, gently brushing them away. Chain-smoking, he dropped a lit cigarette on the ground.

  Hey, Curva said, her face burning. You think all I have to do is pick up after you, señor? Her parrot repeated the word señor over and over, looking at Xavier from first one eye and then the other.

  Xavier shrugged and did a sophisticated soft shoe on a slab of concrete, making a sweeping bow at the end.

  Curva applauded: You look like an escaped ghost in that white outfit.

  Hah, you forget! I am a ghost.

  She shook a finger at him: Have you returned to haunt me?

  He twirled the gold chain that was attached to his waistband and said, You know me. I’m not like that.

  I’m not so sure I know you at all. My Xavier would never wear extraño clothes. He wasn’t that kind of hombre.

  He got down on his knees in front of Curva and pressed his hands together as if in prayer. Forgive me, mi hermana. What can I do to redeem myself?

  She looked at him intently and said, Give me Xavier back.

  He stood up and bowed at the waist. At your service, señora. Xavier is back.

  Not the Xavier I remember.

  People change. I need to try new things. Be open. You aren’t the Curva I remember, but I don’t complain.

  She grabbed the hose, turned on the water, and sprayed the pots containing Kadeem’s seeds. Then she flicked the nozzle and gave Xavier a little shower.

  Help! he called out, extending his hands to the heavens. She’s trying to drown me. Then he turned to Curva: Don’t you want me to visit any more?

  Laughing, Curva turned off the water and took a bag of fertilizer from a shelf. I’m always happy to see you, mi hermano, but I never know when you’ll turn up.

  He shook the water off himself, threw his arms wide, and sang,

  I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger

  A travel’n through this world of woe.

  But there’s no sickness, no toil nor danger

  In that bright world to which I go.

  Curva clapped. Bravo! I did you a favor then. You got a head start on the bright world. You’re the one who should pity me. I’m still in this world of woe.

  A pair of green finches twittered and trilled, swooping low to the ground and then soaring, joining in the chorus of other birds aroused by Xavier’s presence. Curva grabbed a handful of grain from her pocket and threw it in the air. The birds dove for each speck that hit the ground.

  Xavier said, I’m a world traveler. I go anywhere I choose. I’m off to Hong Kong tomorrow.

  Curva frowned: Hong Kong?

  I saw the movie King Kong and I want to see where he’s from.

  You’re playing with words again, Curva said, laughing. Here’s some fertilizer. You could become another King Kong.

  He said, You know I don’t need anything to make me grow, and he motioned to his zipper.

  She turned away: Lascivo.

  You didn’t used to mind it.

  I don’t mind it. The voice startled both Curva and Xavier. It came from Suelita Flores. She was sitting on Curva’s workbench, wearing a crimson dress. Her full breasts pressed against the thin fabric, and she spread her legs wide, the dress hiked up to her hips.

  Hey, Xavier, Suelita said, you remember me? Your first love? And she winked at him.

  Xavier blushed, the color starting at his black collar and flooding his face.

  Your first love? Curva said, surprised she felt a sharp pang of jealousy. I thought I was your first and only love. Then she turned the hose on Xavier full force. Slicked-back hair dripping wet and hanging over his face, and his suit sopping, he raised his hands in surrender: It was all in the family. She was like an older sister to us both.

  Or a madre, Curva said.

  Suelita looked at them in astonishment: A madre? No, no. I’m no madre to you. A sister maybe. Not a madre. Suelita wrinkled her nose, pursed her lips, and tugged at the hem of her dress, trying to cover her knees. Madres don’t have sex with their sons, Suelita said primly and brushed away a family of ants that was marching up her leg.

  Curva had never been possessive of her lovers or felt much jealousy if they got involved with other women. She believed in sharing—on all levels. Suelita’s ideas about walking marriages had strongly resonated with Curva. She liked the freedom a walking marriage gave her. She liked spreading the wealth. And she also liked variety in her men. So Curva was amazed by her own response.

  Her beloved hermano had betrayed her, along with Suelita, Curva’s el mejor amiga and confidente all these years. Not only that, but they had enacted their disloyalty with each other.

  Still, Curva’s early intimacy with Xavier now seemed foolish. They had been naive to fall into such a thing. What were they thinking? Or were they thinking? If neighbors in their parents’ village had found out, brother and sister would have been banished.

  Xavier took off his drenched suit and hung it to dry on the abandoned caterpillar cage. His boxer shorts, a brilliant orange, and a matching undershirt clung to his thin frame, his bare flesh gray.

  Seeing him so exposed pierced Curva’s heart and made her want to protect him. Any anger she had felt soon dissolved. He was dead; she wasn’t. She grabbed a wool Hudson’s Bay blanket she kept in the hothouse for her trysts with Billie and threw it over Xavier. Shivering, he wrapped it around himself.

  You look like a Cuban cigar, Curva said, breaking the silence.

  He sniffled. I’ve never been to Cuba, he said.

  I have, Suelita said. Fidel was a good customer.

  A Cuban? Curva asked.

  Sí, a grande man in Cuba.

  Maybe I’ll go to Cuba and meet him, Xavier said. I could use the help of a big man.

  I thought you were going to Hong Kong, Curva said.

  I have mucho tiempo. Mucho! Hong Kong! Cuba! What does it matter? Xavier yawned and headed towards some bales of hay.

  I’ll go with you, Suelita said. I have mucho tempo, también. You want to meet Fidel?

  Curva flung the hose aside and put the bag of fertilizer back on its shelf. She said, And I have mucho work to do while you two flit around like butterflies.

  Suelita pointed at Curva. I think she’s jealous.

  Xavier’s head was nodding; his eyelids lowered until a few snores came from him. Curled up on a bale of hay, he had finally stopped shivering.

  Shhhhh, Curva said. Our muchacho needs his beauty sleep.

  Sí, sí, Suelita said. He still is a beautiful boy. He needs someone to care for him. And she stroked his damp hair.

  Xavier croaked, You didn’t return my gold chain with the keys on the end, mi hermana.

  Curva jumped. I thought you were asleep.

  The dead don’t sleep.

  Curva frowned: You don’t dream either?

  Xavier fingered the fringe on the blanket’s edge: My days and nights are a constant dream.

  Suelita lit a cigarette and blew large smoke rings into the air. The birds took turns diving though them. She asked, Anyone want a smoke?

  You don’t have the right kind of tobacco, Curva said. I grow my own. See? And she pointed to the Cannabis budding under a bank of lights.

  Ah, Suelita said. The kind that makes you dreamy.

  I’ll have some of that, Xavier said.

  You might never make it to Hong Kong if you smoke it, Curva said. You won’t want to leave here.

  How can I leave? You still have my keys.

  I thought you wanted me to have the gold chain. What do you need keys for?

  They’re the keys to my future, and I’m the keyhole to yours.

  I don’t get it, Curva said. What future do you have? Isn’t wandering between life and de
ath your destiny?

  Maybe it’s yours as well. We can travel the universe with Suelita and all those other characters from Luis Cardona’s novel.

  Ah, that’s what’s in store for me then.

  Curva noticed butterflies fluttering over the flowerpots containing the ancient seeds. She walked over to inspect the pots. The butterflies hovered, some landing on Curva’s head and shoulders. Then they took flight again. The soil in one of the containers appeared to move slightly, as if something were about to poke through. Curva watched intently, her breath quickening, hoping to catch this new life in action. Excited, she said, Come and see, Xavier. You like watching births.

  But Xavier and Suelita were no longer there, and the blanket Curva had wrapped around Xavier lay on the floor in a heap, a shed chrysalis.

  The butterflies swirled around her and followed Curva out the door. A blizzard of monarchs flooded the sky, heading south.

  * * *

  7 It looks at the moon, eating his prickly pear; throwing the rinds in the lagoon. That snail that goes for the sun in every stick, it was taking a flower through that the gala lives, through that the love lives, through that the conch lives of that snail.

  Sabina and Ian

  Sabina hadn’t visited Ian or Edna since Billie’s project had absorbed her. So she was surprised when Ian stopped by the Center one day and waved at her through the glass wall where she was helping to catalogue items. For a visitor, it was like looking into a hospital nursery, but instead of squalling babies, their red fists flailing the air, there were row after row of bones and other artifacts protected by white foam sheets that Sabina hovered over.

  Working with these relics, along with the paleontologist Billie had hired from the Tsuu T’ina tribe, filled Sabina with awe. The bones themselves were porous and chalky, the earth still clinging to them in places. Hip sockets. Parts of skulls. Jaws still filled with teeth. Fragments of former lives.

  Excited to show her friend around, Sabina ran out and gave a “Yah-hoo,” her large, signature sombrero flopping on her head. Chattering non-stop, she led Ian past display cases that held intricately beaded Blackfoot costumes and the tribal women’s weaving. They stopped in a large room where dinosaur skeletons were being reassembled.

  Look, Ian, that’s a Tyrannosaurus. Next to it is an Albertosaurus—after our province! It means Alberta lizard. And the one in the corner is a Centrosaurus.

  Ian patted her on the back: Amazing, lass. How did you learn all those names?

  Ben, the paleontologist, is teaching me. We still have oodles more dinosaurs to put together. Sabina waved at the workers and turned to Ian, saying, Can you believe all these bones came from right here, under our feet?

  Aye, it’s amazing, lass. That camera I gave you must be working overtime.

  Sabina laughed. I have my own darkroom here. Want to see it?

  He looked surprised, his bushy eyebrows raised in a “v,” and said, Ah, that’s why you haven’t been by. You have been shooting up a storm.

  Sabina responded, And going to school. And helping Curva care for the greenhouse and animals. And working here. And, and, and…. She threw her hands up in the air as if exasperated by it all, but the truth was, she loved being so active.

  He nodded: Busy young lass.

  Aye, she said and giggled, patting Ian on the arm. I sound like you.

  Aye. I get it, Ian said. He picked up an ancient bone and studied it, turning it over and over in his hand.

  Millions of years old, Sabina said. Where were we then?

  We weren’t!

  She threw her hands into the air: I can’t believe it. No humans? Who wrote the books?

  He shook his head: No books. Just bones. A different language, lass. One we don’t understand.

  Well, I understand your language. I’ve read all the books you’ve written. I love the main character in them. She seems so real. Actually alive.

  They passed some visitors who were studying the replicated interior of a teepee. It held a family of four that sat around a fire. Sabina stopped. Look, she said. Billie carved those figures from wood. Aren’t they good?

  Ian flicked some imaginary dust off his jacket and said, Does she seem familiar?

  Sabina frowned and said, Familiar? Who?

  The girl in my books.

  Sabina planted herself directly in front of Ian and put her hands on her hips: You mean she’s someone I know?

  He looked away: I just wondered if she reminded you of anyone.

  Sabina twirled a couple of times on one foot before responding. I guess she does things I want to do one day. Travel. See the world. Have major adventures.

  She does indeed, Ian said. I can hardly keep up with her!

  But you created her.

  Aye, I suppose you could say that. I sometimes think it’s more the other way around. She has me reeling at times.

  Really?

  Ian hooted: Ah, you’ve got a feeling for language, lass. You picked up on reeling and really, didn’t you? Show me that darkroom of yours.

  Sabina led the way to the basement and stopped at a door marked TOP SECRET. KEEP OUT. He pointed at the sign and laughed. What skeletons are you hiding in this closet?

  She said, No skeletons. I have to keep out the dust. You know that! And I don’t want anyone messing with my pictures.

  She selected a key from several dangling on a band around her wrist, unlocked the door, and pushed it open. The vinegary smell of chemicals assailed them. Hanging from the ceiling was a string attached to a light bulb. She pulled it, and a red light cast an eerie glow over the black walls. A small room, not much more than a large closet, about eight by eight feet, it seemed bigger than it actually was because of the colored light. The possibility of more space beckoned beyond the shadows.

  She returned to the hallway, took the camera gun from its holster, and aimed it at his head. Don’t move, she said.

  He raised his hands in surrender and said, I give up! Don’t shoot. He froze and Sabina pulled the trigger. Great, she said. Your picture finishes up the roll. Wanna help me develop it?

  At your service.

  They both entered the tiny room. A faucet and a sink were at one end. Three trays sat on an adjacent workbench. Shelves above and below the workbench held paper, scissors, buckets, and more. At the other end was a worktable. An enlarger, timer, paper, and a stack of negatives took up that space. Clothespins attached negatives to a clothesline that circled the top part of the room. The images were difficult to make out.

  Ian poked and prodded, studying the negatives, inspecting everything, exclaiming, You have been busy, my girl. Quite a setup. Better than mine.

  Sabina bowed: I just do everything you taught me. I take pictures of the artifacts and develop them here. Billie wants them all recorded in case something happens to the place.

  Smart move, he said, bowing. You’re worth your weight in gold to him.

  She is.

  Billie appeared in the doorway, the red light burnishing his darker skin. We’ve never met formally, Billie said, holding out his hand. Sabina has talked about you a lot.

  Ian shoved his hands into his pockets. The light turned his white beard pink and made his bald head gleam. He cleared his throat: Aye, she talks about you, too. Well, here we are. He stared at the negatives on the line as if studying them.

  Billie shrugged and patted Sabina’s arm. Great job, he said. Don’t forget your homework. I don’t want Curva raising hell with me. Billie strode off, not bothering to say goodbye.

  Sabina groaned and hung her head: Homework. Blah! Her sombrero’s brim flapped low, hiding her face.

  Your friend is right, lass. School comes first.

  Sabina shoved the hat to the back of her head and glared at Ian. Even in that dim light her intense blue eyes glinted like steel: Why didn’t you shake Billie’
s hand?

  He shrugged: I thought you wanted help with this new film.

  She turned away and said, I don’t need your help.

  Aye, well, then I should be heading home. Ian brushed past Sabina and headed for the stairs, his back slightly bent, his gait a little unsteady.

  She watched him go. He’s an old man, she thought, the realization hitting her for the first time. Though she dealt daily with prehistoric bones, she hadn’t made the connection between them and aging. Soon Ian’s bones would join the others underground, and he would just be a memory. Something fleeting.

  She also hadn’t thought much about death before, except when she’d had that brief brush with it in the quicksand. Now she realized everything dies in stages. The aging process itself reflects death’s relationship to the body. Some parts die before others—knees, hips, the brain. Senility sets in. Or worse.

  Sabina didn’t want to lose Ian or his world. It was familiar and comfortable. He had introduced her to books, a porthole into lives she wouldn’t have known about otherwise, awakening in Sabina a hunger for knowledge that was different from Curva’s.

  She almost called out for him to stay.

  But then she remembered Billie and how stricken she had felt when Ian wouldn’t take his hand. She pushed away any sympathy welling up inside her. Ian had hurt her friend and wounded Sabina as well. She wouldn’t forget the slight so quickly.

  She went back into the darkroom and shut the door, hanging her hat on a hook. It didn’t take long to process the film. The familiar motions of mixing developer with hot or cold water until it reached the right temperature helped her to put aside the unpleasant scene with Ian and Billie. While she waited for images to emerge from the film in the developing tank, she checked out the negatives clipped to the clothesline. They reminded her of X-rays, their penetrating eye exposing the inner core of the bones and other artifacts she’d photographed.

  Sabina recalled a story Curva had told her about the glass bowl she and Xavier had looked into when they were younger. The whole world was in there, Curva had said. The negatives gave Sabina a similar feeling. The remains became windows into other lives—other times. Handling the bones when she photographed and numbered them for the paleontologist made her shiver because they seemed to vibrate: some vital force appeared to be contained there. A link to the past, the bones had witnessed a lot over the years, before and after they were buried. Eons had flashed by. Wouldn’t all of that be imprinted somewhere inside them? A record of some kind?