by Hebe Uhart
* * *
—
One day she got up to walk down the corridor, like the previous days, but the main hall was livelier than usual and she wanted to get closer to have a better look. All that hoopla made her dizzy. There were people walking by with bottles of yellow liquid; others pushed wheelchairs. There was a man wearing pajamas and a nurse with a cake.
Terrified of falling down, because she had gone so far, Genoveva kept walking and insulting her leg so it would move. She said, “Move it leg, or I’ll teach you a lesson,” and all the while she thought about the mashed potatoes she was going to make when she went back to Doña Herminia’s house. At the same time she felt dizzy and scared, as if everything around her were a blur. But when she got to the middle of the hallway she heard a voice saying, “Good job, Granny. Good job!”
And another voice added, “Would you look at that! Granny’s out for a walk!”
She smiled her humble smile and said, “Thank you, thank you.”
And the fat nurse had to watch it all with her arms folded, that infraction of hospital law, because everyone was gathering around her and celebrating.
* * *
—
Doña Herminia wanted Genoveva to live and she wanted her to come back, but she knew she would have to accept God’s will. And since perhaps God’s will was for Genoveva to die, Doña Herminia was going to pray to Saint Anthony of the Miraculous Medal to intercede on her behalf.
* * *
—
Saint Anthony of the Miraculous Medal was not the type of saint you could bother on a daily basis; he had to be reserved for special circumstances. He was only to be summoned when one felt like the other saints were playing dumb. Now, how was it possible that someone like Doña Herminia—who had studied, who could, in a pinch, correctly explain Boyle’s experimental gas law, or place, according to the logic of events, the date of the Battle of Maipú—how was it possible that she could believe in Saint Anthony of the Miraculous Medal? It had to do with where one lived and jurisdictions. San Martín had lived in the Andes, that was his jurisdiction. The jurisdiction of Boyle’s law included liquids; and Saint Anthony of the Miraculous Medal worked, from his spiritual realm, in difficult cases, as long as you didn’t bother him too often. Besides, everyone does as they please in their own home, and takes on whatever they can. Saint Anthony of the Miraculous Medal wasn’t like Saint Anthony the patron saint of lost things, who you invoked, for example, when searching the entire house for the feather duster. That was a cheerful, carefree search. You would check all the nooks and crannies, come across some dust and be reminded how the place needed a good sweeping. No, Saint Anthony of the Miraculous Medal required all your strength, you had to concentrate all your thoughts into the request. Once Doña Herminia had finished praying and put in her request, she felt her body slacken with fatigue and she waited patiently for the saint to do his part.
She was about to make breakfast: the comfort of a glass of milk and crackers that give strength to weak legs, when the doorbell rang. The doorbell rang and she heard from outside the drumming of fingertips on the windowpane. She could see the blurry outline of a face, a little hand waving goodbye and a car driving away. Who was it? She didn’t know. Then the doorbell, insistent. She opened the door and it was none other than Genoveva.
When Genoveva saw Doña Herminia she said, “You’re a sight for sore eyes!”
Doña Herminia couldn’t say the same. Her own eyes had been entirely domesticated for quite some time: nothing surprised her anymore. Doña Herminia thought, What luck, the coast is clear. The daughter-in-law had already left and fortunately her own daughter hadn’t stopped by that morning. Her daughter had already told her, in a somewhat ominous and threatening tone, that in order for Genoveva to be able to come back to the house she would need to bring a document verifying her physical health, another stating her homeostatic balance, an electroencephalogram, and a short- and mid-term prognosis of her disease.
Doña Herminia noticed that it was hard for Genoveva to walk. She looked like she was in pain, and the pain from walking was making her turn pale. So what? she thought. She’s not going to run a marathon. If she can walk from her room to the bathroom, that’s enough. Then they greeted one another and she took Genoveva’s purse and asked her solicitously, “Have you eaten breakfast yet?”
“I think so,” said Genoveva.
“What do you mean you think so? Really Genoveva, did you have breakfast or not?”
“I guess.”
“And what did you have for breakfast?”
Genoveva thought and thought and then she said, somewhat alarmed, “Would you believe that I don’t remember?”
“Well, come now, it doesn’t matter. Would you like to have breakfast again? Or, I mean, have some breakfast?”
“If it’s not too much trouble,” said Genoveva with a pleasant smile, like someone who’s done something slightly mischievous and good.
And so what? thought Doña Herminia. She can’t remember. What did she need all that memory for anyway? It’s not like she was going to become a historian. Bah! And sometimes, when a person has suffered a lot in life, it can be a gift to lose your memory. Our Lord works in mysterious ways…
Genoveva washed her combs, took a nap, and later, in the afternoon, they made a fruitcake together with lots of candied fruit, walnuts, and raisins. At night, before they went to sleep, each in her own room, Doña Herminia bid Genoveva goodnight, standing in the door frame, saying, “Let the Lord grant us the light of a new day.”
But before they went to bed, they joined the palms of their hands and smiled at one another, looking into each other’s eyes lovingly, without even a hint of resentment.
Homeowners Association Meeting
THE Homeowners Association Meeting of Calle Encarnación no. 375 is always held in the foyer of the ground floor; almost everyone present has to stand. Only the building superintendent sits at a little table (normally kept in the basement), and the President of the Homeowners Association sits at the other end (jotting down the minutes). Two elderly ladies, Azucena and Francisca, bring down little stools from their apartments. The super isn’t an ugly woman, but she is a bit hunchbacked and short-sighted from all the paperwork she has to read and sign. And her face is somewhat misshapen from listening to so many complaints from every tenant in every apartment, and from all her dreams about them at night. The President of the Homeowners Association has a tan no matter what time of year it is. He’s wearing a tracksuit and tennis shoes. He’s the only one who’s on a first-name basis with Mary, the super. She calls him Carlos. Azucena and Francisca are always the first to arrive at the meeting, but for different reasons. Azucena—always with a smile on her full-moon face—wants to be informed, in the know. Francisca has a long list of topics to raise and she’s prepared to give everyone a piece of her mind. Azucena admires and looks up to Francisca because Francisca knows everything: she knows which days the garbage man comes; how to procure calcium by chopping up eggshells (they’re good for the bones); and where to buy the most comfortable shoes.
The super glances at her watch and says in a condescending tone of voice:
“Unfortunately, people in this country are not very timely. Carlos, please buzz the man from 4-C. He said he was coming.”
* * *
—
The man from 4-C, a newlywed with large bashful eyes, leans up against the corner of the wall. The super asks him:
“Did you bring the authorization, Mister…”
“Martínez.”
The super checks his name against her list and says:
“Indeed, here it is.”
The man approaches the table with the authorization as if he were standing trial in front of the court. The super says, didactically:
“Very good, Mr. Martínez. Let me remind you that our tenants must always bring the authorization. And, furt
hermore, I’d like to insist that everyone be punctual. That way we can settle matters in a timely manner.”
Mr. Martínez thinks perhaps this lecture was meant for him and he doesn’t move, he’s all eyes.
Just then Roque walks through, in a hurry, as if he were preparing for a long trip. He’s muttering and carrying something in his hands, as always, and the super asks him:
“Are you staying, Roque?”
It sounds vaguely like he mentions the word “shopping.” They assume he’ll be back, but it’s not clear—when it comes to Roque it’s hard to know whether he’s coming or going. And he often starts in one direction only to turn back around. Francisca says to the super:
“Ma’am, I think you should know, that gentleman has several cats in his apartment. He’s never admitted just how many, but I feel his apartment should be inspected. If you don’t take the appropriate measures I won’t hesitate to bring in an inspector myself.”
The super says:
“That’s exactly the first topic on the agenda: ‘Pets.’ ”
Francisca says:
“But it’s not just cats. Some people take their dogs up on the terrace. They soil everything—not to mention the racket…”
The super says:
“That falls under ‘Noise Problems.’ We’ll discuss that later.”
Francisca:
“It’s as if nobody sees anything around here—nobody hears anything, nobody smells anything. But the elevator reeks of dog, and it’s all scratched up. Who scratched it? I bet it was those kids who sit out on the sidewalk, which actually belongs to everyone. Just who do they think they are? The guardians of the doorstep?”
The super says, in a weary voice:
“Remember, one person’s freedom ends where another’s begins.”
Francisca:
“What freedom? With all the hubbub in this building! There’s so much noise and confusion that a thief scaled his way up to the third floor, like a regular Spiderman. Nobody saw him! Nobody heard him!”
Carlos says:
“What should I write down, Mary? Noise or pets?”
The super:
“What a mess! Spiderman? We’ll get things in order, Carlos.”
Azucena says, smiling:
“There’s something wrong with my left ear. I can’t hear much, but I can see alright. I mean, I’m sorry, I don’t know if it’s the right moment but…It’s just that little rug in the foyer was new, and now it’s all trampled and…”
The super replies, also smiling, “Azucena, there are other priorities. We’ll get there, we’ll get around to your complaint.”
Francisca:
“Priorities—that word is always getting thrown around, but it’s never my turn. And I pay my dues religiously on the second of every month—not like some people who have a six-month debt! I hear everything, and I can tell you where the noise is coming from. It’s those kids in 5-C who play their music at full blast. Bah, if you can even call that music. Then there’s the lady who lives above me, who slams the elevator door at three o’clock in the morning. Is it my fault her life’s a wreck? And to top it off, now there’s shoes that make noise. They invent such junk these days. The girl from 1-B has shoes that play music. I know she doesn’t go upstairs that often, but still…Freedom? What freedom!”
Carlos (boasting): “Personally, I don’t have to worry about that, Mrs. Mastropiero. I soundproofed my walls with paneling.”
Super (in a sad voice): “What a good idea, Carlos.”
Just then Roque comes back from the street carrying a bag filled to the brim, hugging it to his chest as if it were a baby and muttering to no one in particular about how he’s just going upstairs to drop off the package. At the same time, Florentina comes down wearing an alluring velvet skirt and a dazzling blouse with sparkles. The super says to her:
“We’ve been waiting for you, Flor.”
A hush descends with Flor’s entrance. Politely, Carlos asks her:
“Would you like a chair?”
Flor declines the offer and stands next to the young newlywed who’s becoming increasingly tense. She says:
“May I propose something very specific?”
The super nods.
Flor:
“I’ve been concerned about the doormen for some time. They both sit on chairs on the sidewalk—I know it’s more during summertime and that’s a long way off—but we must anticipate these things. They greet everyone under the sun and give the impression of a commonplace building. Once we’ve lost our standards everything else is out the window, too. I think they should be made to stand and wear a uniform, that’s the way it’s done. I’ve seen some very discreet uniforms—nothing too silly—on Calle Tacuarí. I’ve already picked out the color.
“Now, the entrance hall isn’t up to par either, with that relief or whatever it is with the pregnant lady on the wall. That’s right, you’re all looking at it. Just what is a pregnant lady doing on the wall of an apartment building? It really upsets me on my way in and out; it’s disturbing. Our building should be a peaceful refuge. Now, there are some marble wall coverings, they’re sold right down at Quadri. I’ve already picked out the color. I’ve got a real eye for these things and—”
Super:
“But Flor…”
Flor:
“Let me finish. The doorman’s manners contradict his job as a caretaker. He told my mother—none other than my own mother—that he knows which people live in each apartment based on the trash they throw away. What is this, espionage? If you ask me, I don’t want a spy in my own building. My mother’s blood pressure spiked because of him, because it’s like living with a spy. And if he continues down that road I’m going to take him to court for damages. People’s health cannot be taken lightly and—”
Francisca:
“She’s right, she’s right. The doorman flings my letters under the door as if they were paper airplanes. Once one of them slid all the way out to the balcony! I’m going to send a registered letter and if that doesn’t make a difference, I’ll take it all the way to the ombudsman.”
Azucena (as if this were pleasant news):
“Ah, is there an ombudsman?”
Roque comes down with an X-ray and walks toward the front door.
Super:
“Roque, aren’t you staying?”
Roque (muttering as he holds up the X-ray):
“I’m going to the doctor down the street. Maybe he’ll see me…Maybe he won’t.”
Francisca:
“Stop right there! Just how many cats do you have?”
Roque, at the front door:
“Cats are very clean animals. I hope the dog owners don’t take that the wrong way. Dogs have some charm, no doubt about that. Oh, I just remembered something. See that latch on the door outside? The guy from 8-H comes along and forces it, then the guy from 1-D, and so on and so forth, and so on and so forth…The latch is all worn out and—”
Francisca:
“He’s got a point, but—”
Flor:
“He may be right but he spends his time spying on the lives of others. My philosophy is: Live and let live.”
Carlos:
“Mary, what should I write down?”
Super:
“We’ll smooth out those details at the end. Listen up: we’re all on the same ship and we have to hold course together if we want to make fast. We all want to be number one, don’t we? We simply cannot lose sight of our objective, because we are forgetting the core issue: Safety.”
Flor:
“Considering the state of this country—I’m no stranger to the state of affairs—our building should have a night watchman all night long. I always, always, keep a stun gun in my purse so I’m not caught off guard. It works for sexual assault too. I’ve kept it on my per
son ever since I had an experience that I would sincerely never wish on anyone. I propose that the board gives each proprietor a stun gun for self defense. I don’t know if that’s an option, but life is first and foremost. Even if they just break in and no one gets killed. Robbery is one type of violation, let’s not deny it…(Not to mention other equally terrible things).”
Azucena:
“And that…gun…How does it work?”
Super:
“One minute, Flor.”
Francisca:
“Also, I had my newspaper stolen.”
Azucena (contemplative):
“I heard a shirt was stolen from the clothesline on the terrace.”
Francisca:
“It was a sheet. But what’s this? First, it’s badmouthing, and before you know it, thieves right here among us? I never!”
Flor:
“I’ve already raised my concern. I’m going to bed, I’ve got a hard day ahead of me tomorrow.”
Super:
“Sign here, Flor. Go on, get some rest.”
Flor signs and goes quickly upstairs. Roque comes back with the X-ray under his arm.
Roque:
“He wouldn’t see me.”
Francisca:
“Come over here. Just how many cats do you have anyway?”
Roque:
“I’ll be right there. I’ll be right with you. I just have to go up because the X-ray belongs to my wife, poor thing. What can she do?”
The newlywed starts biting his nails.
