Trafalgar

by Angélica Gorodischer

  “Too bad,” he said, “because Gonzwaledworkamenjkaleidos is very close and it is a fabulous place for business.”

  The others were in agreement—too much in agreement and too loudly, I thought later, when it was too late. But at that moment I didn’t notice, because the name had caught my attention.

  “What?” I said. “What is it called?”

  “Gonzwaledworkamenjkaleidos,” they repeated.

  “You can sell anything there,” said The Savage Captainess of the Storm Clouds, “and the silver bells they make are the prettiest I’ve heard.”

  Silver bells, of course, why not? But the thing tempted me. I asked where it was and the husband of The SuperFat Empress, whose name is Shield of Fire that Roars at Night, went to look for a route guide. They told me they would give me all the details at the port and they asked what I might be carrying to sell. I had the clay, of course, but that was for Dosirdoo IX, and I also had anilines, iron fittings, and plastic pipes. And medicines.

  “That’s it,” yelled The Crazy Minstrel of the Still Waters. “They always need those! Medicines!”

  “Vitamins,” someone said.

  “Tonics!” The SuperFat Empress clapped her hands. “Tonics, tonics, tonics, tonics!”

  “Cough syrup, anti-diarrheals, anorectics, neuroleptics, vasodilators, skin ointments, laxatives, antifungals.” They hollered out every kind of medication they could think of and they laughed, of course, how could they not laugh?

  I managed to pull one of them, The Twelfth Knight of the Order of the Checked Doublet, into a corner and ask him what the probabilities were. He swore by his collection of bamboo cats that on Gonzwaledworkamenjkaleidos I could sell whatever I wanted and above all medicines because they went crazy about medicine and they didn’t haggle. All of which, I am sorry to say, was basically true, although in this case the nuances are important. So The Twelfth Knight of the Order of the Checked Doublet’s collection of bamboo cats must be sitting pretty in its display cabinet. Yes, the next day I went to that world. I slept well that night in spite of the music and the dancing at the hotel, I composed the route at the port, and I left. The Splendorous Girl came to see me off, in her chief nurse’s uniform, along with The SuperFat Empress before she went to the studio; The Toughest Tamer of the Pale, Pale Star, in a hurry because he had a meeting with the directors of the factory; The Crazy Minstrel of the Still Waters, very imposing as a Police corporal; and others that I don’t remember. The Twelfth Knight of the Order of the Checked Doublet sent a message because he was on call at the hospital. No, thank you, do serve yourself, I never take sugar. Of course it was close, I arrived almost immediately. It’s the fourth of a system of six, the only inhabited one, quite large, and it moves at a normal speed. I started to descend and to signal, looking for a port. No one answered me. And even that didn’t alarm me, see what an idiot? I flew low, still looking for a port, and nothing. It seemed strange, yes, but I didn’t get suspicious: I was still dazzled by the Edessbussianos’ enthusiasm. A little irritated by now, I chose a city, low, not very big but the largest one I found, and I landed in the countryside, as close as I could. When I was getting close to the ground, let’s say two hundred, two hundred fifty meters, what do I find? You will never believe it. An aerostat. A balloon, yes sir, it’s incredible. A balloon uglier than a fat chick in a bikini, painted gray with darker stripes, as if camouflaged. Hey, these guys are at war, I thought, and I tried to remember if I was carrying coagulants, antibiotics, and disinfectants and if anything else might serve in case of trouble. I don’t sell arms, it’s the one place I don’t compromise. Everything else, from livestock on the hoof to diamonds from Quitiloe. Did you ever see a diamond from Quitiloe? My friend, you don’t know what you’re missing. The opposite of ours, the smaller they are, the more expensive. You understand why when they pass you one and you have it in your hand. The smallest one I ever saw measured two millimeters by two millimeters and weighed five and a half kilos. There are some that measure a meter in length and weigh hardly anything. If they’re longer than a meter they use them as mirrors but mounted on the wall because otherwise they float away. No, why would they be at war? I realized that before I descended and I stopped thinking about coagulants. I passed close to the balloon and I saw it had a wicker basket hanging below it and in the basket were three guys with frightened faces who watched and pointed at me. I waved my hand at them and gave them a big smile but they didn’t even answer. Yes, of course. You won’t have any more? Well, thank you. I landed in the middle of the countryside, very close to the city. I made fast in lift-off position, a precaution I always take when I arrive at a place for the first time. I packed a temporary bag, put in papers and documents because one never knows where they’re going to ask for them, I left the clunker, connected the alarms, and I stopped with my satchel in hand in the middle of a field. All of this took me a good while, but I had done things slowly on purpose to give the people of the city sufficient time to approach. Would you believe, no one appeared? I don’t trust that kind of thing. It has happened to me other times, believe me. On Eertament, on Laibonis VI, on Rodalinzes and, unless I’m very much mistaken, on a couple of other worlds as well. Of course, it might not be hostility or even indifference, but rather a norm of good manners, really rather strange for us. On Laibonis VI, for example, where they carefully avoided me for an entire day, it was, incredibly, an expression of interest, deference, and even respect. On the other hand, on Eertament things began that way and ended badly, very badly. So I took a few measures. I don’t use weapons: not only do I not sell them, I don’t use them. But I have a very useful little device that was given to me years ago on Aqüivanida, where there are more animals than people and some of them are dangerous but it is forbidden to kill them, which recharges on its own, adapts to any metabolism, and causes reversible, temporary devastation, long enough so one can get away. I went to get it, I hung it from my wrist, grabbed my satchel, and started to walk toward the city. Did you ever see La Kermesse héroïque? Great movie. I’ve already told the Cinema Club people that I’ll become a member if they promise to show it once a year. Do you remember the first scenes? That’s what the city was like. It’s called Gonzwaledworkamenjkaleidaaa. Seriously, it seems like one is never going to learn it, but that’s the least of it. The buildings were crude, stubby, old, ugly. The streets were not paved and there were little stone bridges to cross the irrigation ditches. The animals walked around loose. There was a plaza with a market, and people were dressed in the most outlandish fashion: some looked made to order for the heroic kermesse, others were like troglodytes with skins and everything, I saw two boys in jeans and T-shirts and there were others who looked like the baby brothers of Louis XV. I stopped a guy who had on a leather apron over his pants and an old-fashioned shirt and asked where there was a hotel. There were no hotels. We’ve started badly, I said. An inn? There were no inns. A hostel? There were no hostels. A monastery? Yes, you heard me right; trust me, if you ever go to a godforsaken place in which there are no hotels or boarding houses or anything, ask for the monastery. There were no monasteries.

  “But then,” I say to the guy, “where does a traveler stay?”

  “He has to ask permission in some house,” he tells me, and he leaves.

  I let fly a discreet insult under my breath and kept walking. Around the plaza, no way, too much noise. I turned down one of the streets that opened off the market and walked a block. People looked at me, but they could hardly pretend to ignore me quickly enough. If it hadn’t been because I still thought I could sell something, I’d have gone back to the clunker and left. But you always have to be sure you can’t do anything before you fold—I know what I’m talking about. Then I see a guy in the doorway of a house that is neither better nor worse than the rest and I go over and I tell him they’ve informed me there are no hotels and could he give me lodging. Here, please, smoke one of mine; yes, they’re black. The fellow looked at me with curiosity, but let’s call it a friendly curiosit
y, and I think he even started to smile at me. But then he got serious and said he would go ask. He went inside and left me on the street. I used the time to look over the whole block and I didn’t see anything new, except a round face in a window of the house next door. The owner of the face looked at me quite openly and, just in case, I did not smile. She was the one who smiled. I didn’t have time to return the compliment because my possible host returned and told me no, it wasn’t authorized. Like that, no look I’m really sorry but. No, he told me no, they didn’t authorize it. I told him I was prepared to pay whatever price he asked and he didn’t even answer and he went back into the house. Normally, I would not have said something so imprudent, but apart from the fact that I had money to spare, I was determined come hell or high water to get into one of those houses and see how these disagreeable people, who flew in balloons and had neither ports nor hotels, managed things. I took two steps to go try my luck somewhere else and right then the window of the house next door opened and someone said hello. Yes, it was the owner of the round face. Thank goodness, I thought, and I also said hello.

  “What did my cousin tell you?” she asked.

  “Your cousin?” I said. “That man is your cousin?”

  “Of course. We’re all cousins on Gonzwaledworkamenjkaleidos.”

  “Well, how nice,” I managed, a little confused.

  “What did he tell you?”

  “No.”

  “No, what?”

  “That he can’t put me up.”

  She started to laugh. She had perfect teeth and she was quite pretty—granted, not very young—and pleasant. At least she knew how to laugh, not like everyone else there who walked around with funeral faces, and funeral face, I’m telling you, was exactly the right expression.

  “Tell me, ma’am,” I go and I ask her, “you wouldn’t have space to put me up?”

  “I do,” she said, “and my cousin does, too. He’s just a wimp. Wait and I’ll open the door for you.”

  She disappeared from the window and a little while later she opened the door and invited me in. She was between thirty-five and forty years old, not very tall, generous in the body as in the face without being fat. I left the satchel on the ground and introduced myself.

  “I am Ribkamatia Gonzwaledworkamenjkaleidos,” she told me. That left me cold.

  “What? Isn’t that the name of this world of yours?”

  “Yes,” she said, “and we’re all called that: we’re the Gonzwaledworkamenjkaleidos family.”

  “Look,” I answered, “that’s very complicated for me. How would it be if I abbreviate it to González, which is a very common name in my country?”

  She laughed and said she had no problem with that, and she showed me the house. From the outside it was as modest, as unattractive, as the rest. But inside, the carnival continued. The floors were black and white tile. There were lace curtains in the windows; the furniture was solid, dark; simple but comfortable. And there was a lot of wood and a lot of white china and copper everywhere and everything was clean and shining. I liked it. But there was no electric light. No, there wasn’t. Don’t trouble, I’ll serve myself. Excellent coffee, this. Yes, of course it surprised me, but I have seen so many strange things. And one learns not to question until the right moment. The house had three bedrooms, hers with an enormous double bed. I hoped the husband would be as friendly and pleasant as she was but I didn’t need to worry because she told me shortly that she was a widow and lived alone. She offered me another bedroom, it had a bed that was smaller but it was well furnished, a dresser with a mirror, a bedside table, an armchair, a red rug and also lace curtains at the window that opened onto the back garden. I asked her the price and she named such a ridiculous sum that I was embarrassed. And in addition, she asked if I wanted meat or fish for lunch.

  “But, ma’am,” I protested, “I thought the price was only for lodging. I planned to eat in a restaurant.”

  “There are no restaurants,” she said.

  I should have expected that. Where had those cretins on Edessbuss sent me? A world without hotels and without restaurants, without pavement, without electric light, with sad, terrified people who traveled by balloon, come on. Of course, maybe they needed medicines. And also anilines or plastic pipes, we would see. I didn’t say anything and I asked her if I could take a bath. She said of course and indicated a door at the end of the hallway. And she made me her most decided supporter when she added:

  “While you bathe, I am going to make you a cup of hot coffee.”

  “Without sugar or milk, please,” I told her as I went into the bath.

  What a bath, my goodness. Not because it was luxurious or sophisticated: it rather resembled my maternal grandmother’s bath, at the estate in Moreno. It was enormous, with walls and ceiling paneled in strips of polished wood and a white tile floor. The fixtures were also large, very large, of white china, and the bathtub stood on a wooden platform. The faucets were bronze and sparkled like Quitiloe diamonds. There was a window close to the ceiling and white towels with fringes hanging on the hooks. I turned a faucet uncertainly, but soon I had the tub full of hot water and I took the most nostalgic bath of my life. I emerged, a new man, into the corridor that smelled of freshly brewed coffee. I went to the kitchen—the bathroom’s twin—and Ribkamatia González protested because she wanted to serve me in the dining room, but I sat down at the white wooden table and drank the coffee, which was fantastic. I asked if she wouldn’t join me but she said she didn’t drink coffee: women are often funny that way. I took out a cigarette and I must have hesitated a little because she told me it didn’t bother her if I smoked; she didn’t smoke, no one smoked in public on González, but I was her guest and it didn’t bother her. So I smoked and tipped the ashes into a saucer and I talked nonsense, and when I finished the coffee she offered me another, and when I finished the second coffee I started trying to find out what I had to do to sell my merchandise. She didn’t know, but she thought it would be difficult. She thought about it a moment and told me I should go speak to the mayor and she explained where I had to go and asked me when I wanted to have lunch. Very agreeable, being attended to in that fashion, but it seemed to me an imposition and as the morning was ending, I said at whatever time she ate, as I was going to be out for an hour, more or less. She made a face that said she didn’t really believe me, but she said fine and went to wash the cup. I said good-bye and went out. Cousin González was once again in the doorway and he looked at me as he had earlier but I did not greet him. I went to the plaza, located the building belonging to the municipality or whatever it was, went in and said I wanted to see the mayor. They didn’t ask what I wanted or make me wait. Besides, the mayor wasn’t doing anything. He was seated in front of an empty table looking sadly out the window. We greeted each other, I said who I was and he said he was Ebvaltar González, well, not González but Gonzwaledworkamenjkaleidos. I explained that I was a merchant and I wanted a permit to sell, and the guy started to stammer and put up objections. Then I pulled the medicines out of my sleeve—so to speak—and told him I had vitamins, tonics, cough syrups. His sadness ended and panic seized him. No, no, not possible, what did I mean, medicines, I was crazy, you couldn’t sell that there, it wasn’t permitted, good heavens, how could I think of such a thing.