A Naked Singularity: A Novel

by Sergio De La Pava

  —Y the job que Armando had anyway it finished when they killed his boss walking into the office one morning. Pero even if he still had that job it doesn’t matter because he know he could do better here. Yo no digo que our family is starving over there. ¡Tampoco! Pero even the people who are doing okay over there know it would be better here and they want to do better. No todos, porque some can assept et, pero otros can’t assept et. Being held down by somesing you no control like jour country where jour born. At the same time, mientras otros can do whatever they want because of the lucky of where they born. ¿Because of lineas en un mapa like your father would say? Juss luck? (She kept talking here but I was thinking how much I disliked maps while others can’t finish entering whatever turnstile-enclosed entertainment before they’re running to the illustrated vertical square that tells them they’re standing on a red dot.) Right now maybe ees harder for Armando than over there. Pero, he’s just un kid. One day he marry, have keeds y those keeds will be born here. They will speak el inglés perfectly and they will know what to do. He does it for them. So allá I wore suits and here I cleaned hotel rooms but today look at my three kids. If we don’t leave, Casi por ejemplo, would be like Armando right now. Instead Marcela has a house and keeds, Alana es un artist con her first show, y Casi is an avocado.

  We shut up and ate. She looked kind of sad as if saying things you’d only thought was somehow wrong. We all looked at each other but no one had the heart to tell her how unimpressive these things seemed to us from the inside looking out or that the correct translation for abogado was attorney. No one made any move towards the remolacha either which might have helped matters.

  Who would break the silence?

  “You guys feel that?” said Alana. “Do you feel it hanging in the air? It’s the four of us. The exact four who would have sat at this very table ten years ago. Don’t you get it?”

  “Get what?” I said. “We get together quite often.”

  “More often than any other family I know,” added Marcela.

  “I know but I’m not talking about the four of us being together, I’m talking about the four us being together exclusively. When was the last time you can recall that?”

  “I’m sure it was very recently,” said Marcela.

  “Not so fast. Think about it. You’ve been married nine years.”

  “Seven.”

  “Timmy’s four.”

  “Five.”

  “Buela and Buelo moved in six years ago.”

  “Three years ago.”

  “Exactly, see what I’m saying? Look at this table, it’s the four of us. We’re even sitting where we used to sit.”

  “What’s your point?” I said.

  “That don’t you feel the electricity of this moment? Here we are, it’s like a reunion. This used to be us. There was no one else. I would come home from school and head right to my room to sulk and paint and just try to feel interesting. Then one by one each of you would appear. Marcela would start dinner and ma would show up to finish. Then remember the rule? If you were going to eat it had to be at this table with the Fantastic Four. A good rule I think Ma. There are things the four of us have lived and shared that others could never understand and that will always be the case even though we’re so much different now and so little the same. And that thing, that feeling, is in this room right now and I like it. The four. Us four.”

  “We were five.”

  “Yeah we were, I know, but then we were four and we’ve been four almost as long as we were five and that’s fine because what are you going to do?”

  . . .

  “I’ve been thinking a lot about who the real me is. Who the real any of us is.”

  “Goood,” said Marcela in a way that I was sure betrayed more of her enthusiasm than she intended.

  “You see I know I act differently when I’m in this house. I feel like a kid again and so I find myself falling involuntarily into my old role. Basically I act different than I do when I’m with my Pratt pals for example and that got me thinking that maybe you guys don’t know the real me. Maybe you just know the way I act when I’m cast in my familial role. Don’t say you’ve seen me with my friends either because I’ll just respond that what you’re seeing then isn’t the real me either but just the person I am when I’m with friends but being watched by family. Then again maybe the opposite is true and everyone out there doesn’t know the real me, the one that only comes out when I’m in this foursome. The problem is that I now spend a great deal more time out there than I do in here. I’m happy right here right now, and maybe that’s because I don’t have to act as much or if I do the performance doesn’t have to be as good, as expertly mannered you know?”

  “ . . .”

  “ . . .”

  “ . . .”

  “The real problem is I’m greedy. I want complete, utter, unceasing bliss. But I don’t want to fall into it either. If happiness were money I wouldn’t want to win the lottery. I want to accomplish it, urn it as John Houseman would say. I want it to be an achievement because I want to be in control of my life. I don’t want things to happen to me, I want them to happen because of me. Power I want. I want to feel the way I do when I stretch a new canvas and I want to feel that way all the time. The blank canvas fills me with the power of imminent creation. I’m its god and it always bends to my will and when I’m done I know, inside, that it’s markedly better than what almost all of my similarly-engaged others can achieve. That’s happiness.”

  “Good,” said Marcela again but this time sounding the perfect pitch.

  “You know how I came to know all this? I’m currently undergoing self-psychoanalysis, which is all the rage. Actually, I invented it myself because I’m certainly not going to pay some idiot my hard-borrowed money to be my rented friend and tell me it’s not my fault. Anyway, the result of sitting on my couch and listening to my crap is this conclusion. To the extent that I have good qualities, they are the product of fortunate genetics and brilliant rearing, thank you cute Mom (responsorial smile). On the other hand, any undesirable qualities or circumstances that I face are solely the function of my own individual and self-generated neglect, sloth, insecurity, avarice, pettiness, selfishness, insincerity, jealousy and other embarrassing causes too numerous to mention. Isn’t that great? This realization is the key to my newfound happiness because of the amazing power it invests in me and remember that power is happiness. What’s misery on the other hand? Well, lack of freedom and its resulting absence of power.”

  “Like in jail,” said Marcela. “Where Armando is right now.”

  —Ay, don’t remine me. Casi if we have to pay bail, we can collect from everyone to get the money. Or if we have to pay un abogado.

  “I don’t think that’s going to be necessary mom. Like I said, not a big deal.”

  “Okay hijo. I juss hope they don’t take el hot dog car. He bought eh all the way from Texas.”

  “Don’t worry they won’t.” I ate. “Texas? What do you mean Texas?

  —Sí, Texas.

  “When was he in Texas?”

  —Thas where he came in.

  “What are you talking about? He flew into LaGuardia, I picked him up myself.”

  —He flew to LaGuardia from Texas.

  “What the hell was he doing in Texas? Wait are you telling me he came in illegally?”

  —Sí, he’s here illegally.

  “I know that, but you’re saying he didn’t originally fly in on a tourist visa?”

  —No, he came in through Mexico.

  —¿Entiendes bien lo que te estoy preguntando verdad?

  —Sí, claro.

  “Jesus fucking Christ.”

  —¡Casi por Dios!

  “I have to go like right now.”

  —Pero finish your food.

  “Can’t, have to get to Armando right away.”

  chapter 13

  You suppose anyone mighty is on their way, like, to save the day and shit?

  I got there just in
time. Just in time to realize there was absolutely nothing I could do but watch. I watched as a court officer announced to the court that an INS detainer had been filed against my cousin Armando meaning he wouldn’t be going anywhere. He wouldn’t be drinking aguardiente that night as I had smugly predicted. The case itself wasn’t the problem anymore as it was dismissed in deference to Armando’s greater legal thicket. And it wasn’t until then, when the officer made his announcement and their prey, my cousin, was escorted into the back, that I realized how small Armando was. He turned and smiled at me just before disappearing into the doorway and he seemed to be shrinking by the second. By contrast everyone else in that room seemed large and still growing. Even the women were giant and their words came fully equipped with echo and resonance in that corny suburban excuse for a courtroom. It was an inside joke the whole thing and from my seat on the outside looking in I felt nothing but contempt for those hideous people who in reality were just doing their jobs and so had no real responsibility; and I hate people who just do their job when their job consists of trapping my cousin.

  I sat there stunned for longer than made any sense. Then I spoke to the attorney who had handled the case. Amidst his constant defensive reminders that his involvement with the case was over because the criminal charges had been dropped, I gathered the pertinent information I would need then left.

  I went to Armando’s apartment, which was not far from the courtroom. He had rented this basement apartment, the kind with black bars on the windows, from an apostrophe-shaped elderly woman with severely thinning hair that formed a faint blue aureole around her deeply-creased face. She remembered me from when I helped Armando find the place and she let me in but only after assuring me forcefully that she never used the key otherwise. Except for Television the place looked oddly unlived in. I turned it on and sat on the couch. The couch I sat in was essentially a giant bean bag. It enveloped me, sealing me tight to its bosom. It was going to take a Herculean effort to get out of there so what was the rush? I lay there and thought about what needed to be done. Something had drawn me to that place. I looked at everything but Television. From where I sat, you could see the entire place. I didn’t see any papers, the kind of things I would gather for him. Nothing seemed urgent in that apartment and I wanted urgency.

  Then I saw a plant, in a lonely corner and browning in its dirt-colored pot. I peeled myself off the couch and went to it but somehow did nothing. Instead I went around gathering Armando’s meager belongings in a nylon bag I had found near the couch. When I was done the place was a true shell but there was still the matter of the plant.

  I didn’t know when, if ever, it would get water again. I grabbed a huge Scooby Doo cup from the sink and filled it up. Then I went over to the plant and poured the water in. It felt as if old Scoob would never run out of water as I kept pouring and pouring, slaking the plant’s thirst. Then before I had a chance to adjust, the water swelled the soil over the lip of the pot and onto the floor. And I should have cleaned up but I didn’t, I just grabbed the bag and split.

  I went to the landlady’s side door to return the keys. After opening the door only slightly the visible portion of her face registered surprise, as if we hadn’t just spoken, but then it all seemed to click and she extended a withered hand to accept the return. I told her Armando might not be around for a while and not to worry. I wondered when the rent was next due. As for the hot dog, I would be back to get it later if necessary but frankly I had no way of driving that furter just then. All this made her want to know things but I was done sharing and blew her off. Before leaving I told her there was a plant in the apartment. Would she mind going in there once in a while and feeding it water; even if it was just enough to ensure its continued life? There was a Scooby Dooby Doo cup in the sink she could use for that purpose.

  I didn’t sleep another seventeen hours that night it just felt that way. On my old bed in my mother’s house like the squirt I used to be but covered with a guilt I never felt back then.

  The next afternoon I was back in Brooklyn Heights and all that remained of the day was a dull orange sliver peeking out over the horizon. I sat in my apartment but it was that annoying time of the day where it’s too early to just tune out until you fall asleep but it’s also too late to commit to any real activity.

  In place of activity I went downstairs to Angus’s; maybe hopeful that Traci would be there. She wasn’t, but the apartment’s usual three inhabitants were. Angus was watching Television, his mouth drooping slightly and his eyes darting sideways.

  TELEVISION: . . . hardy, har, har. That’s funny Alice. I hope they like those jokes on the moon cuz that’s where you’re going!

  Louie and Alyona were working on a pizza from opposite ends and threatening to meet in the middle.

  “Casi, what’s up?” one of them said. “Come on in.”

  “Hope I’m not interrupting,” I said.

  “Interrupting what?” Alyona said. “Just having pizza man, have some.”

  “No thanks, I was actually concerned I might be interrupting Angus who I can see is still engaged in his Honeymooners quest.”

  “Not at all,” said Angus. “We’re well past the stage where outsiders can in any way interfere.”

  “We?” I said and turned towards the pizza, “You two are involved in this now I gather?”

  “No, we meaning me and Ralph,” answered Angus.

  “I see.”

  “You see I no longer have to pay constant attention to Ralph to make him real. Just as Louie, for example, doesn’t need my undivided attention in order to continue living. I’m not saying we’re there yet, I’m just saying that far less effort is required on my part at this stage.”

  “Uh huh,” I looked at Louie and Alyona for some clue but neither would meet my eyes.

  Zzzzzt!

  “What—”

  “Did you hear about Tula?”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  “What’s going to happen to those kids?” said Louie. “Can they fry them that young?”

  “No, there’ll be no frying. You have to be eighteen here.”

  “Jesus, Lou,” said Alyona, “even if that wasn’t the case, what are you talking about? Are you nuts? They’re seven-year-olds!”

  “Weren’t too young to kill that baby’s all I know,” said Louie.

  “It’s not their fault. Blame the parents,” said Alyona.

  “Blame someone,” said Louie. “That’s all I’m saying. Tula’s mother’s going to want someone to pay, that’s for sure.”

  “What does Traci think about it?” I said.

  “Non sequitur anyone?” Angus said.

  “Just gathering opinions,” I said

  “Traci? I don’t know what she thinks about it because she dropped my ass after I didn’t show that time.”

  “Really? You crushed?”

  “Not at all. I mean she was cool and everything but we never really connected or anything if you catch my drift. No biggie, her loss. There are a lot of Tracis in the sea man. I’m currently looking into a two-for-one-type-deal actually. She wasn’t even that hot to be perfectly honest.”

  “Good. I’m going to call her.”

  “Call her? What for?”

  “For talk.”

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said? She dumped me.”

  “Exactly, think I’d call her if you two were still together?”

  “Are you fucking with me? How’d you get her number?”

  “I didn’t, you’re going to give it to me.”

  “No can do dude. Man, you would call her? I thought we were friends.”

  “You just got done saying how she means nothing to you. Reference to the fact that there exists a multitude of Tracis was, I believe, explicitly made.”

  “That’s different, you’re talking about going behind my back to hook up with a girl I’m still in the process of getting over.”

  “Where’s the behind your back part? I’m asking you for the number. Listen, ju
st say that you were full of shit before. That there is only one Traci, and that her exit was a loss. Say that it would hurt you if I called her and I’ll say I won’t call her.”

  “It would hurt me if you called her.”

  “Then I won’t call her.”

  “Meanwhile what are you laughing at?” Louie said looking at Angus; “because it’s five minutes after seven and the deal was you would put something different on at seven.”

  “Oh yeah right. How’s this? Acceptable?”

  “Perfectly so.”

  “Thought you might say that.”

  TELEVISION: All advertising, all the time.

  “Yeah baby” said Louie shining bright.

  “What is this now?” I said.

  “Great new channel dude!” His enthusiasm and smile meaning to tell me that our little moment of tension was already well-forgotten. “ADTV it’s called. Alls it is is all commercials all the time, no other programming. They’ve cut out the middle man. Isn’t it great?”

  “Whose commercials run on the channel?”

  “Everyone’s dude. Every company or precept you can think of. Every commercial, current, past, even future!”

  “Why would anybody watch?”

  “Are you kidding?”

  “Well, okay. Why would anyone besides you ever watch?”

  “I watch,” said Angus. “I enjoy it, but I also feel I have a moral obligation to watch.”

  “You have a moral obligation to hear a sales pitch?”

  “Absolutely. After everything Television’s done for you? When I walk into a store and plunk down hundreds for Nikes do you really think I’ve been snookered? Someone as sapient as me? I don’t buy the Nikes because I’ve been deluded into thinking they’re going to make me jump higher or make me look cooler. I haven’t been duped into an acquisitive desire at all. I buy them to express my gratitude to Television. I buy all those things shown on the screen to allay the guilt I feel over not repaying a dear friend who has given me so much. After the endless hours of entertainment and love Television has given me, the least I can do is buy the little products it wants me to buy. That’s how I show my support. And watching ADTV, when I’m not busy with the Honeymooners, is more by way of support.”