by Rita Indiana
Close the trunk, Papi tells me as he throws the fat man over his shoulder to take him back to his Cadillac. But since he’s holding the pistol in his mouth I don’t understand him too well when he says something that I think is not to worry, but I wasn’t worried. We’re the only ones in this parking lot, which is huge, just the fat man’s Cadillac and the Mercedes and a line of supermarket carts that fit together like Legos. I check the time on my Transformers watch as Papi explains: He’s just sick. He sits the fat man at the wheel of his Cadillac, puts the pistol in his hand, gives him a little kiss on the forehead, and shuts the door.
One day we finally stop at a motel with a pool but Papi doesn’t let me get in it, so I turn the TV volume all the way up so I won’t hear everybody else splashing about. We’re finally in Orlando, Papi tells me as he squeezes a blackhead on his chin in front of the mirror. I nod, the remote control in my hand. Later, Papi opens a map and stretches it out on the bed to explain that Epcot Center is right here. He uses his finger to circle something on the map and then underscores the word Orlando with the same finger on the map and I understand. The center of the universe. Then Papi says, I’ll be right back. Don’t open the door for anybody, understand? He’s wearing a Dodgers cap cuz the Dodgers’ manager is Manny Mota. For a while I’m fine watching videos on MTV so I can tell somebody about them later. Later, I understand Papi is never coming back and that’s why he left the map on the bed. I grab the corner of the map and pull it towards me and the paper crunches and cracks like little exploding firecrackers. I try to fold it back into its original rectangle shape and it sounds like more firecrackers. Papi has stopped at a gas station and he’s forgetting about me, he’s fueling up and forgetting about me. I’m gonna stay here in Orlando, living forever in this room with the volume on the TV all the way up, watching MTV, never opening the door for anybody, memorizing each scene in the videos so I can tell somebody about them someday, with a badly folded map and never visiting Epcot Center.
But Papi always comes back. Sometimes I’m sleeping when Papi shows up and what wakes me is the smell of hamburgers and the warm paper they come wrapped in. Papi and I eat the hamburgers, cheeseburgers, bacon mushroom cheeseburgers. Papi makes his mouth like a hamburger and fixes the straw on a huge 7 Up and offers it to me with hamburger eyes. Later, I lay on my belly to watch TV and Papi rests his back on the headboard holding an apple pie in his mouth like a dog would a puppy, cuz both of his hands are busy, one with the remote and the other with one of my feet. Papi pulls on my toes to crack them and they pop and I throw a fit.
When Papi wakes me up to tell me we have to go, he says I talked in my sleep. I don’t remember a thing. But he says it’s true, that I spent the night talking in my sleep. It’s cuz of the cartoons, Papi says. But I don’t remember. When we go out to the parking lot, I tell Papi, Look at that, how pretty it is, and I’m signaling the switchblade sticking out of one of the tires on the Mercedes. Papi gets switchblades stuck in his tires all the time. I figure it’s his girlfriends.
Then Papi tells me to get in the car and I get in the car, but I don’t turn on the radio. He changes the tire, using his foot on the hydraulic jack to lift the car, and looking up and down at that switchblade with apple-pie eyes.
We drive for a long time and I don’t dare ask about Epcot Center, not even when I see a big shiny ball with a little stairway up one side like a ship about to take off. Papi reads my mind and explains: Water. And now I know how this is all gonna end, all this Epcot Center, all this Mickey Mouse. In the end they take me to the Miami Seaquarium and let me push a little dolphin-shaped cart. We look at the dolphins and the whales as they jump in the pool and a girl sticks her head inside a whale but I’m still waiting for Mickey Mouse when I look at my Transformers watch, cuz Papi told me Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck were also coming to look at the dolphins.
SEVEN
Papi goes so fast that whoever goes after him is always late. He goes so fast the only thing you see is the cloud of smoke he leaves behind. But I go faster than Papi, and when I hear his voice calling me from the parking lot to hurry up, I yell back that I just have to put on my shoes even though I’m still blinded by the shampoo and in the shower.
Papi’s girlfriends are faster than everybody and they’ve set up an office to organize themselves so they can coordinate their dates with Papi. They now have their own secretary who communicates with Papi’s secretary (cuz secretaries understand each other best) and they’re all beautiful and there are so many of them (both secretaries and girlfriends) that they sometimes have to rent out a hotel to get to know each other and trade business cards, which, besides the girlfriend’s name, profession, and telephone number, also shows her turn on the long list of dates with Papi. The list is so long they soon have to update the system, computerize it, and bring in foreign technicians to offer training for the girlfriends so they’ll be ready when the new system is activated.
Of course, Papi pays for everything.
The media soon finds out about the updates being made to the installation. It’s first on a long list of steps to modernize the system, say two foreign technicians in the newspaper photo who look like they could be Colombian or German, or twins with fake mustaches. The day finally arrives and the system is activated in a glamorous reception at which Papi and his girlfriend of the day cut a ribbon (with Papi’s colors) for the cameras. In the meantime somebody opens a bottle of champagne but all we can see is the crest of foam. After the photo is taken, the girlfriend of the day cedes the spotlight to the next girlfriend, who is currently sitting in the makeup chair having her cheekbones retouched. The people at home, the guests and the girlfriends themselves, confirm the system’s high efficiency. For three days, a radio and television network transmits news bulletins every half hour that explain the enrollment process, the correct way to fill out the application, how to present yourself to the right offices to solicit the list of necessary documents, and the deadline for turning them in. Between news bulletins they show movies starring Joselito, Marisol, or Marcelino, pan y vino.
We’ve lost sight of Papi. There’s no cloud of smoke or anything. There are just photos from three or four years ago that pop up now and again in the newspaper when his name is mentioned in some mix-up, always cuz of one of his damned girlfriends.
By the time the technicians realized the system wasn’t programmed according to the country’s protocols for electricity (rushed and scarce), it was already too late. With each blackout the system began to weaken and the small delays began to create a curtain of residual time behind which Papi could hide and disappear, which he did for months at a time. Poor guy, he was just so tired.
Finally a group of women whose turn had been denied various times got together and renounced the system, saying it was fraudulent and demanding an open and immediate meeting with Papi, and the dismissal of the central committee (which had, until now, been in charge of the administration and maintenance of the internal and external structure of the system). They questioned Papi’s very existence, that of the system, and of the list itself.
But nobody could find Papi. The women recited manifestos from their own radio network, demanding direct contact, a more equitable agreement, and lined up in front of Papi’s office. The line grew very quickly, reaching Calle 27 de Febrero just minutes before the first woman got to the door. In an hour the line reached Avenida Kennedy and the next day it was in the dead zone between the capital and the nearby provinces.
There were too many women. I think some didn’t even know what they were doing there. Some just happened to be passing by with their husbands, walking their dog or in a car, and without even saying good-bye, they threw themselves from the moving vehicles, got in line, and were immediately absorbed into the conversation about how nail strengthener is made from a garlic base.
The line continues to grow, attracting those giant flies that follow the vendors with their roasted peanuts, boiled corn, fried plantains, tripe, bofe, mofongo, hot dogs, pork sandwiches
, rice and beans, coconut sweets, tamarind juice, frío-fríos, yun-yuns, and little empanadas. Some are quite clever and park their pickup trucks every two blocks loaded with T-shirts, posters, caps, scapulars, and all kinds of propaganda featuring Papi’s photo. Some even have photocopies of Papi’s birth certificate and green card, framed in fake gold, with the Virgin of Altagracia in the center. Some of the women come up and buy and the merchandise looks great on them, but others come up carrying scissors and lighters to put the buyers on trial cuz, after all, What are we doing here?
The merchants have their own line parallel to that of the women. They see this could be good business so they set up a little stand made of sticks and plywood. Soon there’s a long line of stands that extends to the mountain range on either side of the river of people.
At night those who can sleep hug one another or a stuffed animal and lie down on cardboard and mats, protected by the two lines of stands, carts, and posts that the peddlers cover with a tarp or sky-blue plastic when they go home. There’s always one vendor who stays twenty-four hours to offer coffee, Guardia mints, and bananas to those who suffer from insomnia. They gather around a battery-operated fan somebody has managed to get, or around a little television to see if anybody has seen Papi, or to see how the line is doing, or to see Papi in those photos from three years ago that sometimes show up on the news whenever his name is mentioned in some mix-up. A union organizer pleads for a place in line so he and Papi can meet and discuss the state of things: the line itself, its extension, the women who won’t even listen to God and interfere with traffic at certain hours, who bite each other, who tear each other’s nails cuz somebody cut in front of them, who fall on the asphalt and break their necks and need an ambulance to pick them up and take them straight to Papi.
Some of the women are pregnant. Since no one will make them leave the line and lose their turns while getting a checkup, the government has brought in various mobile gynecological clinics to dispense prenatal vitamins, creams to eliminate stretch marks, and free exams during daylight hours. The mobile clinics are even equipped with ultrasounds so the mothers can see how their babies are developing, and in general, it’s true that they look like Papi. The pregnant women are given priority in line, which means the others, seeing their own position imperiled, make them miscarry by putting two Situtex in their breakfast. And if that doesn’t work, they grab them and take them behind a tree and use a hanger. Many bleed to death in the ditches. It’s very ugly.
When the survivors first began to give birth, they brought the babies to my abuela Cilí, believing she’d intervene with my father. But Cilí is very old and really can’t deal with any of that, so I answered the phone like a secretary and organized the appointments. To those I didn’t like over the phone, or who didn’t recognize me right away, I’d say, Yes, yes, this Sunday at such-and-such an hour, and when they arrived I’d say I didn’t see their names in the book and they’d have to leave. Later I’d see them going down the stairs with their rag-doll baby drooling milk and I’d feel sorry for them and say, Wait, wait, I think I can find you a slot, and I’d run my hand over the pages of the book and lick the tip of my index finger with my tongue to turn the page.
Cilí bathes early. She wears a dress that makes her look like she’s kind of in mourning and pulls out the plastic bag in which she keeps our money in moist wads; I don’t know if it’s sweat or water or what. She gives me five pesos and says, Buy yourself a soda. I go down the stairs and buy a pack of Constanza cigarettes and go up to the roof and stick one in my mouth but I don’t light it, instead pretending to blow smoke through my nose the way Milly taught me. That’s when Cilí calls me cuz the mothers have started to arrive. Leysi offers them coffee on the stairway and carries the little kids around and cries and hugs each one of the mothers cuz Tía Leysi loves a scene. When she comes back in the house she pulls the curtain shut and says, What a bunch of sluts!
My abuela sits the babies on her lap and, smiling, checks their ears, checks their toes, and their penises with a magnifying glass. She looks for a little birthmark in the form of a crab that might match Papi’s. Some of the babies have two birthmarks, one in the form of a crab and the other shaped like a pipe, just like the one on Papi’s dad’s dad. Some of the kids look exactly like me, and in fact there is a long line of women with kids wearing knitted wool socks or miniature Nike-brand shoes who look exactly like me; it extends from Cilí’s door all the way to the Malecón. At some point they realize Cilí isn’t gonna get them a car, or a meeting with Papi, or monthly support, and they go back to the line at the dealership, with their kids and all, many of them already grown.
EIGHT
Your adventure awaits but first you have to understand the backstory. Solid knowledge of the backstory before starting the game will make the adventure much richer. It’s important to know the relationship between Papi, his business associates, the family, and the Lord of All Darkness, also known as his girlfriends.
Up there, where the devil lost his sandal, that is, in the middle of fucking nowhere, that’s where Papi is enthroned. This mountain-castle-tower with a thousand stories is the source of all his suffering and happiness here on Earth and all adjacent worlds. Papi increases in power thanks to the energy given off by everyone in the world who wants a new car. Papi’s powers bloom when the spirit of those who yearn vibrates at its highest, until they let their women go with the watchmen and sell their kids one by one just so they can buy a car at Papi’s dealership, where they’re given the magic key so they can fly, get women, and eventually more keys.
At the beginning, his business associates were loyal to Papi and the foundational link between Papi and the lesser world, but then one day his associates united against him. But Papi knows everything and can do anything, so he escaped in time, and they’re still looking for him. Since then, Papi’s business associates manage Papi’s empire. A doll dressed in one of Papi’s suits, or one of his associates, the guy who looks most like Papi, the one who had a bit of surgery done, is who reigns in the mountain-castle-tower of a thousand stories. They keep people calm with images and prerecorded speeches from before Papi disappeared. In these videos, Papi never gets old, though his associates age and get ugly and richer and richer.
The girlfriends used to be loyal to Papi, but devotion has ruined their souls cuz Papi condemned them to forty years without dick. This consumes the girlfriends and they look for Papi everywhere, following all the fake dicks that his buddies have strewn all over the place.
The girlfriends who got off on these dicks now fall prey to another curse: sharks, shark imitators, pterodactyls that chase everybody so they can suck their necks for the last drop of Papi’s blood left in those veins, roosting in the doorjambs, on the roofs, on antennas, and laying eggs in newspaper nests, while the rest of the world’s population chases them away with buckets of Astringosol and boiling water.
Papi’s children all look the same, albinos with ash-colored hair and blue eyes, and they all wear little sailor outfits. They don’t always come out of pterodactyl eggs. Sometimes they’re born in dumpsters through spontaneous generation. They crawl into a single file and go door to door looking for Papi, asking for a helping hand.
When Papi’s business associates saw how the children multiplied, they decided to adopt as many as they could and gave them names like Xavi, Hansel, Guille, Axel, and sent them to American schools where they had lockers and got a sexual education. The rest of Papi’s children fell into two groups: those who stayed in line with their mothers, and those who renounced Papi and their mothers and dyed their hair some other color, even though you can always recognize them by their white roots.
Then there’s the royal family, which is me, my abuela, my aunts, and the twins, Puchy and Milly. There’s also my mother, recognized by Papi’s royal family as Papi’s only wife cuz she was the first and they married the way God intended, in the church. The family is in charge of the safekeeping of Papi’s attributes. They’re also in charge of revea
ling his mysteries to me at the right time if they see I have the potential to take on this adventure. The twins are considered part of the family and must look out for me and Papi’s attributes.
One other thing: sometimes these creatures, monsters and heroes both, don’t look the part, and they get mixed up cuz they act as if nothing is going on. Some don’t even realize they are pterodactyls or business associates or part of the royal family. To identify who’s who, we’ve installed a radar right in this text that sends a signal that reads and classifies everyone on a screen for those still walking and talking. This radar is the only thing with which we initiate our conferences.
