The Queen of the Northwest

by Javier Montes Gómez

—Hello Nicholas, how are you today?

  —Well ... uff ... Now what do I say?

  —If you get stuck, it usually works. What if we're going to have a drink?

  —It's not a bad idea. Where do you want to go?

  —I don’t care! Wherever you want.

  —We can go to ...

  So we continue to chat for a long time, until the end of the consultation time. I don’t know if Dr. Chopper's therapy had ever worked, but at least I left the office with the feeling of being freed from the heavy load of indecision that had seemed to drag on since last night.

  At the moment I only intended to remain a month off. Dr. Víctor Ginés Escobar, better known by all as Dr. Chopper, he had extensive experience in cases similar to mine. He had entered the Corps shortly with the rank of lieutenant, and the results of his work were irrefutable. Many agents, after witnessing a crime, suffer an anxiety crisis. Even if the patient had suffered experiences of traumatic origin during childhood as in my case, the situation was complicated. Yet he had blind faith in his methods. For the first time in my life I was determined to get out of the shell and overcome my most hidden terrors; Although I had to receive psychiatric treatment. One day when I will be better and I will have more experience in The Body, if they had not yet succeeded, those useless of the central brigade, I will solve the crime of the dead girl in Montederramo. I can never forget those childish, lifeless eyes, which seemed to keep burning immense suffering in the hope that one day a valiant agent would free them from that agonizing pain forever.

  3—Nuria.

  Nicholás looked at me like a frightened puppy, but deep down I was terrified. I was afraid of being discovered, that my cover with my new identity would jump through the air and above all I was afraid of falling in love with that boy. I didn’t want compromises at least for now. Even so, I couldn’t help holding his hand as we walked along the banks of the Edreira River. He was as tense as an electric line, whose electricity I noticed stretching through my spine like a dizzying chill that left me frozen, traversing my legs, made my knees weak to reach the heels.

  It was, as if a lightning bolt passed through me.

  In fact, it was like touching the hand of a huge rag doll of gigantic dimensions with cyclops eyes and staring eyes; Really he was like a child playing to be greater, escaping from the ghosts that seemed to chase after him from his childhood. A past that sometimes seemed to trap him, but of which he boldly tried to undo himself in search of a more encouraging future. I could feel his inner struggle as part of my own struggle to try to bury my past, without fully understanding it. Maybe I should go to the psychiatrist too. But my current position as fugitive of the law prevented me, so I prescribed my own recipes. One of them was, don’t talk too much with strangers. But with Nicholas I felt comfortable, for during the two hours we spent together he didn’t ask me a single question about my past. We both seemed to have too much to hide, but looking into each other's eyes we both knew what was really important right now. I felt comfortable next to him. We sat on the lawn under the leopard shade of an old walnut, which offered us its maternal coat. As we poured liquor, I felt the menthol in his breath. When he approached me in what I thought was an impulsive attempt to kiss me, my whole body shuddered; Instead, he extracted a speck of dust from my eyelashes.

  —You will be more beautiful without this, —he said.

  —And without this too, —I said, pulling the bra up one of the sleeves of my T-shirt, as in one of the scenes in the movie, "Flash dance."

  —How the hell did you do it?

  —You see, it made it easier for me to wear a very thin nylon sweater over my shirt. So I can put my hand here, then there and there. You know, girl stuff.

  —Of course, —Nicholas said—. I've seen it in the movie that dance ... what's the name ... Fame?

  —Not exactly, but almost, —I added, smiling knowing that it was only one of his jokes, aware that a movie buff like him could not get the correct answer.

  —You look pretty without a bra. Hey! Do know more tricks of those? —Asked Nicholas.

  I actually knew another. I had once seen a girl remove her thong from the Levi's leg. The problem was that I was wearing them so tight that it was horrible to get him out, but I didn’t wear a thong and I would die of embarrassment taking out my old "Princesses". Besides, I wore a skirt today and didn’t want him to think I was too easy or too complicated.

  —Here another trick, if you close your eyes I'll show you, —I said.

  He closed his eyes. Then I kissed him, softly on the lips. He held me with his huge arms, swinging on that pair of masts, kissed me, this time with greater strength and passion, as no one had ever done before.

  I heard the sound of his heartbeat as he hugged me fiercely against his breastplate. I asked him about his brothers; He told me they were eight, he was the ninth.

  —How are they called?

  —Hector, Luis, Manuel, Laura, Maria, Victor, Jonah and Eve.

  —It can’t be! Are you kidding? What was their names?

  —Hector, Luis, Manuel, Laura, Maria, Victor, Jonah and Eve.

  It seemed strange to me that he had so many brothers. He rather resembled an abandoned puppy. I don’t know why, but at that moment I thought I was an idiot.

  —I'd like to meet them.

  —One of these days I'll introduce you to them.

  I wondered what would happen when Nicholas discovered my true identity. When he will be aware that my real name was Lucia Marquez, instead of Nuria Estévez and that much of my life had been spent selling drugs in the streets; not working behind a bar, how would he react? Could he still be interested in myself? I would die of misfortune if he were not so. A boy as fragile and tender, looking at me with those melancholy eyes, eyes that caught me with his eyes, eyes that stripped the soul, eyes that sometimes looked at me without observing me and others watched me without looking at me, eyes lucid or absent, listening to me the same entrails, eyes of poet and narrator, sober and alcoholic, hunter and prey, conscious and unconscious in a world of madmen. In short, eyes of those who seemed to be really falling in love, like a fool for the first time in my life. I should be calm, act cautiously I was getting into a very dangerous ground what the hell did I know about that boy? Who was he? What did he work as?

  No questions my father had advised me, if you don’t ask questions: you won’t be obliged to give answers. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes wide open, if you don’t want to be caught. The truth is that despite being our first date, next to him I felt as if we had known each other for some time. Perhaps in another life our paths had crossed: it was as if our souls had been searching for decades, wandering until they met. Like two pieces of a puzzle designed to fit the one into the other.

  4—Therapy.

  I had lied to Nuria, about my brothers; but at that moment I didn’t want to feel alone, naked, unprotected before her affable gaze. I kissed her again and felt my fall a thousand feet above the city of concrete, without parachutes; In paragliding, like a piece of metal or a rest of excrement ejected by an Army reactor.

  From up there, I could see everything much clearer: the roofs of the village houses, the artificial lake that formed the stagnant waters of the reservoir; all the landscape that borders the reservoir of Chandrexa de Queixa, appeared before me with a surprising clarity; in the air the crows rose up, behind the solitary imperial eagle; flying over the mountains. Down the fire walls, stab wounds on the lush grounds, spread out separating the coniferous forests. If I turned my face to the right I would find an area of ​​bush under cover of bushes and a row of wild pine trees. On the left, a wide area of ​​meadows and grasslands, the orange dots on the ground were cows, the shepherds were picking them up. It was getting dark and I was falling, falling. My lips, my tongue, my whole being from my mouth to hers. A dental orgy. We ate our mouths for a long time without a break.

  Later we entered her house, crossed a small hall that ended in a small room with a coffee table, made with
Canadian fir trees joined by a few wicker at the ends. A small Persian carpet covered the floor, splintered in pine, on which rested the table guarded by a pair of old armchairs, whose worn leather clearly accounted for the passage of the years. She took me by the hand, dragging me through a narrow hallway, which led directly to her room. I let myself go without word, following the rhythm imposed by her buttocks to the depths of my nightmares. To a place where no one but myself would ever allow passage. I was nervous, hesitant.

  She didn’t let go of my hand. My heart beat faster than my pulse, a tam tam crazed, wild, awakening the spirits of the Orinoco. Her body an Amazon jungle opening a hole in time, communicating directly with the past.

  There was Mom Flower naked, the devil dressed as a female. Her skin made of sheets folded by the rows of age, Nuria kisses me. I can’t feel her lips. I'm not there anymore. Lost in my worst nightmares, I only see Mom Flower, abusing the eight-year-old I was. I try to keep birds from the past from my head. I can’t. Tears trickle down my face. She doesn’t understand. I'm not ready yet. I thought I was, in front of Dr. Chopper, hanging on the Divan of Supremacy everything seems possible, but the reality is different. Then she opens the buttons of my shirt. Discovers my scars, old wounds of war. Aunt Dolores recorded them on me with blows, they remain there like parchments in the time.

  She covers them with kisses. I brushed it away, I can’t go on.

  I pee in my pants, I feel a horrible shame. Now I just want to run away. She tries to calm me but I'm out of control. The tears have stopped sprouting. The procession goes inside.

  —We don’t have to follow if you don’t want to.

  —Sorry, I have to go.

  I leave eating dust, fleeing like a coward, unable to distinguish the real from the unreal. Surely any madman of the town would pay a fortune for messing with her in bed. Worst of all, I'm not even gay; If only I wouldn’t suffer so much. I spent the night in bed and all day without leaving the room, at noon I had an appointment with the doctor. I felt unable to come, I stood him up like a coward. The therapy hadn’t worked. Today I didn’t feel strong enough to go to the office.

  I was trapped in a trench. If a bullet popped my head it would blow it to pieces, sooner or later I should go out to fight in the open. I didn’t intend to lose the battle, the problem was that I didn’t know the best strategy to overcome the traumas of my childhood: The sexual abuse to which I was subjected by that pair of cursed paedophiles! I would never forgive them. Never, no one would hurt me again. Nuria wasn’t to blame, she knew nothing of my past. She was too good to get her involved with that garbage. I'm sorry love, I'm in a bottomless pit, I've fallen on it and won’t turn around. I try. I swear. But I can’t.

  About ten o'clock the bell rang. I didn’t open it. I made the move to get up from the sofa but the inertia returned me to my seat. Someone struck the door violently, making a crackling sound like cracking wood. I suffered an attack of hysteria. This time I jumped off the couch like a spring. The force of the impact was about to unravel the door, making it leap from the hinges.

  I opened the door, grumpy, ready to haul me to the madman who stood in front of me, turned out to be Dr. Chopper. Outside it was pouring rain. He was soaked and seemed to have an unfriendly face. The house was a pigsty, despite that, I had to invite him in. He was wearing a green raincoat, which ran all over the platform of my humble shack. He didn’t stop staring into my eyes as I cringed.

  —What the hell happened to you? You had two appointments to discharge and you don’t show up. You left me hanging this morning. Have you become a coward?

  But I had my head elsewhere. I just managed to say:

  — She wanted to do it but I couldn’t! I got scared! I don’t know what happened to me!

  —Let's go Nicholas! As you have suffered a post-traumatic reaction, you suffered abuses years ago. You should get to the bottom of the matter, let the child we all carry inside, release those ghosts that so torment him.

  —They forced me to undress, then Mom Flower hit me on the buttocks with a stick of hazel! Damn! She lifted her skirt, taking me by the throat, rubbing her pubic hair against my face again and again, violently as she seemed to go crazy with pleasure. I used to scream like a sow. I ended up crying with the irritated face full of cuts and small bruises. She just let me breathe, I didn’t like that. It smelled horrible, she didn’t even have the decency to wash before. I was only eight, but I don’t want to spend the rest of my life remembering her.

  —Don’t worry, maybe you have not met the right girl yet. When you do, you will see how everything will be easier; You haven’t made love never before, it is natural that at first you appear nervous; Is a natural reaction of the psyche. It all happened to us all the first time, I would try to put those memories out of your mind: next time you try again with some girl, don’t think act, touch her, touch her, soak her, undress her as soon as possible, let her invade you Feel the call of nature, forget once the crumpled body of Mom Flor, that's past, do you want to sleep with that girl?

  —Yes sir! I replied. I'm looking forward to making love to her!

  —Come on, man! I don’t know if she will be the right girl or not, but you should be taking practice as it appears. So when you are ready you will be ready. When I was young we had a maid. I used to go into her room at night, one day my parents discovered us together and threw her out. I assure you I was not in love, but for me that girl was special. The first time always is.

  5—I swear I didn’t know anything about your past.

  Susana said goodbye to Mireia, finally returned to Orense to join her new job. Although the paradox of fate took her far from the goal of her project: the location and discovery of the whereabouts of the fugitive justice, Lucia Marquez, nothing made her suspect how close she had been to her. So close that if she had delayed a couple of hours her return to the city, she would have been found in the hallways of the village supermarket. This happened to Mireia as she loaded the cart of cocoa cans, tulip jars, bags of spaghetti and bottles of Bacardi rum. The girl with the shaved hair turned out to be her best friend. Lightning flashed through his heart. It couldn’t be: the same nose, the same eyes, the same mouth.

  —Lucia, —she called.

  A voice from the past sounded behind her, Lucia became overwhelmed by terror to face her ghosts directly. A sense of relief flooded her as she recognized her best friend.

  —I'm Nuria, sweetheart.

  They both embraced with passion as if they were old lovers.

  The cookie prince fell headlong into Lucia's green basket, while the grain rooster glared at them from the top of the shelf when Mireia stole a dozen eggs from the corral. Lucia closed her beetle by inserting it into the basket.

  —Do you still like cereal? —Mireia commented.

  —As you see!

  —I'll invite you to dinner tonight and we'll talk, you'll tell me. Didn’t I picture you here?

  —Not me in a hundred years.

  —Have you started writing a new novel?

  —No, at the moment I'm writing a fable for the newspaper, it's about the story of some shepherds whom the wolf left them without a flock. Well it is known that the wolf doesn’t settle for killing a sheep to feed, his murderous thirst leads sometimes to kill without mercy, without control, just for the pleasure of hunting.

  —That looks like a human being, don’t you think?

  —Yes, it may be the animal that most resembles him, hence the legend of the werewolves. I love them when they become wolves: their noses become muzzles, their lips in long mouths; arms and legs on muscular legs, and so on until they complete the transformation. Then with their claws they tear the fragile skin of the sheep in tatters, before the futile gaze of the ram, trying to get rid of the beast with useless thrusts.

  —From what I see, what predominates here are cows, there are all races; Although for me La Reina is the galician blonde. That kind of cow is the Fifth Element. The other four, Sun, Water, Earth and Air, complement each other.
The cow was the first mammal to graze in the Galician meadows. Anyway, the cows won’t stop me leaving Chandrexa. I will go to Brazil where no one, not even your friends the Amoebas, find me. My father got me a passport. This counterfeiting is a perfect work of art, impossible to distinguish from an authentic document. It will help me out of the country, —Lucia said. She took the safe-conduct from the inside pocket of his jacket and handed it to Mireia.

  —Nuria Estévez Lameiros. Who was she?

  —A poor orphan with no family. Disappeared in May of last year, nobody ever looked for her. She died of an overdose in a sewer.

  —A perfect alibi, I see you keep your contacts in the city.

  —Uncle Sam and my father made a living. A couple of left-wing politicians in their pockets processed the papers. A real masterpiece.

  —I understand now: the papers are not even fake, the documents are authentic; only you have supplanted the existence of another person taking possession of their documentation, taking advantage of the death of this girl to not have to carry on your back like a slab, with the weight of your memories.

  —I'll try to take advantage of the life she threw overboard, it's my chance to start over. If I stay, now that my photo will start to be published in all the newspapers from here to Lanzarote, someone will recognize me any day.

  —When do you leave?

  —In a couple of days. Before I have to say goodbye to a village boy. His name is Nicholas. I'll try to reach him tomorrow. If I can’t get him, you can say goodbye to him.

  —Don’t worry. I'll do it with pleasure. If he's good maybe I’ll do something else too.

  —You have it raw, but for trying ... Maybe you're luckier than I am, —Nuria said, thinking about the last night in his room from which Nicholás fled in terror.

  This sudden flight made her disconcerted to the point of thinking that she was not attractive enough for his eyes. Nicholas's eyes seemed to have gone mad, unable to focus on a point, when she began to open the buttons on his shirt. Then there were the scars on his sides, a clear proof that someone had mistreated him in childhood. So maybe he was going to the psychiatrist?