A Dead Man's Travail

by Susana Pagano

  The nurse signals to Ernestina to approach the front desk.

  ⎯ Go and see Ramiro Pérez now. That’s his mother over there and she has a foul temper. It’s best if she doesn’t know who you’ve come to see. I’ll take you.

  Tinita follows her through the complex maze of corridors and imagines those Hollywood movies, where hospitals are like old stone castles of horror, and she starts to feel very frightened. A murderer with big, sharp teeth could be hiding in any one of the nooks and crannies, waiting to stick her with a scalpel and let her bleed to death right there.

  At last they reach some glass doors with a sign that says, Intensive Care. Thin white curtains separate one bed from the other. Ramiro is in number four and he’s got tubes coming out of everywhere. He’s not wearing any of his earrings and he looks very young; he’s asleep and very pale.

  ⎯ His condition is stable but still critical ⎯ says the nurse, but Tinita isn’t listening ⎯ he arrived at the hospital in a come. Don’t build up your hopes too much, he probably won’t make it.

  Ernestina is unaware at what point the nurse leaves the room. She doesn’t know how log she’s been there, staring at Ramiro, his breathing that seems terribly slow and the tubes coming out of everywhere like branches of a tree. Perhaps she fainted without actually fainting. Her mind was a blank, more like black, and all she could see was Ramiro’s closed eyes and his open mouth and his bluish lips. She was also unaware of when or how she got home or even whether someone had dragged her there.

  For a whole week, Ernestina went to the hospital every day. The same nurse was there and let her in, always on the condition that she not stay too long. Sometimes Ramiro had one tube more or one less; or he was in a different position from the time before. His whispy beard had grown longer since the last time Ernestina went to see him.

  ⎯ I have good news for you, Ernestina ⎯ the nurse tells her. ⎯ Ramiro has come out of his coma⎯ . Ernestina smiles, but she feels nothing; she had become used to seeing him asleep and cannot imagine him with his eyes open.

  Ernestina writes on a little piece of paper, “Gracias”, she gives it to the nurse and leaves, without looking back.

  ⎯ What’s wrong, child? Aren’t you going to go and see him?

  As she walks out on to Cuauhtémoc, she crosses the avenue before the light changes to red for the traffic, those murderous, metal monsters. Miraculously, she makes it home, running as fast as her legs can carry her. She is overcome by the terrible sensation that the dragon-man has come out of his cave where he was hiding, and is taking all of the oxygen from the earth to asphyxiate her once and for all. Ernestina runs to her room without looking at Francisco, who is watching María Mercedes on the tele, his eyes fixed on Thalia’s sculptural body.

  Ernestina locks herself in her room and doesn’t come out for days, not even to go to the bathroom.

  42

  Between eight and ten at night I was watching tele at home. I was by myself because Florencia had gone with Natalia to have a cup of coffee at Los Bisquetes de Obregón and my daughter Ernestina was in hospital because she had had a nervous crisis. I had a couple of beers like I usually do, and stayed watching the soaps. I was smoking toot. Yeah, I remember that I was smoking, ‘cos with the fright I got, I dropped the cigarette on to the carpet and it made a huge hole. Afterwards, Florencia gave me a really hard time about the hole in the carpet. I must have been falling asleep because the sound I heard wasn’t enough to wake me up and drop the cigarette, but for me it was like hitting me over the head with a frying pan. At first I didn’t do anything, except maybe curse the blond guys in number seven; they’re always making a racket on that squeaky bed of theirs.

  After the first noise, there was a strange silence, like a premonition that something terrible was gonna happen. But I didn’t take any more notice and started to doze off again, then suddenly there was a bang! Those blond guys really enjoy life, I thought, but it’d be better if they were a little less boisterous. I got up, went to the kitchen for another beer and then, another bang. By then I was more awake and it seemed to me that it wasn’t the guys in number seven; you can tell when they’re going at it ‘cos she’s very noisy and the bed squeaks, and they bag on the wall; and if they’re in the kitchen, you can tell as well, ‘cos they knock dishes on to the floor and climb on to the furniture and roll on the floor and on the table, and against the wall; and when they’re in the bathroom they hang onto the curtain rail like monkeys, and do it sitting on the toilet or in the bath tub. It’s not that I’ve seen them do it, but I just imagine it with all the racket they make.

  I didn’t hear anything more after that; I tried to hear something but everything went quiet; the strange noises stopped and I wasn’t gonna find out what happened. What for? In this building all sorts of weird things happen and you can hear really strange noises, ‘cos all of us who live here are a bit crazy.

  A while later, I don’t know if it was one or two hours later, Florencia turned up in a really bad mood with a face as dark as thunder. When I see her come in like that, it’s best to ignore her because she starts shouting at me, saying I’m an idiot, mentally retarded, got a sieve for a brain, and even if I say nothing, she still shouts like a mad woman; so I just go, blah, blah, blah, to myself and pretend I don’t hear, and I then go to my room and grab the newspaper so it looks like I’m reading it or something. But that night I was asleep when she came in and I woke up with her screaming at me that she was sick of me having the volume on the tele up loud when I wasn’t even watching. “Didn’t you see the electricity bill this month?” “Yeah, it came by post.” “Don’t be an idiot. You always do these things just to annoy me. We’re on the bones of our backsides and there you are with you stupid jokes.” My wife has rather a strong personality, but I know her well and so I just ignore her. All of this happened the night they killed Lolo.

  43

  Natalia contemplates her wedding dress. It’s very simple, no frills, no lace or too many adornments; that’s why she likes it so much. She holds the dress up to herself and looks in the mirror; she looks more like a young girl making her first communion, although the veil will conceal a little her thirteen years of age.

  Her father comes into the room noiselessly; he looks at his daughter, who hasn’t noticed him, and he sits on the bed.

  ⎯ I wanted you to get married proper, like.

  Natalia shudders when she hears her father’s voice and turns towards him; she is frightened, she’s still afraid of him.

  ⎯ You may come out dressed in white, but on the inside you are dirty ⎯ his daughter doesn’t answer, she looks down, she doesn’t dare look at her father in the eye ⎯ I wanted to see you engaged to a good man, someone who’d respect you until your wedding night. You’re a child and with that dress you don’t look like a bride, you look like a doll. Do you really love him, my child? Natalia still doesn’t answer, the words sticking in her throat. She feels as if she is about to faint - . Answer me, Natalia, answer me, will you?

  ⎯ Yes ⎯ but getting out that simple word is such an effort that it is hardly audible.

  ⎯ You don’t seem very convinced.

  ⎯ Yes, I love him, Papá.

  ⎯ That marriage will bring you much sorrow.

  ⎯ But why? Lolo loves me too.

  ⎯ No, child, that’s what you youngsters think, but you’re only playing at love, because you’re young. Come, sit next to me ⎯ Natalia obeys, but she feels uncomfortable ⎯ Your mamá and I could forget what that boy did to you, and you could keep going to school...

  ⎯ No! ⎯ Natalia surprises herself and looks down, expecting to be told off or given a good shake.

  ⎯ Think about it...

  ⎯ I want to marry Lolo.

  Her father gets up and goes over to the window. His daughter watches him, feeling as if she’s going to cry; she’d love her mamá to hold her, to console her, to tell her that everything will be alright. It will be alright, won’t it?

  Natalia folds the yel
lowing dress and puts it away again in its cardboard box, where it has lain for almost thirty years. She is no longer that frightened, slight, young girl; she is a widow now with tired eyes and four independent children. Not too old, though. I could marry again, thinks Natalia, I could start again. What nonsense. She looks at herself in the mirror. Who would even notice me? On the other hand, Florencia is older than me and she’s never short of a lover. But I don’t want a lover, I want something more, I want a man. What would my kids say? What would Lolo say? He’d surely come back from the grave and kill me. But he’s well and truly buried three meters down. You’re fine there, Lolo; that’s where you should have gone years ago. I loved you once, it’s true; but I stopped loving you from the first time you laid a hand on me, and that was a long time ago, many, many years ago, even before Hortensio was born. You should have been dead from the first time you hit me, or when you arrived home drunk after spending the whole of your pay packet on drink, or when you gave me a custard cake to ask for forgiveness for the black eye and for the humiliation. I hated you from that day and even before that, when you came close to me smelling of another woman. You had the nerve to kiss me on the mouth; your foul breath smelled of alcohol, vomit and sex; I hated you for not having even brushed your teeth, at least I wouldn’t have realised. But I hate you even more now, because now I realise how much time I wasted with you. I should have slit your throat a long, long time ago. On the other hand, it would have been worse if you’d stayed alive and lived your insignificant life even longer. You’re dead and I’m glad; I’m glad that the worms are gonna eat your eyes, your toes and every bit of you. I’m glad I won’t have to see you again, ever. You’re dead and buried and I’m happy; free at last, incredibly alive and blessedly widowed.

  Natalia looks at herself in the mirror in a way that she hasn’t done for a long time. There are a few wrinkles around her eyes, but they’re not very deep. Her skin has lost its bloom, but that can be fixed with a little makeup. Next week she’ll go to see Valerio and get a different haircut, one that’s more modern and makes her look younger. Some colour wouldn’t be a bad idea to cover the grey hairs, she says aloud. Good God, I’ve never dyed my hair before. It’s never too late, Florencia would say. She could give me some advice, not that I’d take much notice, she’s a bit over-the-top. It’s about time I bought some new clothes too; some dresses, stockings, some shoes, maybe three or four pairs in different colour – red, blue, black and brown. A nice nightgown as well, silk, maybe. Why would I want a nice nightgown? Well, you never know. Natalia Madera viuda de Manón - doesn’t sound too bad, does it?

  44

  Lolo Manón was one of those guys with heaps of appeal, very amusing and pleasant; that’s why women would fall for him, even though he was rather ugly. On the other hand, he was very manly and gentlemanly, as it should be. He had so many women lined up; every week you’d see him with a different woman each time and they were always good looking, with delicious backsides. He’d say to me, come on Aguinaldo, go get the dark one, or the blond one, or the one with the sleepy eyes. But they always preferred Lolo. Women have weird tastes, don’t they?

  Lolo’s wife? Nah, she didn’t have a clue; she was always so busy attending to la Covadonga, she had no idea about her husband’s escapades. She was so in love - more like, she was so soft in the head, pardon my French, that Lolo could have had his lady friends right under her nose and she would have thought they were Jesus Christ himself. No, his wife didn’t know or even want to know, as long as he did his duty once in a while, she thought herself lucky. Sometimes he’d give her a good hiding just to show he loved her; that way everything would run smoothly.

  Which ones do you mean? The ones he had with his wife, Natalia, or those he had scattered all over the place? Actually, my comandante, you may think it’s a bit odd, but none of his four kids could stand him. I always thought it was very strange, ‘cos Lolo loved his kids and he was very proud of them. Hang on, though, let me make something clear. Lolo loved the two boys, but not so much the twins, who knows why; he had something against them; he’d go around saying, “Those damned girls are just like their mother, as two-faced as they come.”

  To this day, I still can’t understand why Lolito and Hortensio were so against their Papá. I saw how Lolo spoiled them, but they went around looking sullen and you could see the resentment starting to show in their eyes. Maybe he was a brute at home, damned Lolo, maybe he treated them badly – he had a very bad temper; he’d fly off the handle at any little thing and he was scary. Not that that I’m a scared of him, but if you’d seen Lolo when he went berserk, you’d have said, I’m outta here, better a live chicken than a dead rooster. I didn’t like my friend’s temper; it made me really nervous, so I don’t blame his kids for not liking him, ‘cos he probably deserved it; and between you and me, fuckin’ Lolo, I’d had enough of his damned bad moods. Truth is, my comandante, whoever did Lolo in must have had good reason to do it; and I wouldn’t put whoever it was in prison for it either.

  I didn’t mean to say that. Don’t get me wrong, I meant that Lolo sometimes overstepped the mark and, well, there’s a limit, isn’t there? Maybe the killer had reached his limit. Of what? Don’t know, but there must have been some limit, don’t you think?

  45

  Florencia Riseñor de Tocino chooses her prettiest dress that shows the most cleavage, the red one with little frills on the collar and the split from knee to groin. She spreads it out on the bed and looks at it lovingly. It’s her prized possession and she knows that it makes her look twenty years younger and so desirable that no one would deny her anything at all. Before slipping it on, she makes up her face meticulously: first the foundation to cover the blemishes and wrinkles, then the powder, then the rouge on her cheeks. With each step, each application of her makeup, she checks the mirror for several seconds to make sure everything is as it should be. The green eye shadow doesn’t go with the colour of her dress, she decides to use browns with black. Four different tones, each one applied at just the right angle. The curler is very old and pulls out her eyelashes, she prefers to use a teaspoon. With her right hand she curls the lashes on her left eye, with her left, the ones on her right. Not a single eyelash must be out of place, nor more curved nor straighter than the others, all perfect; next, the black eye liner on her lids and then the mascara on her upper and lower lashes; lots of mascara so her lashes look thick and very long. Her lips must be the exact same shade as her dress, neither darker nor lighter. Florencia stares for a long time at her heavily made up face and nods her head; she is satisfied. She begins to remove the heated rollers from her hair. Her hair falls over her face in a confusion of curls. Florencia brushes it until it’s just how she wants it. She looks at herself again in the mirror and smiles. Despite her age, she feels young and ready to charm any man. She takes off her dressing gown carefully so as not to ruin her hair and freshly applied makeup. Slowly, unhurriedly, she slips on her black lycra stockings that trap her in their fine threads, like tubes of steel. She tightens the red suspender belt at her waist a little too forcefully, almost chopping herself in half, exposing a humungous, little spare tyre hanging over the top.

  Very slowly, she goes towards the bed where she has left her wonderful red dress. As if it were part of a ritual, she unzips it very carefully and begins to dress. But the dress won’t go any further than her waist. She tries again, horrified. Nothing. She tries a third time and there is the distinct sound of a seam splitting.

  ⎯ Francisco, Francisco, come quickly.

  Florencia is very upset, shaken by the truth that the nasty, stupid dress has thrown into her face.

  ⎯ What’s wrong, woman, what’s all the shouting about? ⎯ Francisco looks at her from the door looking tired and a bit fed up.

  ⎯ Do up my zipper and don’t ask.

  Florencia stands with her back towards her husband. Before trying to zip her up, Francisco stares transfixed at his wife’s bronzed back; he has a terrible urge to caress the forbidden
shape, and is paralyzed for several seconds.

  ⎯ What are you waiting for?

  ⎯ Nothing ⎯ Francisco tries unsuccessfully to pull up the zip. ⎯ I can’t, you’re too fat, woman.

  ⎯ Stop talking nonsense. That’s impossible, just pull it up.

  ⎯ It won’t go up. Ok, pull your tummy in... a bit more... almost ...there, it’s up. You look like a mummy in that dress, it’s so tight. Why don’t you put on another one?

  I’m wearing this one - even if I can’t breathe.

  The seam of the zipper gives way, from one end of the dress to the other, leaving Florencia’s back exposed once again.

  ⎯ Shit! The zipper’s fucked. What did you do to it, you idiot?

  ⎯ I didn’t do anything; it’s your fault for eating too many chocolates.

  ⎯ It cannot be; it just cannot be. You did it on purpose, Francisco Tocino, because you don’t want me to go out; you are always trying to ruin my life. It cannot be, my lovely dress... ⎯ Florencia tries desperately to stop herself from crying. She bites her lip and her tongue, but the tears will wait no longer and they tumble down in a great flood, sweeping away in their path every bit of mascara, eye liner, powder and foundation. Florencia proceeds to have the biggest tantrum ever. Francisco looks at her indifferently, as if to say, “How long is this gonna take?”

  Florencia hits herself on her legs, her thighs and her stomach. Francisco thinks to himself, “She looks so old and ugly like that”. Florencia tears her dress and scratches her own cheeks as more thick, black streams run down her face. At last, she crashes to the floor and leans her head on the bed, her dress torn to shreds and her stockings as well.