⎯ Howdy, my dear neighbours! What brings you here? ⎯ said Lolo Manón as he opened the door - I was surprised to see him sober.
⎯ We’ve come about a very serious issue, neighbour ⎯ I said with a scowl.
⎯ Come on in, make yourselves at home.
I had never seen Lolo acting so kindly, although he could be more or less OK when he was sober.
⎯ We’re fine where we are, thank you. I won’t take up much of your time.
⎯ As you wish, neighbour.
⎯ We’ve come to ask that you make your son, Lolito, do the gentlemanly thing and take responsibility for what he did to my daughter.
⎯ Ay, caray! Pray tell what my little boy, Lolito, has done to your little girl, Lucero?
⎯ Don’t you know?
⎯ To tell you the truth, I have no idea.
I don’t know if Lolo was an idiot or whether he was faking it.
⎯ Your son, Lolito, took from my daughter the most valued thing a woman can have.
⎯ Fuck!
⎯ Please have more respect for my wife?
⎯ It’s just that it came at me from left field, my dear neighbour. It’s news to me.
⎯ Your son has shamed her and now they’ve gotta get married.
⎯ My son, Lolito, get married? In your dreams, neighbour. My boy is never gonna marry in a million years, let alone to your daughter who has lost her virginity.
⎯ My daughter was seduced by your son, Señor Manón. Now he must act like a man, as obvious he knows how.
⎯ Look, neighbour, my son “seduced”, as you so rightly put it, your little girl. He didn’t rape her, so there’s no crime there; young Lucero went to bed with my son of her own free will. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if Lolito was not the first.
⎯ How dare you say that? My daughter is a good girl; her only mistake was to fall in love with your good-for-nothing son.
⎯ Let’s not get into insults, Señor Cocinero.
⎯ You were the first to insult my daughter by saying she was a slut, so I can say whatever I like about your son. He is man enough to go to bed with my daughter, right? But he’s not macho enough to take responsibility for his actions; and my daughter is the one that is stuffed, eh?
⎯ Have more respect for your wife, Señor Cocinero.
⎯ Shut up! Let me finish before I forget what I was gonna to say. I was saying that I am eternally grateful that your son has saved my daughter from a disastrous marriage with a groom as repugnant as your son; but above all, thanks for saving her from a father-in-law that’s full of garbage, not to say, full of shit.
I left him shouting to himself. I was so steamed up I couldn’t hear him yelling; he didn’t give me a hiding only ‘cause he wasn’t drunk.
Later on Lucero told me she wouldn’t have married Lolito Manón, even if we’d threatened to kill her.
⎯ So why didn’t you tell me before I went and made a scene with that disgusting drunk? – I said to Lucero; I was on the verge of giving her a good slap.
⎯ Would you have listened to me? When you found out about the bun in the oven, you shut me in my room and you didn’t let me get a word in edgeways.
⎯ But weren’t you madly in love with the idiot?
⎯ With Lolito Manón? He’s got a brain as small as a Barbie doll.
⎯ So why the hell did you go to bed with that cretin?
⎯ Having brains and going to bed with someone have nothing to do with each other, didn’t you know?
Before I had time to smash her teeth in, she’d run to her room and locked the door.
⎯ You’re a filthy slut. I’m gonna kill you as soon I break down the door.
⎯ Go away, dammit. Go away and leave me in peace
⎯ How many have you gone to bed with, you little whore? I bet you’re into drugs as well, you fuckin’ bitch. I’m gonna sew up your hole with barbed wire and let’s see if that stops you from sleeping around.
⎯ Stop it, Jaime Cocinero! ⎯ shouted my wife.
⎯ You keep out of it.
⎯ ...
⎯ Since when do you answer me back? Do you want me to beat you to death as well, you filthy hustler?
⎯ You can kill me, you good-for-nothing, but you’re not gonna lay a hand on my daughter.
⎯ Good-for-nothing? You called me a good-for-nothing?
⎯ Calm down, for God’s sake.
⎯ You called me a good-for-nothing. My wife calls me a good-for-nothing. How dare you, you little viper?
⎯ Can’t you be quiet?
⎯ Didn’t you hear what your harlot of a daughter said? She just admitted she goes to bed with any dickhead that she comes across.
⎯ She didn’t say that.
⎯ So, what did she say? That she’s as pure as the driven snow?
⎯ Don’t let your annoyance get the better of you, Jaime. Go to Quiroga for a while and see if that helps clear your head. Go and stay a few days with your mamá until you calm down.
⎯ Ha, and now you’re throwing me out.
⎯ You’re an idiot, you really are. Look, do whatever you want, but I’m telling you one thing, just you dare lay a finger on Lucero... ⎯ and she left.
⎯ You’re threatening me, fuckin’ bitch. You’re gonna pay, you’re both gonna pay dearly.
You see what women are like? You could never live long enough to really get to know them. One day they’re as docile as a new born puppy; and the next King Kong is a spider monkey compared to them. My wife had never raised her voice to me in her life, and she’s never sworn at me, let alone threatened me. If I hadn’t been a gentleman, I have belted her to within an inch of her life, believe me. But I’ve never touched my wife, although this time I really felt like splitting her head in two. And if Lucero hadn’t locked herself in her room, I’d have given her the worst hiding of her life. I was blinded by rage, that’s the truth. They’re always looking for it, aren’t they? Ever since then, I fly off the handle quite often, like the other day with you. The same week we had the fight, they told me that my mother was dying and I went to Quiroga. But I’d already told you about that.
55
Francisco Tocino watches Ernestina go by like a bat out of hell. He closes his Playboy sharply, but Ernestina sees nothing; she cannot see anything or anyone, not even him. She runs into her room and locks herself in, just as she has so many times before.
⎯ Now what’s wrong with her? ⎯ Francisco puts the magazine to one side and goes to the door of his daughter’s room. He listens closely and is about to knock, but he stops himself. What good would it do? She wouldn’t answer anyway. Who is this woman who goes by her name, but who says nothing to anyone. Who the hell are you, Tinita?
He goes back to the lounge and picks up the magazine again, but he isn’t really looking at the naked, blue eyed blondes that pose sensuously in ways extremely difficult for any normal human being. Francisco’s mind doesn’t caress the pure white legs, the rounded breasts or the perfect hips; Francisco’s mind flies, involuntarily, to the room where his daughter is crying about non-existent tragedies, make-believe ghosts, and imagined disloyalty. He thinks about how little he knows this child who is nearing thirty; who gets lonelier the more people flutter around her; who lives in an unfathomable world.
The floral pillowcase is wet with Ernestina’s tears. She will never trust anyone again. Her secret has been violated, deeply offended, like a tomb that should have been left to rest in peace. She should have known. Everyone, absolutely everyone is against her and they want to destroy her; they want to drive her mad so that they can lock her up, for once and for all, in a lunatic asylum.
That’s when she notices there are spider webs all over the room. Her only refuge has become her prison and she is drowning in her own screams. The voice in her ears says obscenities that are sickly sweet. Ernestina covers herself with the blankets; she feels suffocated by them, but that is better than having to listen to that little, weenie voice, purring things to her that she has never heard
before and that make her feel sick. She feels exhausted and cannot move. Tinita weeps like a fool and her face is covered in perspiration, tears and snot. The voice continues to drill into her brain; it occurs to her to turn on the tele so she can listen to something else, but the dragon man appears on the screen and starts laughing at her. He points to her and laughs raucously until Ernestina throws the remote control at his head to shut him up. The screen shatters and thousands of sparks fly all over the place. Ernestina roars with laughter. I killed you, damn you, I killed you. But he is still there, somewhere that Ernestina cannot see. Moments later, one of the dragon man’s enormous hands clamps over her mouth to stop her breathing. Tinita struggles against him, but he is much stronger than she is, and she is soon asleep.
Hortensio, on the other hand, cannot sleep. The beers he had with Ramiro in the cantina only made his mood worse, and now the only thing he wants to do is drag Ernestina by the hair from Cuauhtémoc to Insurgentes. He tries not to think, but his head is full of terrible images that he cannot rid himself of. He imagines Ernestina in Ramiro’s arms, in Lolito’s bed, in a cheap hotel room with every man in the barrio; he wants to spit in their faces, swear at them and kick them until every bone in their bodies is broken, starting with Tinita. Why were you the one to go back on your word; you promised me, years ago, that one day you would be mine, just mine, my woman, my wife. You promised me your perfume, your sweetness, your caring, your love, your body. But you have forgotten; you have forgotten everything and left me turned to shit, making a fool of myself. That’s the most painful part. You’ve fucked me up forever, damned Ernestina! But I hate you, father, even more. You tricked me, you fucked her too, even though Ramiro said you hadn’t and that you wouldn’t have dared to touch her. I know that your macho-in-heat instinct wouldn’t have let any one of them get away. All of those whores on the streets weren’t enough for you. I hate you, you damned, fat bastard. I swear one day you’re gonna pay for doing this, for having laid your filthy hands on Ernestina; and you’re gonna beg for your shitty, miserable life.
56
Good day, Señor Solicitor. You look a bit worse for wear today, this whole Lolo Manón thing must be keeping you awake at night, and ruined your appetite too probably, ‘cause you’re looking pretty skinny. So tell me, what can I do for you?
Natalia? You see, my prima Natalia is a good woman, she seems shy and submissive, but once you get to know her a bit, you realise that she’s the one who wears the trousers. In front of other people, it looked as though Lolo had her on a short leash; he used to speak gruffly to her and order her around: Hey, Natalia, why don’t you bring up your lazy kids better; look how they’re dressed, they look like beggars; or he’d say: You ironed my shirt badly and it’s missing a button, aren’t you woman enough to know how a house should be run? Hurry up and heat up my meal, I could eat a horse. I’m not coming home tonight, just telling you in case you’re thinking of fixing me anything to eat tomorrow morning. That’s the way he treated my prima, Natalia would bow her head and not say a word, she seemed very obedient and she was too; everything Lolo asked her to do she did quickly so as not to make him angry. That’s what you’d see in the store, with friends and neighbours, but at home Natalia was the boss and woe betide anyone who tried to take her place as mistress of the house.
Ages ago, when Lolo got a bit drunk, he used to give Natalia some awful hidings, like something from a horror movie; and in the middle of the night she’d run from the apartment and take refuge with us; she’d turn up with either a black eye or swollen cheeks from the beatings. Once he broke her nose and we had to take her to have it straightened up again. My wife, Florence, would say to her:
⎯ Don’t let him do this to you, girl. Don’t be an idiot. He may have fists, but you’ve got frying pans and knives. Hit him hard when he’s sound asleep; don’t be a loser.
⎯ Look prima ⎯ I’d say, ⎯ when a woman lets herself be hit once, she’s screwed. If you don’t want him to keep belting you, leave him; grab the kids and go somewhere where he can’t find you. You have your business, sell it and set up another far away from here; you don’t need Lolo to survive.
As time went by things didn’t seem to get any better, quite the opposite. Lolo used to get drunk more often and he would hit her even harder; but you can’t put up with that sort of thing forever, not even a dimwit like Natalia could.
One night, quite late, at about three in the morning, Aguinaldo Misiones, Lolo and me came back from three days on the booze, playing billiards and dominos and having a cool time. Each of us went home to our own place; and I didn’t know what happened to the others until Florencia told me the next day.
Lolo had came into the house and tripped over a roller skate the twins had left lying around. He was so angry that he went to take it out on his wife. He ripped back the bed covers, grabbed her by her hair and threw her against the wall until she had five bumps on her head; he pushed her, kicked her and punched her in the face and in her stomach. When he was exhausted, he fell asleep on the bed. Natalia stayed for a long time curled up in the corner, crying and praying to all the saints to let her die, and for Lolo to die as well. Well, that’s what I imagine she must have been thinking, ‘cause I didn’t actually see anything. A few hours later, she’d plucked up courage and strength from God knows where; and she grabbed a rope and tied Lolo to the bed posts; he was tied up so well he couldn’t move. She sat on Lolo’s belly then chucked a glass of water in his face to wake him up.
⎯ What’s wrong with you, you damned bitch? ⎯ Lolo tried to move to slap her, but realised that he was tied hand and foot. ⎯ Now what? who tied me up? ⎯ I reckon this must have made his hangover disappear. Do you see this rolling pin, Lolo? Well, this is for the beatings ⎯ and, pow!, she whacks him a couple of times with the rolling pin. See this frying pan? This is for the times you punched me ⎯ and she belts him with the frying pan just like a piñata.
So, between whacks with the frying pan and the rolling pin, she just about killed him. When she got tired of hitting him, she got out a brand new revolver and showed it to Lolo and said:
⎯ Listen up Lolo, you touch me again and you’ll get an arse full of lead, just so you know.
Afterwards, she called an ambulance to come to pick up both of them. Imagine, Natalia must have gathered all her remaining strength because, even though Lolo broke her left arm and three ribs, she broke his foot, seven ribs, both arms, his right wrist and almost left his face permanently disfigured. Not even in his dreams did Lolo ever touch her again. That’s why I’m sure Natalia didn’t kill her husband, because if she’d wanted to she’d have done it long ago, don’t you reckon, Señor Solicitor?
57
You’re like a caged lion, dammit. It’s worse when you’re like this, than when you arrive home drunk as a skunk. Go out and see if you get with it. Are you listening, Francisco? I’m talking to you, Francisco.
⎯ What?
⎯ Get outta here, Chihuahuas.
⎯ What for?
⎯ So that you can spit out the nails you’re biting on to the street and not inside where I’ve just swept.
⎯ Alright, alright, I’m going.
But Francisco only gets up to go to his room, to the kitchen, the lounge. He takes a glass out of the cabinet and serves himself some water, but leaves it on the lounge table without touching it. He then goes up to one of the pictures on the wall of the dining room – one of pictures with a biblical scenes where you look at it from one angle and you see the Last Supper; and if you look at it from the another angle, you can see the face of Christ in pain and with a blood-stained crown of thorns on his head. Francisco attempts to straighten the picture, but it ends up more crooked than before. Sitting on a lounge chair with a copy of “TVnotas” on her lap, Forencia watches her husband, who’s starting to make her feel dizzy. Francisco hardly notices his wife’s presence and keeps on biting his nails as he paces around the apartment looking pensive, just the way Einstein must have looked when he was
about to give deliver the theory of relativity.
The phone rings. Francisco jumps as if an atomic bomb had gone off right next to his ear. He looks at the phone, but doesn’t do anything; he stands there staring at it, cracking his fingers, biting the few bits of nail he still has left, and scratching his head.
⎯ Aren’t you gonna answer the goddam phone?
⎯ Yeah, yeah ⎯ but he still doesn’t do anything; he remains standing where he is without moving.
⎯ You’re a bit weird, eh, Francisco. Hello? ⎯ Florencia answers the phone grudgingly. ⎯ Ah, it’s you. I put you on to him. Your primo, Lolo ⎯ Francisco looks at the hand piece as if it were a bug, but he doesn’t move. ⎯ It’s for you, Francisco, wake up, get your head out of the clouds.
⎯ Lolo? ⎯ Francisco listens, motionless and turns pale, his hands shaking. He hangs up the phone without saying goodbye. He puts on his leather jacket, grabs the house keys out of habit, unaware of what he is doing.
⎯ Are you going? That’s good. Maybe it’ll calm you down.
Francisco doesn’t look at his wife. Florencia has a disgusted look on her face and she goes into the kitchen, ignoring her husband with his glazed stare and hands that are shaking uncontrollably. Francisco leaves the apartment; in two strides he’s on the street and hailing an ecológico. Florencia comes out of the kitchen, picks up the phone, dials a number, takes off her apron and checks her red, recently-painted nails. Shit, now I’ve broken a nail. The phone rings at the other end and someone answers; Florencia asks to speak to Solicitor Joe Bloggs. Solicitor Joe Bloggs answers and they agree to meet in the bar at Sanborns. Which one? Asks Florencia. She hangs up, goes to her bedroom, cleans the makeup off her doughy face and redoes it; it looks just the same as before. She touches up her hair, looks for a hair tie, but can’t find one. Dammit, now I’ve lost another one. I must have left it at the arab’s place. She changes her stockings, panties and her dress; she puts on any old coat and goes out. She hails a yellow cab.
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