A Dead Man's Travail

by Susana Pagano

  No, Señor Solicitor, in no way am I saying that my nephews killed Lolo; and I don’t reckon they’d go to that extreme.

  Lolito and Hortension Manón have a whole lot of friends in the barrio. Among them is the tailor’s son, the Gutiérrez brothers – the ones they call el Marrano and el Carroña; there’s also that kid with the tattoos and piercings everywhere you can imagine. You know who I mean, don’t you? It’s a miracle he survived. They left him like a sieve, or so they say. All those kids are a gang of good-for-nothing bastards, who enjoy getting involved in dirty deals, including my nephews. You just have to see what sort of friends they go round with to know they are up to no good.

  The day of the shooting, with all the police and the helicopters on the roofs and the people all running round like ants just after they’ve been sprayed, Lolito left for Ciudad Juarez. They probably wanted to fill him full of lead too, so he took to his heels. I wouldn’t swear to it, Señor Solicitor, I just tell it the way I see it.

  The twins are a different story. They’re such good girls, so good, in fact, that just looking at them makes you want to yawn. They’re identical, not just physically; they talk in the same tone of voice and use the same words; they dress and do their hair the same way; they get the same grades at school – if one of them fails with a grade of 5.2, so does the other one. They’re like one person split into two. Sometimes I think that they are the same person and that I’m seeing double ‘cause I drink too much, even though I may or may not be drunk at the time. When they get into boyfriends, it wouldn’t surprise me if they had one boyfriend between them. Not such a bad thing, eh? No one can tell them apart, not even Natalia - and she gave birth to them. When she’s had to punish one of them, she doesn’t know which of them she should be giving the strap to, Ricarda or Natalita; so she punishes them both as she doesn’t know which is which.

  I don’t know how well the twins got on with their papá. Lolo never touched on the subject of his family when we went out on the town, and he never let anyone else talk about it either. Maybe it was too boring. According to him, the cantina is no place to be talking about one’s wife or kids ‘cause it’s disrespectful. On the other hand, he’d pass the time talking about his lovers and his pecadillos. And as that’s where we always met up with Lolo, he never talked about his family life. That’s why I can’t really tell you what the relationship was like between Lolo and the twins.

  One of the twins was involved with a layabout from the barrio? No, Señor Solicitor, no way. They’re still not old enough to go around with boyfriends, they’re probably still playing with dolls and pretending to make cups of tea. They’re too young to complicate their lives and, anyway, I don’t think Lolo would have let them even look out the window of La Covadonga. Sometimes when Natalia used to leave them to look after the store by themselves, Lolo used to hide somewhere where they couldn’t see him so he could spy on them and see how they acted with their customers; whether they smiled a little flirtingly; whether anyone brushed their hand when they went to pay, supposedly unintentionally; or whether some swine dared to invite one of them out. Usually nothing happened, ‘cause, as I said before, the twins are as good as All Souls Day bread.

  75

  The walls of the room seem too small, too white and overwhelming. The suitcase full of clothes in disarray is on the bed: some tee-shirts, a pair of trousers and underwear thrown in carelessly. Hortensio looks at the rickety old wardrobe that for years has held all of his possessions. He doesn’t intend to take too much, he couldn’t carry so many things that far. A couple of days ago he talked to the chicken farmer who wanted an excessive amount of money to get him to the other side, but it would be worthwhile. It had to be worthwhile to leave everything behind: his stupid, childish dreams, his frustrated desires. He still hasn’t forgiven Ernestina.

  Lolito attends to customers at La Covadonga. He charges fifteen pesos and gives change for twenty. Some Coronas for the blond guys, a litre of milk for the tailor, a kilo of rice and some Knorr Suiza chicken stock for the German. Ramiro appears at the door of the grocery store with a grin from ear to ear. Lolito greets him from the counter with a nod and he goes to the back of the shop for a couple of cold beers. The twins take over the store while Lolito and Ramiro lean on a car and have a couple of beers.

  Hortensio sits on the bed with his head in his hands, trying to think. For a moment he has his doubts, but there’s no going back, it would be too cowardly. He needs to get away from his mother and her constant, bitter expression, from his murdered father, his brother who’s always mixed up in some problem or other, but above all, he needs to get away from her. He cannot help hating Ernestina with a vengeance and he is happy to know that she is locked up in that dump of hospital for the mentally ill. That’s where you should have been from the beginning, Ernestina Tocino.

  What’s up? Nothing, same same. Ramiro takes out his cigarettes, lights one and offers the pack to Lolito. Lolito holds the cigarette, drags on it and holds in the smoke as if it were a joint. You know something, Marrano? Nah, he says sceptically. Ever since he cleared off, we’ve seen nor hide nor hair of him. Some say the Black Maria got him and they shipped him off to Military Camp No.1. Others say he’s in Guatemala. What about La Carroña? Lolito asks the questions without looking directly at Ramiro. El Huesitos told me he was hiding at some dudes’ place in Neza City replies Ramiro. Some big hole that idiot got himself into, says Lolito, smoking nonchalantly. At least he’s in hiding. We should get outta here too. Ramiro finishes his beer and leaves the bottle on the floor. If they knew about us, they’d have grabbed us by now, starting with you when you were in hospital. They’d have taken you from there straight to the clink. My old lady coughed up with some dough, answers Ramiro, but those rat bags’ve got it in for us, they’re planning something serious. They wanna get us out of their patch.

  Hortensio considers taking the letters Ernestina wrote to him when they were children. Then he realises it would be as if he were taking her with him in the suitcase, and the only thing he wants is to leave her where she is and never again think of her again - her body, her hips, her eyes, her mouth, the whole of her. He also knows that he will never completely forget Ernestina, the aroma of her body, the warmth of her skin. For the millionth time, Hortensio curses the memories.

  And how is your mamá? Ramiro asks to change the subject and not to have to think about things that are worrying him. If you could see her now, I swear you’d think she was a different person, replies Lolito. At first, she really took it badly, she looked awful and she was super depressed. But lately, it’s as if she’s been born again. This morning she got up early to go to the gym where she enrolled recently; then she was gonna go shopping and after that to the salon to do who knows what. She’s turned into a merry widow, whaddaya reckon? That’s alright, isn’t it? Says Ramiro. Yeah, fact is, my papá gave her a dog’s life and now she’s letting her hair down. It’s fine as long as she doesn’t follow Florencia’s example. How could you think that? Your mamá could never be like that, says Ramiro, lighting up another cigarette.

  Hortensio slams down the lid of the suitcase, does up the straps and checks the wardrobe to make sure he hasn’t forgotten anything important. On one of the shelves, Ernestina’s letters await their fate. He grabs them with determination and goes to the kitchen where he sets fire to them with the flames from the stove. He watches them burn slowly, irrevocably, without any sense of guilt for what he is doing. Quite the opposite, he wishes that it were Ernestina, not the letters that were being consumed in the blue, red and orange flames.

  Ricarda comes out of the store and goes over to her brother Lolito. Out of the corner of her eye she sees Ramiro, but pretends she hasn’t noticed him. Ramiro tries not to smile and sips his beer to hide it. Lolito is unaware of anything. We’re almost out of Vel Rosita soap and Suavitel fabric softener, could you get some? Says Ricarda to her brother. Have you forgotten your manners, girl? Lolito scolds his sister jokingly. Say hello to Ramiro, kiddo. Ric
arda blushes uncontrollably and tries hard to look at Ramiro, who puts out his hand and gives her one of his best smiles. Ricarda slips her tiny, cold hand into Ramiro’s and she feels as if an electric shock had gone right to her top of her head. Hi, Ricarda, how are you? Ricarda is even more taken aback at not being confused with her sister. Whatever caused the flush in her cheeks seems to have affected her brain, and she feels as if she is making a fool of herself. Hi. Her voice is almost inaudible and she withdraws her hand as quickly as she can. He doesn’t try to hold her hand any longer, but his smile grows wider, showing his perfect, white teeth. Ricarda looks at the floor, towards the street, at her brother, anywhere else, so she doesn’t have to look at those eyes that devour and overwhelm her. You’re like a shy Indian girl! Stop hiding behind your shawl, stupid Ricarda. Ricarda looks at her brother with loathing. Doesn’t he realise he is embarrassing her in front of Ramiro? Hey, don’t be like that with her. Ramiro stands up for her and she melts, her legs go like jelly, her chest tightens and the semblance of a smile appears on her face. It is then that she decides to take the bull by the horns. Are you going to go or not? Uy! What a temper. Why don’t you go? You’re not doing anything and I’m talking to my mate. Lolito smiles and gives his sister a friendly cuff across the face. Ricarda brushes it off and storms angrily back to La Covadonga. Lolito laughs as she walks away. These kids grow up so fast, he mutters. But not fast enough, says Ramiro. You like my sisternitas, dude? Lolito studies Ramiro’s face, trying to make out what his lips are not saying. They’re not ugly. What? You wanna screw my whole family? asks Lolito sarcastically. Wasn’t my prima enough for you? That’s different, very different, says Ramiro defending himself. What’s so different, dummy? Lolito drinks his beer and smokes a cigarette while he has fun teasing his friend. They’re all females and they’re only good for one thing, aren’t they? He says. You’re so much like your papá... You’ve gotta be joking. Don’t compare me to that good-for-nothing. So what? You wanna screw my sisters? Of course not, they’re still too young, but one day I’m gonna take one of them up the aisle. Shame I can’t have both of them. You’d be welcome as part of our family, bro’. They toast with their beers and drink every last drop.

  Hortensio goes back to his room and grabs his suitcase. He walks towards the door of the apartment without once looking back, without even leaving a note for his mamá or his siblings. He leaves the entranceway to the building and closes the door of what was his home for twenty six years and what will now only ever be a painful memory. He walks towards the street knowing there is no turning back.

  Two patrol cars draw up, one from each end of the street, along with two unmarked cars. Lolito and Ramiro are unaware of them until they are practically on top of them. The policemen and plain clothes officers leap out of their patrol cars - they are all armed. Lolito feels as if it’s all a dream. His last swig of beer gets caught in his throat and he almost has to spit it out. His heart is racing alarmingly. Ramiro’s mind is a blank, it’s all happening too fast. The officers say something about an arrest and they are taken into custody charged with stealing automobile parts, the indiscriminate sale of narcotics and other offences. They make them bend over the car they’ve been leaning against, and they search them. Lolito and Ramiro don’t understand what’s going down, but at the same time, they understand everything: the cops have nabbed them and they’re going to thrown in jail. Our lives have just got fucked up, thinks Ramiro in a moment of lucidity. The police handcuff them and make them get into one of the patrol cars. The twins watch from the door of La Covadonga. They are trembling from head to foot. Lolito just has time to shout to them before he is forced to get into the patrol car. Tell my mamá, kids. Tell her they’re taking us to the slammer. The twins nod their heads but they no sound comes out; they just hold on to each other, each one protecting the other. The patrol cars draw away and the street is quiet again. The twins cry. Something’s wrong, thinks Natalita. It’s a mistake, thinks Ricarda. Without letting go of the other’s hand even for a moment, the sisters abandon the store - anybody could come in and steal whatever they felt liked. They make their way as fast as they can to Valerio Cuadra’s salon, where Natalia is having her hair cut, coloured light brown, a permanent and her nails done, and is generally feeling that life is beautiful and she is very fortunate.

  76

  I’m feeling better today, Señor Solicitor, I’m a lot calmer now, thank God, although I still haven’t forgiven the insult. Eh? You’d better believe it. How would you feel if I told you your wife had been killed by a chicken?

  Right, let’s start from the beginning. You say that this Pedro López murdered my husband. How did you reach that conclusion?... You don’t say... very interesting. So the guy’s brain’s a bit addled. He’s into ...where? Substances? And what the devil is that? Glue? What do ya mean, he’s into glue? I don’t understand a thing, Señor Solicitor. Talk to me in plain language, if you don’t mind. Ah! Of course, I do understand that, everyone knows that. We all know that wretched Pedrito is always drugged out of his mind, but glue? Like what they use to stick things together? A different kind? Anyway, it doesn’t matter, the thing is that this guy’s a walking pharmacy. So, what the hell does this have to do with Lolo? You’re not gonna tell me you think the two of them were getting high on drugs together, are you? ‘Cause Lolo was a lot of things, a womaniser, always out on the town, a drunk, foul tempered, but he was never ever on drugs. Ah! That’s not what it’s all about. So?

  It wasn’t a jealous husband, a frustrated lover or a Mafioso? It was a bum, a vagrant, a poor devil living on the street, who one day the kid decides to break into my house, pull out a knife and stab my husband eighteen times while he’s having a nap, just like that? How humiliating! Ay, Lolo Manón, if you were alive, I swear by all the saints, I could hang you up by the balls for being such an idiot. How could you let someone knock you off in such a vile, undignified way? You always were a drone. How could you expect to die any way better than that? You had it coming to you, Lolo Manón. You deserved to die like a cockroach at the hands of another cockroach. Idiot, animal, you’re dead and you couldn’t give a damn, could you? And I’m left to face the ridicule, surrounded by a bunch of gossip mongers laughing their heads off and making fun of me and your kids. Go to hell, mother fucker, I hope you roast very slowly for the rest of eternity.

  77

  Natalia wipes the sweat off her brow and neck with a threadbare, old towel. She goes into the changing rooms of the gym and has a delicious bath with boiling hot water. When she’s finished she feels lighter and younger, as if her whole body was floating. She pops back home to leave her sports bag with her aerobics gear with the idea of going afterwards to the Suburbia department store. As she walks into the apartment, she again feels some of that frightening sensation as she recalls the sight of her dead husband. The twins have had their shower and are ready to go and open the grocery store. Lolito still hasn’t returned from shopping at La Merced market. Hortensio is acting like a stranger, wandering aimlessly around the apartment. Are you going with your sisters to open the store? Asks Natalia, more to engage in a conversation with him than to enquire out about his plans. Later. Hortensio’s reply sounds as if it is coming from beyond the grave. Her son has been in some sort of hypnotic state for several months now, and that worries Natalia. She frowns but doesn’t say anything. She leaves the house and takes a taxi to the department store.

  Florencia Ruiseñor de Tocino gives an enormous yawn and sits down at the table in the dining room with some really strong black coffee. Her eyes are still red and swollen, and her hair is a tangled mess of knots. Francisco Tocino, clean shaven and smelling of cologne, comes into the kitchen to quickly make himself something for breakfast. He doesn’t say hello to Florencia (it’s been years since they dropped the niceties), and he puts on a couple of pieces of Bimbo bread on to toast and serves himself a cup of coffee as he waits. It’s as if Florencia hasn’t seen him at all and that she’s still in the arms of Morpheus.
Without a word, Francisco devours the two pieces of buttered toast and his coffee, and heads off to open The Yogi Bear. Florencia doesn’t even bother to look at him. Florencia spends the whole morning walking from one end of the house to the other as if she were sleep walking. She doesn’t bother to bathe and she dresses in a torn, old pair of track pants and sweat shirt in a similar state. She does a little housework, going about things the whole time feeling as if she were somewhere else. Francisco slices the meat for Weiner schnitzel, cuts up the pork chops, deep fries the chicharrón and attends to his customers in the same lethargic state that his wife dusts the picture frames, sweeps the kitchen and washes the dishes. Francisco’s morning is spent sharpening knives; Florencia spends her time rinsing cleaning cloths in the tub. For both of them it’s a cloudy, grey day. At three o’clock sharp, Francisco closes the butchery and drags himself and his rumbling stomach home. Florencia has the meal ready and the table set; she is just waiting for her husband. Florencia and Francisco gulp down the food without thinking, two robots carrying out a pre-programmed function. But, Francisco’s mind is not as befuddled as it seems. Hs thoughts are a long way from the pasta soup and the chicken tacos that crackle like little lightning bolts when you bite into them. Lolo is no longer here on this earth. There will be no more Cholitas or Anitas to seduce in complicity with death. There is only Florencia who, for all of these years, has ignored him as if he were a ghost; who has never stopped humiliating him by sleeping with other men. Francisco watches his wife from the other side of the table.

  After hours of indecision, Natalia decides to buy two dresses, a pair of trousers, three blouses and a pair of shoes. That’s enough for today. She’ll head off now to the Plaza Galerias to buy some other things she has in mind. She still needs a lot more things: at least three more pairs of shoes, underwear, some night gowns, face creams and a couple more dresses. The list is endless. It’s wonderful to be able to go shopping and not feel guilty about getting into debt with her shiny new credit card. Life isn’t always bad, she thinks as she comes out of Suburbia, laden with bags and dreams for the future. She gets another taxi back to the corner of Frontera and Zacatecas in the Colonia Roma.