by Naomi Holoch
And she comes toward me loaded with enough little snacks to feed an army I make a gesture to help her out, but she interrupts it with a move of her knee You be quiet or I’ll throw everything on the floor. Under the threat, I remain still. Praying that she’ll manage to save the bottles at least.
A torrent of pots cans little packages flows from her arms onto the table with not too much noise and without breaking anything. Two bottles of champagne still remain in her arms.
But, Stéphanie …
That’s all I have, Stéphanie says I hope that you like champagne at least.
But, Stéphanie, this is totally unreasonable…. She spreads her arms, finally free, in a sign of powerlessness. I thought we were going to see the sea…. Yes, Stéphanie says, but I am hungry. And thirsty Especially thirsty.
Everything is so complicated Stéphanie says….
You’re not helping me….
I help her to strip off the cellophane wrap from the packages of cookies. You’re doing it on purpose, Stéphanie says severely Andrée are you REALLY doing it on purpose!
I smile at her angry locks of hair where the light from the lamps put copper reflections as the window is getting darker.
Everything is bathed in a soft light like the kind you see in restaurants where I never go anymore. It’s a secret celebration and I have nothing, nothing to do but stretch my arms and legs with a sigh of comfort while a tender saxophone begins confiding in stereo. Finally a human music Music and not the kind of noise that my sons’ “awesome” singers make so loudly….
You like it? Stéphanie says squatting within arm’s reach in front of the turntable. I put my hand on her curls They are warm and silky And her head leans slightly to better feel the caress or to follow it like Grandma’s dog used to do. I’ve never seen a dog so sweet He used to roll his big eyes to try to see me over the bumps of his eyebrows My big boxer all in all My Sweet One overflowing with love for humankind. Bernard never wanted a dog It sheds its hair It drools It’s unhealthy for the children What do we do with it when we go away on vacation Especially at Mother’s place It has to pee all the time It’s not happy in an apartment It brings trouble with the neighbors It means extra work It eats the cushions and the legs of the furniture It scratches the wallpaper It stinks It climbs on the beds….
I knew it Stéphanie says Finally some human feelings You were doing it on purpose, weren’t you. Only partly, Stéphanie. I’m not used to friends who are like Sweet One and the pony from the fair I’m not used to having girlfriends just for me Who have a celebration just for me. And who talk to me Stéphanie above the champagne that will get warm in its bucket that’s too small Who talk to me with words that have a meaning of their own. As if we were somewhere else in another galaxy Who smile at me with eyes that make bubbles….
I’m a married woman Stéphanie. A mother A part of a whole with whom people can only speak a collective language, that’s to say null. You don’t confide to just anyone. We speak from couple to couple From family to family From group to group. A language for all, Readings For All … Nothing for anyone anymore. So you lose the habit, even without noticing it Like you lose the habit of stretching your legs and of waiting to be served. I am thirsty too, Stéphanie.
I got up to put one of the two bottles back in the fridge. Can’t you sit still for five minutes Stéphanie says.
She uncorks the bottle of champagne very well.—I cannot stand people who let the cork jump to the ceiling and who spill the foam on the table.—
This way, Stéphanie says, everything will be easier, you’ll see.
To simplicity, Stéphanie says raising her glass. To the sea To springtime, which is almost over To friendship To the difficulty of moving forward when you’ve lost your crutches….
To thirst. To thirst Especially when you’re scared to death and you don’t know what to say in order to be neither too far apart nor too close.
That’s it, I say. To panic thirst.
You don’t resemble your life Stéphanie says.
She had already told me that before While she was putting her shorts on in the dressing room at the gym and what do you do in life! I work for an accountant Does the accountant pay you well Oh! Just barely above minimum wage. That is disgusting Stéphanie says that is really disgusting, after ten years! Why do you take it. O Stéphanie from another planet … Kindly I explained to her about the number of unemployed people in the county The files that the boss gets from his drawer to show me when he feels that I’m too quarrelsome, as if it were totally by chance. There are currently thirty-four, Stéphanie, thirty-four letters from unemployed boys and girls who are ready to take my place for even less money. All younger than I am, with diplomas that I don’t have. Tell them we have no opening AT THE MOMENT Andrée, would you. And Andrée swallows her anger and politely tells the candidates that there is nothing at the moment Some of them insist You must give them several polite refusals. The accountant signs the letter with a little sigh.
And what if you prepared for the exams Stéphanie says. Yes. But I’m too old to work in administration. Yes. But I can’t, my husband. And with the children on top of it, no, I can’t do it. I understand Stéphanie says She smiles at me Takes my hand quickly and lets go of it She says You don’t resemble your life.
No, maybe not yet But I resemble it more and more It surrounds me And I struggle less and less…. Finally one must let
go to have peace It’s too much struggle to assert that you exist Too much struggle to resist the daily grind the worries the tiredness Too much struggle to manage to read a single book…. I feel I’m becoming more and more stupid.
I still haven’t read your book, you know
You don’t like it?
Oh I do No time It’s silly to say this but there’s always a catastrophe or an emergency as soon as I take it out of its drawer
So I don’t touch it anymore It’s been weeks now…. Maybe
tomorrow I’ll have time to read it.
Mañana será otro dia Stéphanie says Tomorrow is another day Let’s make today last.
Drink Stéphanie says whose eyes are making more and more bubbles Whose curls are rolling tighter and tighter Whose lips with no makeup are taking on color as if by transparency and are moving with so much life that you feel like touching them.
But you don’t touch people’s lips These are things you just don’t do when you have all your reason You can touch the hand that’s allowed but not the mouth To hold the waist, yes, but not the breast To put a kiss on the cheek, yes, but not in the neck, you just don’t do that. One can caress other people’s children’s hair but not their husbands’ hair A real traffic code And everyone knows about all these invisible rules And you wonder why it’s so hard for me to live with my hands behind my back Even with the children now that they are grown up Even with Bernard because for him it’s the beginning of a path with a precise destination and he hasn’t felt like it for quite a while now. Or quickly, skipping the steps in between But as far as I am concerned, I do like the steps in between And then afterward you must let him sleep what’s wrong with you tomorrow I must get up…. And also I want a dog A dog that belongs to me a sweet and demanding dog and tomorrow I’ll go to choose one while Bernard is gone The children will be enthusiastic and I know Bernard won’t be able to put it outside A puppy can melt any heart.
What are you thinking about Stéphanie says. Quick, quick, no thinking. Too late you’ve already thought about it.
I say I was thinking about the fear of gestures I was thinking that I want a dog….
About what Stéphanie says.
About … the mouth of a pony.
You are a strange girl Stéphanie says Even stranger when you are drunk. Eat You shouldn’t drink without eating It’s not my intention to give you a hangover.
She smokes seriously and her eyes on me don’t quiver any more than quiet water You could think that she’s listening to who knows what Maybe the music But there is no more music.
&nb
sp; It’s funny don’t you think to be here with you at this impossible hour….
What time is it by the way.
What does it matter Stéphanie says.
We munched and drank some more while a black singer was wrapping a melody around my neck that was alternately raspy and airy Stéphanie went to get the other bottle, which she opened in the discreet way that I like But what is it that I don’t like in Stéphanie And I think I might have moaned that it was less and less reasonable, but from far away, from the bottom of a slightly whirling comfort From the bottom of the sheepskin that smelled like a warm animal From the bottom of the chiaroscuro light diffused by the lamps where Stéphanie was dancing.
She danced alone two or three beats, then she stopped, came to throw her laughter at me almost on my mouth Are you dancing?
I think I won’t remember how…. Come, Stéphanie says, I can dance very well when I am slightly drunk Otherwise I cannot I’m afraid.
Afraid of what?
You don’t understand a thing Stéphanie says. For example, see, I had a lot of things to tell you that I couldn’t tell you in the dressing room of the gym…. Are you coming or not. Don’t be so stiff Stéphanie says It only the two of us let go…. It’s been years since I have danced, you know Stéphanie. What did you want to tell me. I don’t remember Stéphanie says, I lost everything. It’s just like these little notes of paper that you put in your pocket after scribbling fantastic things on them: either you lose them completely or you find them and the text is half illegible and it doesn’t really say anything about your genius. So you throw them away. One should talk when the spark comes out, otherwise it’s too late.
She blows an imaginary match close to my neck and I navigate in an iridescent fog Luckily the slow dance is very slow and Stéphanie’s slightly tight body protects me against vertigo.
A spark that is blown out is sad.
The essential stays Stéphanie says whose naked forearms are resting on my shoulders The essential, she says, is the atmosphere that shivers around certain persons. Around you Stéphanie says. You understand?
Maybe, yes, I don’t know….
It surely has to do with waves Stéphanie says If you insist on a scientific explanation. She laughs and in the upset of her laughter I distinguish clearly her warm little breast against my breast. The fleeting desire to hold tighter To snuggle. It’s true that she dances well, Stéphanie. While she is trying to clarify what she means with a tiny forefinger that caresses my eyebrows.
The world is motionless Stéphanie says. And then someone appears Someone who seems to be totally ordinary And suddenly the scenery vibrates around her. A harmony is established You’re happy to live.
It’s a love story I say.
If you want Stéphanie says Everything is a love story anyway. I received you full force Like a landscape Like a sunset Like a melody Don’t start laughing Stéphanie says Not now.
I was not laughing. I don’t really know where I am anymore. The last beat of the slow dance saves me in extremis from a curious acquiescence that had been sneaking in without my feeling it. A feeling that all’s well In its place Must have been like this forever…. A feeling that the silence now reduces to pieces. Stéphanie lets go of me suddenly and catches her breath as if she had just swallowed some water.
Come on Stéphanie says. This time we are going to see the sea. But I decline I’m really in no state to drive. Too bad Stéphanie says We’ll go tomorrow in the daytime You must also know how to do ordinary things. And this bottle Stéphanie says we should finish it Since we’re almost done with it.
I must go home Stéphanie It’s very late….
Very early Stéphanie corrects It’s a nightingale really mixed with a lark. But if you can’t drive to go see the sea I don’t see how you could go home without killing yourself. I’ll hang myself around your neck, I’ll roll myself around your legs, I’ll tie you up with the cords from the curtains, but I won’t let you go!
Drink Stéphanie says. Then we’ll break the glasses and we’ll go to sleep. There is room for two in this bed. I’ll make myself tiny And if I bother you I’ll sleep on the carpet Like a little dog. Do you still want a little dog?
Absolutely.
We’ll go choose it tomorrow Stéphanie says sitting cross-legged at my feet and throwing her head back to smile at me.
So I stretch my hand toward her warm curls. You were saying very nice things earlier on the quivering of the atmosphere.
Too late Stéphanie says The quivering has changed into an earthquake You can’t describe an earthquake You should’ve asked me questions before the last glass of champagne. It’s going to have a bad ending Stéphanie says, if we don’t go to bed immediately.
So I let go of her curls to put my hand on her mouth A simple and obvious gesture and you wonder why you torture yourself for trifles. Under my fingers her lips shiver like the pony’s but smaller and softer She closes her eyes the way you turn off the light.
I must have slept After I remember soft movements around the open bed An Indian cotton shirt that I put on as pyjamas and that is a bit too small for me.
A vague bewilderment at being there The image of Stéphanie’s body, naked like only a blond’s body can be in the light But maybe I dreamed it because I was already sleeping Stéphanie’s voice, slightly out of breath A voice that breathes between words Very high above my face and yet I feel its breath I roll toward a warm light Indian cloth, which welcomes me.
A little three-note melody wakes me up from a silly dream in which I was walking toward the waves.
Waves of very light curly hair stroking my legs my thighs. My hands dive into it because it’s soft and a ray of light brightens up the horizon. Then I stroke the mouth of the pony who starts singing on three notes.
A sunbeam falls down obliquely into my slightly opened eyes. A surprisingly thin arm comes across this ray of sunlight and passes above my head. I follow it with my eyes. I see the finger resting on one of the small clock’s switches. The little melody stops in the middle of the second note. The arm smells of vanilla.
I open my eyes completely.
Stéphanie’s clear gaze. Slightly veiled under a jumble of hair. Like a sunrise when the spring hasn’t yet arrived definitely.
Or maybe the mist is in my own eyes.
Stéphanie smiles silently.
Holds her hand out to me, palm up, across the bed.
I put my hand on this hand, which is opened like a gift to say good morning.
And I squeeze it, it’s so soft and it nestles in the palm of my hand.
I close my eyes on its warmth.
I become nothing but my hand in Stéphanie’s hand.
When I open my eyes again, after an eternity of well-being, Stéphanie is still smiling amid the waterfall of her curls.
I have to go to school Stéphanie says.
Stay still Stéphanie says I am going to prepare breakfast.
I nestle in her place where some of her warmth and the scent of vanilla still linger.
My eyes are closed very tightly in order to be like a little kid again.
And I go back to my dream in progress It’s made of waves and warm hair I am so deeply into it that the voice calling me, a voice with air moving around the words, must insist for me to come out of the dream and it’s my turn to come out of my dream, limp like a sea anemone that lets the currents move her and that gets stranded.
There is also the smell of coffee and I cannot resist it. A coffee that I have not prepared. That is steaming hot and waiting for me on the little table.
Good morning Stéphanie says.
You look funny in this outfit Stéphanie says.
Automatically, I pull the sides of the wrinkled Indian shirt tightly against the top of my thighs.
Stéphanie’s laughter brightens the radiant morning that starts to warm up the window even more.
I adore you Stéphanie says, but I also like hot coffee.
I stagger from the bed to the armchair f
eeling deeply happy and exhausted.
Are you cold? Stéphanie says.
Oh no. I feel so good it’s incredible.
I dive into the coffee with my slice of buttered bread. It has never been like this since the time I left Mamie’s home.
I tell Stéphanie that I’m regressing into childhood and also that she’s going to be late for school if we start to chat.
Between two sips of coffee she explains what I must do with the key after my shower if I absolutely want to go home.
And if you clean up this house before you go, I won’t talk to you anymore.
Stéphanie is whistling in the shower. Her whistling and the water stop at the same time.
Stéphanie puts her clothes on, her curls are in order, her skin still slightly damp, her school satchel in her hand. Much more like a schoolgirl than a teacher. And she gives me a strong kiss somewhere between neck and cheek. And the contact of her skin is already so familiar to me that it shocks me.
Please Stéphanie says. Please, come back….
And it’s really if I want to, and these aren’t empty words, I understood perfectly well.
Because of the dog Stéphanie says. If you still want a dog. We’ll have to go pick one out.
At four-thirty Stéphanie says, do you want to?
I want to. I want everything: the dog and Stéphanie. And I barely wonder by what bizarre alchemy these two unconnected elements have become inseparable. I think I have a slight headache.
I say yes to Stéphanie’s smile and to the wind made by the closing door.
Translated by Janine Ricouart
Cristina Peri Rossi
These two tales by the Uruguayan writer Cristina Peri Rossi represent a narrative voice very different from others in this collection. A respected lesbian-feminist writer in Latin America and Europe, Peri Rossi was forced into exile from her country in 1972 and now lives in Spain. The collection Forbidden Passion (Una pasión prohibida: 1986), from which these tales are drawn, combines satire, the surreal, parable, and fable; the stories bear witness to the centrality of desire in human existence. Human beings, says Peri Rossi in her introduction, are “arrows shot out in time and space to catch the impossible.” In the first selection, frustration over the human condition is such that it turns the Final Reckoning on its head. In the second selection, the creative spirit—marginalized or exiled—is embodied in a mysterious female voice whose persistence testifies to the tenacity of art and the human need for expression however solitary the setting, however “unheard” the song.
