by Pablo Tusset
I lay face up for a bit and once my breathing stabilised I asked her if she minded spending five more minutes in bed, just enough time to smoke a cigarette. She said all right and asked me for a cigarette, a light cigarette if I had one. I rummaged through my pants, found the pack of Fortunas, handed her one and lit it for her. Then I lit a Ducados and returned to the bed.
‘Happy?’ she asked.
‘Like a king. If we wait a little, I’ll do it again.’
‘Right. That’ll be another twenty-five.’
‘Another twenty-five? Come on, we’re already here – you’re better off negotiating a good price and repeating with me than going out to the street and looking for someone else.’ She lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling. Then she took a drag off the Fortuna.
‘All right. I’ll leave it at twenty.’
‘But all I’ve got left is fifteen. And I have to catch a cab home after.’
‘Well, if you want, put on a condom and I’ll suck you off for ten.’
‘I don’t like getting sucked off.’
‘Really? That’s kind of weird …’
‘Yeah, I guess I’m sort of a pervert. Come on: another fuck for ten?’
‘Forget it: twenty. You can take the metro home. If you don’t have enough I’ll give you some loose change for the ride.’
‘I haven’t taken the metro in years. It depresses me.’
‘Don’t start and try to take advantage of me now … I’m not a sister of charity, you know? I already gave you a discount before, and now I’m doing it again.’
Ah, who cared. A ride on the metro can’t be that bad if you’re riding well-fucked. I accepted the second round for twenty. We finished the cigarette, I hugged her, she hugged me, she rested her cheek against my chest, we rubbed up against each other for a bit and repeated. Almost exactly the same as before, although this time it was much more relaxed, now that I had been liberated of the intense urgency to ejaculate. We smoked another cigarette after it was over. Less than half an hour had gone by, but it was still enough time to lazily surrender to the post-coitus ritual. This time around she used the bidet, soaping up her cunt from her pubis down to her arsehole, keeping her back to me the whole time. I had to light another cigarette and look away from her so as not to start getting hard all over again. Then, as she got dressed, I went back to the sink for another little spray of water. She waited for me to finish and then I paid – that was when I realised that she hadn’t asked for the money up front, which is standard operating procedure in this kind of encounter. With that, we left the hotel together.
We said our goodbyes outside the hotel.
‘Well. If you come around again, now you know. Gloria. Ask around for me, I’m usually about at this time of night.’
‘It’s a shame you caught me so low on cash … I’ll definitely come back to see you sometime,’ I said, even though I knew I never would – the next time around I’d most likely avoid her, in fact. Not a good idea to fuck the same woman twice: the libido has a shocking propensity for developing fixations.
I suppressed my desire to kiss her, even just on the cheek. So I just gave her a goodbye wink and went on my way up the Ramblas, in a vastly improved mood. I was already making my way to the Atarazanas metro stop when I realised that it had to be after seven: I could take a cab to the office and ask for the fare at the reception desk. Maria controls the cash box, and Maria is always on my side.
I used the cab ride to formulate a plan. First, before going to bed, I would load the washing machine and get it cranking. If the auction with Kiko Ledgard and Lady First was going to be the next day, I would need some clean clothes. Then, I’d call the telephone company wake-up service to ensure that I would be awake early enough to set my plan into action. And then I would have to get some sleep: something told me I had a long battle ahead of me. Of course, there was no way I could have known that right then, as I rode back home, happy as a newborn pup after fulfilling his fertility rites, someone was beating my Magnificent Brother to a pulp.
THE BLACK BEAST
I woke up without a hangover, to the sound of the telephone ringing. ‘Twelve o’clock, one minute, ten seconds …’ I heard when I picked up the receiver. For having scarcely slept four hours, I felt pretty well-rested, far better than I expected to feel. The only thing I remembered from my last dream was a mere replay of my episode in the bar with the hooker, although in the dream my hotel companion was a lovely lady fishmonger from the Boquería market. It appeared that for some time I had been trying to penetrate my mattress, without success. This is a very frustrating experience, one which I don’t think women can quite understand; it’s something like trying to get your arm into a jacket sleeve and not being able to. Just take out the arm and replace it with a prick, which is far more delicate and ends up getting hard as a red pepper what with the rough friction of the fabric. Those mattress manufacturers ought to be a little more sensitive to this issue – the puncture-resistance of their products could do some severe damage to someone’s orthodontial work. In any event, the dream left a nice taste in my mouth, and I was in a fine mood what with the scent of summer in the air, mixed in with the sound of the traffic down below, transporting me back to the days when twelve noon meant something else entirely, when it was the heart and soul of a day that began so very much earlier.
The washing machine had long since finished its cycle. Before doing anything else, I hung the clothes so that they would have as much time as possible to dry. Then I had a breakfast of coffee and milk – no croissants, no butter – and smoked my first joint of the day in the living room. I took the second one with me into the toilet, and I smoked the third one as I drank my coffee, back in the living room. Once I felt I had a grip on my plan for the day, I looked in my wallet for The First’s phone number and punched it in.
‘Gloria? It’s Pablo. Any news?’
‘No. I’ve been standing by the phone all day but no, nothing.’
‘Can I come and see you?’
‘Yes, of course. Why, is something wrong?’
‘I’ve got a few ideas. Do you have any money in the house?’
‘Well … I don’t know. Yes, I suppose I have some. If not I can send Veronica out to the cash machine.’
‘Right. What time can we meet?’
‘Whenever you want, I’m not going anywhere. Merche isn’t going to school today and I’ve called Veronica to help me out.’
My bourgeois weaknesses breathed a sigh of relief: my Adorable Niece and Nephew were safe and sound at home. We agreed that I would stop by before lunch. As I hung up the phone I tried to think up some old wives’ trick for drying shirts, and wondered how long it could take. What if I stuck it in the oven? I decided to shelve the problem for later and instead punched my parents’ phone number without thinking much. Sometimes a bit of improvisation helps to sharpen one’s lying abilities.
Beba answered the phone.
‘Look who’s calling! Don’t tell me you’re missing us already …’
‘I always miss you, hot stuff. Is my mother around there somewhere?’
‘Yes, she’s at the computer working on her French. Should I tell her it’s you?’
‘Please.’
I waited a bit and after a few seconds my Mother’s Highness got on the line. She seemed to be in a good mood.
‘Bon zhour, com on talley-vou?’
‘Hi, Mom.’
‘Mercee bo koo. Zhe swee tre contant pas ku etu dee le fransais.’
‘Etudie, Mom, in this case you would say that you like to study, in present continuous.’
‘But didn’t you learn Canadian French? You have such a ghastly accent. Let’s see: say “ronard.”’
‘Ronard.’
‘Don’t you see: that’s very Canadian. You talk as if you had a bubble in your mouth. You should never have spent so much time in … where was it that you went?’
‘I don’t know, Mom. I was in a lot of places. Listen, how is Dad doing?’
‘Don’t remind me. I actually managed to forget about him for a while.’
‘What’s up …’
‘What do you mean, what’s up? What’s up is that Mr Miralles is in a horrible mood. Hor-ri-ble. You can’t imagine how unbelievably stubborn he can be … well, of course you know, but today he’s really outdone himself. For two days now he’s had me locked up in this house. Says that if I so much as cross the threshold he will stop speaking to me, just like that. Those are his exact words. Oh, and that’s not all: he refuses to let Eusebia out as well.’
‘Well, be a little patient, all right?’
‘Hostages. That’s what we are: hos-tages. I had to send the kitchen maid out to do my shopping. But rest assured, I plan on going out this afternoon, no matter what he says. And if he stops speaking to me, that’s just fine. Really. Lately he has been acting simply ludicrous …’
‘Don’t worry …’
‘Lud-i-crous. Would you believe that this morning I caught him in the library fiddling with his rifle? That clever man tried to hide it behind his back, like a little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Can you just picture it? Your father, in his pyjamas, trying to balance a crutch in one hand while hiding a two-and-a-half-metre rifle behind his back? Pathetic. What with all of this, of course, I had to call Doctor Caudet, who tells me this is normal – I mean, really. Normal. He said that if your father gets too nervous I should give him a Valium and take one myself, too.’
‘So, fine. Let him take one and then …’
‘Oh, no, no. I already tried that. But he refuses. I brought a pill and a glass of water to the library, and you wouldn’t believe how disgusting he was. You know, the old “what’s that you’ve got there” with that bulldog face of his, and me, “well, what do you think, Valentín? A Valium and a bit of mineral water.” “Well, I absolutely won’t take it,” he said, “so you can just take it right back to the kitchen.” I mean, the kitchen, for heaven’s sake …’
‘All right, all right, don’t go flying off the handle. Dr Caudet already told you this was normal. What you need to do is just try not to get him worked up. And if he doesn’t want you to leave the house, be a little understanding and stay in. I know it’s a drag, but it’ll only be for a few days. All right?’
‘Pablo José. What on earth has gotten into you? Are you in on this, too? Don’t tell me you’re taking this paranoia seriously?’
‘No, but …’
‘Oh, no? And since when have you ever found it useful or interesting to obey your father’s wishes?’
‘Mom, just listen …’
‘Right, right. Of course, it’s a good idea to indulge your father’s flights of lunacy just because he’s sprained his ankle and refuses to admit that he was completely distracted as he walked down the street …’
‘Mo-om …’
‘… because I’m sure that’s what happened. He didn’t see the car that was manoeuvring around and he walked straight into it, as if he meant to. Do you know that lately I’ve caught him trying to sneak little peeks at the young ladies that pass him by on the street? Yes, I kid you not. Last Sunday as we were coming back from Mass he practically walked into a lamppost. It pains me to say it, Pablo José, but your father is turning into a dirty old man. A dirty old man. But, of course, no: Mr Valentín Miralles refuses to admit that he got distracted while inspecting some young lady’s décolletage. No, no – Valentín Miralles, distracted? No, that couldn’t be! If he got hit by a car it had to be because someone meant to hit him.’
‘Mom. Wait, wait a second. There’s something you don’t know.’
That sure stopped her in her tracks. My mother always wants to be in on everything.
‘Oh, really? And pray tell, just what is it that I know nothing about?’
I hesitated a moment, as if I didn’t know quite what to say.
‘I can’t tell you.’
‘Pablo José: I order you to tell me what is going on here, immediately, or I am going to have a fit! Eusebia,’ she called out, ‘bring me a Valium and a bit of water please. Quickly, or else I might faint. Now Pablo José,’ she said, turning her attention back me, ‘please do me the favour of an explanation. Right now.’
‘It’s nothing, Mom, really. I don’t want you to get nervous …’
‘Oh, no? Well, if it’s nothing, then why won’t you tell me? Answer me that.’
‘Because I can’t. I don’t want Dad to know I told you.’
‘When have I ever told your father anything?’
‘All right. Okay … Is he around here somewhere?’
‘No. He’s in the library. You can talk.’
This was where I began to improvise upon the plan in my head.
‘You’ll understand when I explain, it has to do with something from way back. Do you remember a company called Fincas Ibarra?’
‘No.’
That didn’t surprise me. I had just spotted the name on a jar of mayonnaise that I had left on top of my refrigerator the other day. I could just barely make out the label from where I was in the living room. Good thing I didn’t buy Kraft.
‘As you may recall, Fincas Ibarra is a small real estate outfit. Remember when Dad began to invest in apartment buildings?’
‘Pablo, I have no idea. Your father invests in absolutely everything, don’t confuse me with details.’
‘Well, the point is that Ibarra took him to court, several times. You don’t remember any of those proceedings?’
‘Remember? For ten years the entire world tried to take us to court, I can’t imagine what was going on – all I remember is that we were getting calls from lawyers at every hour of the day and night.’
‘Well, the Ibarra people tried to sue Dad. And at the end of the day they lost. Apparently Dad rented apartments through third parties in a number of Ibarra buildings that seemed to be in particularly bad shape. He hired a technical team to go over them with a fine-tooth comb and once they had sufficient evidence, he sued the owners for not complying with all the regulations and codes for residential buildings. The Ibarra company was declared guilty, couldn’t appeal the verdict, and auctioned off the majority of their buildings at rock-bottom prices, and eventually folded with a pile of unpaid bills to boot. Naturally Dad bought the majority of those buildings and ended up making money off the deal. Don’t ask me how, but he earned back all the money he’d invested in his technical research and made a hefty profit when he sold them off, for way more money than he’d paid.’
‘Don’t even tell me … I don’t know how on earth your father always manages to make money with his schemes. Juan Sebastian takes after him that way. You, on the other hand, resemble him much more physically. And you’re just as stubborn, too … although, well, in that respect, all three of you are exactly the same. Now, perhaps you can tell me what all of that has to do with not letting me and Eusebia out of the house?’
My little introduction had worked perfectly, for it calmed her down with all those confusing details. I should note that they were not all inventions, strictly speaking: I had once heard FH spouting off about some pretty similar deals, and so it wasn’t all that hard to come up with a story that was somewhat based in reality. All I had to do now was finish it off, but that was no problem, I had warmed up pretty well by then.
‘So you see, Ibarra ended up in jail. And after Dad aired all his dirty laundry, even more of his shady deals came to light: extortion, Social Security fraud, and who knows what else. They gave him ten years. He only served two, and in a low-security jail at that, but he took it pretty hard and blamed Dad for everything he went through. He swore he’d get Dad back as soon as he could, and as it turns out, he was released about five years ago. Now he has several different companies, all in his wife’s name. You’re following me?’
‘Yes, I follow you, but that rude man’s business dealings are of no interest to me, frankly.’
If my Mother’s Highness considered Ibarra rude, it meant she had swallowed the bait. F
or MH, cheating the Social Security system is terribly unseemly. Something like putting one’s elbows on the table.
