by KUBOA
Ricardo loved walking down this portion of Asquith Avenue, when business was done for the day and the city was dim and quiet. There were stirrings down side streets and inside the windows of trendy restaurants. Banners suspended from street-lamps were flapping in the breeze. The festival wasn’t for another week but the city was already preparing itself. The evening’s spattering of drunken sixteen year-olds and homeless vets was being replaced by yuppies and Australian adventurers. Ricardo looked at his hands and absent-mindedly followed the small crevices back to the crease of each wrist. His hands had become so rough that cliffs of skin jutted out over the cracks making the crevices seem as deep as trenches. Sometimes he would stick toothpicks into these fissures; he was always surprised that he felt no pain.
“Hello, Ricardo!” A voice from across the street interrupted.
Ricardo turned to discover his friend and fellow expatriate, Manuel. Manuel had the ruddy exterior of a South American worker down to a tee; his skin was brown-red, like the hide of a buffalo, his shoulders were about as wide as he was tall, which gave his five foot three-inch stature an imposing power. His wrinkled face suggested experience well beyond his thirty two years, he claimed this was due to a lineage of Sintola cartel in his family, which both disgusted him and inflated him with pride. Manuel’s father died in mysterious circumstances a decade ago and his mother soon followed from heartbreak and fear.
“No one dies of fear in Canada.” Manuel said once, he said that’s why he came.
“You working this year, man?” Manuel asked, as they hadn’t seen each other in awhile because Ricardo tended to keep to himself.
Manuel gave Ricardo’s arm a friendly tap.
“Yes, every year.” Ricardo answered.
“Did you go back to the same?” Asked Manuel.
“Yes, third year. They like me there.” Ricardo replied.
“Come on man, I am on my way to meet Jose and his sister.” Manuel laid special emphasis on his sister.
The enigma of Jose’s sister had invaded conversations between the two men for months, neither man had ever met her. Ricardo accepted the invite, he didn’t need to think about it long, and it had been awhile since he had a woman.
…Twenty Minutes Later...
Sweaty Betty’s is a perfect dive; perfect in every way: quiet, moody, dark and comfortably inexpensive. Ricardo and Manuel felt at ease there. Jose grabbed a booth under a faux-stag head decorated with Christmas lights. He was a large, handsome man and a loyal friend, but Ricardo and Manuel were always a little intimidated by Jose despite his tenacity as a friend, mostly because they were always a little jealous of him.
Jose had hair on his chest, but not too much. He was slightly taller than most, but not too much and prided himself on a mouth full of white teeth, but not too white. His alpha maleness eclipsed any charm that Ricardo could muster. He had the Latin man thing down to an art, and most women are art lovers by Ricardo’s estimation. In the darkest part of the booth sat what looked like a woman, the shadow of the stag made her face barely perceptible.
“Hello, my friends. Always on time my friends, you work too much. You must make us wait, it will intrigue Juliet.” Jose smiled slowly and looked at the shadow in the corner.
She must have been smiling too because Ricardo could see the reflection of the table candle bouncing off a gold eye tooth.
“Mystery is good in a man.” Jose laughed and winked at the dark corner.
“Yes, good.” She laughed at her brother.
“Sit, sit, my friends. But beware, she has clairvoyance.” His pointed in the direction of his sister and the light reflected off his teeth when he laughed.
“The heat gave me a gift.” It was the voice of a very old woman, a centurion, but the arm that emerged out of the darkness was young, slender and full of freckles.
“I’ll get beer.” Manuel disappeared toward the bar.
“Juliet, see what you’ve done.” Jose scolded her.
Juliet laughed and the flame flickered off her gold tooth. Her face was in half-darkness, only one eye was visible and it showed a bright white around the iris.
“Ricardo, tonight is a special night, do you know?” Jose asked.
“No, how would I know? Manuel just found me walking on-“ Ricardo replied, he was used to Jose’s questions.
“We knew you would come.” Juliet said.
“What?” Said Ricardo.
“I knew you were coming like my great uncle knows when the rain is coming; a pain in the knees.” Juliet said.
She laughed again, lighter now, more knowing and she continued, “my knees are like the hinges on a shutter; creaking in a storm and keeping you awake at night.”
“Juliet, right? Ricardo.” He put his hand to his chest as if to identify himself in case there was any confusion, the gesture embarrassed him.
“Yes, I heard my brother say it,” she said.
Ricardo presented his hand at an awkward angle.
“No”, she laughed and wrapped two hands around Ricardo’s neck pulling him toward her.
“I am of the old ways.” She kissed him on the cheek with her lips parted enough to leave a streak of saliva. Ricardo didn’t notice the cigarette in her hand until the heat of the lit end was close to his ear. She exhaled in his ear and he felt the smoke curl up the side of his head.
Ricardo was relieved when Manuel saddled up to him with a large glass of beer.
“Like camel piss on a trek through the Sahara.” Jose licked the froth from his top lip.
Manuel was squirming inside the booth, drinking his beer with both hands wrapped around the glass and doing his best to avoid all contact with the corner occupied by Juliet. This was not unusual behavior for Manuel, he typically lost his cool around women, he said their scent drove him crazy. He had a gift for primality, a word that Ricardo coined when accidentally using it in place of brutality, but it fit Manuel to a tee. The man responded to smells and quick movement with the instincts of a wildcat but in an effort to civilize himself Manuel often cloaked his animal instincts with chatter. His lips curled, smiled, opened and closed incessantly while his nervous but expressive eyes struggled to keep up the game. He sucked his beer down with incredible speed and laughed at his own gluttony as his bouncing knee hit the under side of the table.
“Yeah, camel piss. I heard once, it’s not so good to drink, I mean in the desert. I heard, actually, that maybe you can drink your own piss, but that is not too good. The ammonia or salt, something, it will kill you actually, you know. You know the best thing to have, the best thing to have in the desert is a mirror. If you’re stranded in the desert, the best thing is a mirror, to call for help with the light. The light is reflected, to call a plane. Best thing to have anywhere really there is light. Right?” He laughed uncomfortably and continued on in this way for awhile.
Ricardo should have followed through with his friendship and cut Manuel off, but Juliet made his skin crawl and Manuel’s babble gave Ricardo an excuse to ignore the gleam of her tooth.
“Your nerves are getting the better of you.” Juliet’s voice interrupted each man’s thoughts.
“How long are you here? Visiting your brother?” Ricardo mustered his courage and met Juliet’s eye.
“I stay for as long as I am needed.” She reached toward Jose, who recoiled into the booth.
Jose’s sister’s extended arm completely deflated his masculine prowess.
Her arm looked elastic, disproportionally large next to Jose’s cowered form. The freckles scattered and reconvened, faded and reappeared at will. Ricardo thought he could see faces, like looking in the clouds for shapes, suggestions of fantastical creatures and things.
…One Hour Later...
They took comfort in small talk, with an occasional cryptic remark from Juliet that silenced the banter and forced the men into introspection. Some old jazz tune played while Jose described a scene from one of his recent exploits. Their faces dim and their voices subdued, they tried to overcome the pre
ssure of being watched from the corner. Freckles on brown skin danced around Ricardo’s mind like sugar plums before Christmas. Both of the men could feel the evening wearing on in their bodies and an achy sleepiness massaged their muscles, but it was a sleepiness that could at any moment turn into a burst of energy and carry them through the rest of the night; the beer began to do its work. Everyone felt lighter, even Juliet was becoming more human. The bar was a quiet place so the gradual increase in the din of their small talk forced them to think about a move to a nosier location. Manuel was on his feet, shifting weight from one leg to another, swinging his arms around to animate a story about a cousin who had crossed the Canadian border in a makeshift hang glider. “Lies, of course,” thought Ricardo, but Manuel’s enthusiasm never failed to entertain. The bartender glared at them; a little unsettled by their brownness, their worker’s hands, their expressive bodies and their small tips.
They rose from the booth in unison and left single-file . Jose pointed to the right and the ragtag group slowly followed; Ricardo behind Jose, then Manuel and Juliet mingling at the back the one with frightened glances and the other oddly still. Manuel was still prattling on to Juliet about something from his past, a girl or a family legend, possibly a combination of the two, but Juliet maintained her all-knowing grin and kept her eyes locked on Ricardo, he could feel her stare boring through the back of his head. Jose pointed toward a hanging beer sign; a throbbing bass and the chatter of a small crowd emanated from underneath it.
…Five Years Before Canada...
“Are you mine?” Ricardo asked and let the question hang in the air.
“How do you mean?” She asked. He could tell from the tone of her voice that she knew perfectly well what he meant.
“I mean are you only with me, are you mine?” He asked again and felt his body heat up in spite of his conscious effort to stay in control.
“I mean, technically I don’t belong to you or anyone.” She was smart, really smart, much smarter than him.
“Of course not, that’s not what I mean, I hate when you do that. I mean do you belong to me. I need to know is all, that’s all. Otherwise it’s over, it’s nothing, it means nothing.” He raised his hands with open palms and let them fall again.
“What is nothing? I told you I want you and I am with you. What is this? Are you insecure or what happened to you to make you like this? Because you’ve asked me before and I don’t know what to answer. It’s a question of pride too you know? What if I said yes? What would that mean?” She pleaded.
…Canada Late Evening...
Noise was exactly what they needed. Without the burden of communication, they felt more at ease. Juliet became less mysterious on the dance floor, there she was all woman: hips, waist, curves in all the right places, the places that mystify men and have done since the beginning of time: the small of the back that slopes outward to accommodate an ample ass; the soft flesh of the arms that gives a little when pressed up against the torso; the small hill of a belly in front receding toward the base of the ribcage, and the top of the pubis. Ricardo wanted to cuddle up inside this cozy home for future children. Juliet had this hill, but the aura of strangeness about her prevented any man from following through with his instincts and trying to grab one of her slippery curves. Her blue eyes looked black and the gold tooth sparkled as she defiantly grinned here and there occasionally resting a knowing glance at some bystander, her implacable stare always won out and frightened the spectator away.
The music melted any nervous agitation Manuel felt among the fairer sex, he was at home there with the bass bump and the swaying bodies who didn’t ask much from anyone. Juliet teased him, but never got close enough to partner with him never losing her sardonic grin. Everything had a delay, every question Ricardo was asked echoed and pinballed inside his head before he could answer. English became the ugly nonsense it really was; a series of guttural sounds that had no rhyme or reason, totally disorganized and difficult to follow. A few beers was all it took to give him this unearthly buzz.
The bar was dark enough to render the homely attractive and the heinous virtuous. Hot pink lights reflected off the whites in the eyes of photos along the walls, the frames had strange shapes and the pictures inside didn’t have any particular theme: one depicted a 1950’s surfer, another was the face of Greta Garbo with a mustache drawn in, a framed poster of a Monty hung opposite Greta, a tourist picture of Montreal and a Miles Davis’ photo with a forged autograph, all shared the same frame. The pink lights changed to green which gave an evil glow to everything. Everyone looked a little sick and twisted, but it was a late night place and they were all drunk enough to stop caring. The walls vibrated and melted into each other, a haze settled over the remaining crowd and all movement left a trail of itself so what was once a friend’s face became a laughing, unrecognizable creature.
“She wants you.” Manuel leaned over a railing that separated the dance floor from the sitting area and slurred into Ricardo’s ear.
“What?” Ricardo asked.
“She wants to dance with you, man. Take my place, I have to piss.” Manuel disappeared in the direction of the toilet. He was swallowed by a faceless mass and replaced with the trembling image of Juliet.
“Come here.” It said.
The thing reached out and touched Ricardo on the arm and electricity flooded his body. A lightening-like branch extended from her fingers, cut his skin and good bad clashed inside him; that sense of foggy peace left him violently and what replaced a foreboding that wouldn’t take no for an answer. Standing before him was something he couldn’t define, a woman or a demon with a gold tooth, so he danced. He was no Manuel on the dance floor but this new power in him carried him through and denied him nothing but in the midst of this strangeness Ricardo had an oddly practical thought. It struck him that the attentions being paid to him by this awful temptress were peculiar and focused, she didn’t toy with him the way she did with Manuel and was less pointed than she was with her brother. The fact that she touched him alone made him think that he was the chosen one. His timidity usually kept him in a wingman position and tied him to a barstool while Manuel babbled in the direction of the women and Jose charmed them out of their clothes. He was too sensible to get caught up in the games and too independent to get duped he thought he should put up his defenses.
“You want me?” She asked.
She answered him with audible words as if he said it out loud; as if his thoughts left his mouth fully formed and fashioned as a question. The laugh that followed her words echoed inside his ears and seemed to silence the whole bar; the next thing Ricardo knew they were alone: they were in the street. Juliet stood under the light of a streetlamp. The hum of the club was just behind them, he had somehow walked to the door and left it with no knowledge of doing either.
“Did you hear me? I asked do you want me?” She said plaintively.
“Yes, I heard you. But…I think I drank too much. I am allergic to tequila, it makes my tongue swell.” He replied stupidly.
“I have never heard of this allergy. I don’t know what you mean.” She said.
“I am in the street with you and I don’t know how. I was in a bar with other people and now I here?” He stumbled over his words.
“You walked out here. You are very excited.” She said.
“Yes, I drank.” He said.
He was panicking a little, he was drunk after all. Maybe this whole thing was in his head. He spent too much time alone. Silence and practicality, his two old allies, had played a trick on him and rendered him unfit for society so he couldn’t manage the ins and outs of human emotion with the snake-like quality of Jose, or combat it with Manuel’s obstinacy, he could only let it silently eat him alive from the inside out and drive him mad.
“I am nobody.” She said.
A cool breeze sliced through him and brought him back to reality. He was in Toronto Canada, it was about one thirty in the morning, the moon was three quarters full, it was Fr
iday, he was wearing blue jeans and a green sweatshirt with no logos. His hair was a bit oily, his fingernails dirty and his back a little sore. There was a woman-just a woman now-standing across from him in a light with her arms wrapped around herself to keep warm. She had blue eyes, black hair, dark skin, freckles and a gold tooth, she was magnetic, not traditionally attractive. He had two friends inside, two good friends. They had flaws, but they were loyal and they never asked anything of him except his company. He would do anything for them if they asked, but they never did.
“Do you want me?” She asked again.
“No.” He lied.
He turned and walked back inside feeling triumphant. Jose and Manuel were chatting up some semi-attractive white girls at a table. One of the girls was clearly not interested, the other seemed pleased enough that her drinks were being paid for.
“Yeah, I know the neighborhood. Near here, yes? You live alone, you have roommates? Oh, yeah, it’s quiet I bet. You like privacy? I do too. Yes, so you can walk around with no clothes, huh? You don’t? Sorry, don’t be embarrassed. I only say you should try it sometime, you know?” Jose kept his attention focused on his chosen girl. He made her think he had never seen anything like her before, that was the game.
He would go on in this way until she gave in and from the way things looked, he wouldn’t have to do it much longer. Ricardo took his standard position off to the side and listened; he smiled passively at both girls who seemed not to notice him, except to give him that untrusting look that most white women gave him on the street.
Jose winked at Ricardo, “Hey man, can you take care of my sister tonight. Take her home and all that?”
“I don’t know man, I don’t think she’ll…” Ricardo spurted out.
“Come on, she puts up a front, but she’s cool. You’ll see, yeah? Do me this favor. I think you owe me anyway, I think you do.” Jose gave Ricardo a look, he was talking about a small loan Ricardo had yet to pay, but really it was a gift. In any case he only used it to pressure Ricardo in situations like this one. Ricardo wasn’t in the mood, after all he just told the woman he didn’t want her, the thought of spending the evening with someone he rejected was unbearable.
“Don’t pull this with me tonight.” Ricardo said.
“Where is she?” Jose asked.
“Who?” Said Ricardo.
“My sister.” Said Jose.
“I left her outside. We went to get air and I left her outside.” Ricardo replied.
Jose gave Ricardo a look, that brotherly look that can only be interpreted as “What the fuck did you just say?”
“Look man, she’s fine, she’ll come back in soon.” Ricardo responded.
“Go get her.”
Jose got this way in front of women sometimes. Ricardo understood so he obeyed, he knew it was just an act to bag the mousy-haired girl. So Ricardo walked back out into the night. The breeze was taunting a plastic bag stuck to a tree branch and some crickets were chirping somewhere, but nothing else. No Juliet, no other human person anywhere near. He peered down the street in both directions, careful not to miss the shadows, then he checked the bar again, no Juliet.
“Is she back?” Ricardo asked.
“What do you mean?” Said Jose.
“Did she come back in? Is she in the bathroom, or something?” Asked Ricardo.
“No man, not here.” Said Jose.
“Are you sure?” Ricardo reiterated.
Manuel cut in, “We were talking Rick, I didn’t see. She’s stealth and all, so maybe. It’s cool.”
Ricardo had no qualms about entering the ladies bathroom, so he tapped at the door. When there was no answer he let himself in.
“Hello, Juliet? Man in here, anyone?” Ricardo called out.
He squatted to peek underneath the stalls, nothing, no feet, nothing at all. He did the same with the men’s just in case. He passed the table on his way back to the bar, but the others were too engrossed in their discourse to notice him. A bartender with a long ponytail and manicured goat-t was restocking bottles in a cooler.
“Have you seen a girl up here? She has a gold tooth.” Ricardo asked.
“Gold tooth? No, I think I would have noticed.” The bartender replied without looking up.
“She came in with us.” Ricardo explained.
“With you?” The barmen asked.
“Yeah, with us.” Ricardo said.
“I didn’t see a girl with you guys.” He replied.
“What?” Ricardo was incredulous.
“I didn’t see any girl with you guys.”
It was a little strange, but in keeping with the evening, so Ricardo didn’t think anything of it, not any stranger than freckles making pictures and electric women.
“She’s gone.” Ricardo reported back to Jose.
“What?” Jose said and fixed his gaze on Ricardo.
“She’s gone. I don’t know where. I looked. She’s gone.” Ricardo said.
“Well, find her.” Said Jose.
Jose’s face was calm. If he felt brotherly concern he didn’t show it, his sister’s disappearance, which seemed so important to him before, left him cold now. He must have bagged his prey for the evening, so there was no need for show.
“She’s a strange girl, Ricardo, very strange.” Jose said, calmly.
…Three Hours Later...
The cold was biting Ricardo’s flesh and this wasn’t worth killing himself over, he thought. Jose was with the mousy-haired girl and Manuel would have passed out on his couch alone leaving Ricardo to wander the night. He wasn’t tired, he felt very alive, “but the cold does this to a body, it puts it in a crisis state,” he thought. His search was half-assed but he couldn’t stop, he was compelled to keep walking and peek down alleys, around corners, in the doorway alcoves of apartment buildings, inside bars; looking for a person he didn’t know was next to impossible because he had no clues from her personality to act as a starting point. So he wandered endlessly with instinct as a guide until his feet hurt too much to continue, then he found a bench for a quick break. “Only for a minute” he said to himself; thirty seconds later he was asleep.
The dream began as a series of disjointed images. The images were remembered or reborn from buried memories. At first there was an old man with a laughing face sitting on a worn-out couch. The couch used to be orange and yellow, but had faded to puce and brown. It had holes the size of fists where stuffing was climbing out, literally climbing; loose threads inched their way out of each hole like earthworms after a storm. The man was looking at him and away from him at the same time, he seemed to have that kind of circumspect vision that can watch all corners at once. Even when the old man’s eyes were pointed at the floor, Ricardo felt he was under scrutiny. A coffee table blocked Ricardo’s view of the man’s lower legs. It was an ordinary, wooden coffee table. It looked sturdy, made of good, solid oak, but also dated, something that was once a centerpiece for a living room a couple decades ago. On the table lay three large pocket knives with black handles edged in brass; they looked expensive, clean and sharp but not menacing and he wasn’t frightened of them. All of the knives were identical with the exception of distinctive scratches that could have been letters on the handles, the whittling of the letters was amateurish making them illegible. Suddenly the knives started spinning, faster and faster like the hands of an out –of-control clock. All the while the old man watched Ricardo calmly and without comment while he lowered his hand over the spinning knives and grabbed one of the handles. He lifted it off the table and held it aloft . Ricardo saw his reflection in the blade. The old man brought the point of the knife between the spread fingers of his other hand that lay flat on the table. He brought the knife up again and repeated the same morbid action of stabbing the table with Ricardo’s distorted image. The tip of the knife cut away at the table and chips of wood flew out at strange angles occasionally hitting Ricardo who sat on a wooden chair opposite the knife dancing man. Still, Ricardo never felt afraid, he fe
lt he wasn’t meant to feel afraid, only to watch and listen. The knives stopped suddenly, all pointing in the same direction, to the right of the old man then they disappeared into the table. They didn’t disappear all at once-there one minute, gone the next-they were consumed by the table, each knife swallowed sharp point first. Everything went black for a moment, then Ricardo was sitting on the same orange, puce couch in a windowless room. The couch was in better shape, without holes and the colors were more vibrant; the walls of the room were black and the carpet was cheap and rough. Ricardo sat facing a small screen. He looked up to see if he could find a projector, but there was nothing above him. When he looked back down at the screen two actors were standing in front of him, each had one arm lifted in the air and the other pointed toward the empty screen, as if about to begin a private performance. One actor was a small girl dressed as a gypsy, with an ankle-length skirt, a colorful sash, and a white shirt that fell off her boney shoulders. Her feet were extremely dirty, blackened with soot and mud, but the clothes were pristine, ironed even; the contrast annoyed Ricardo. Her eyes were blue and fixed at a point on the wall to the left of Ricardo’s head. The other actor struck him with a haunting familiarity. It was the same image from a painting he had seen somewhere: white tights, little shoes with large, fluffy balls sitting atop, alternating diamonds: black, white, red, blue and green made up the top, while the pants were solid black satin. A large, ruffled neck piece sat underneath the chin. The same ruffles were wrapped around the wrists. The cut of the costume revealed it was a woman, but the pose the actor took was very masculine. Black paint covered her face in the shape of a mask, with upside down red triangles around the blue eyes. Her black hair was shaped into a tight bun that rested on the crown of her head; it was Juliet, but she didn’t seem to recognize him. She stared at the wall opposite the little girl, her eyes fixed on a point. They were performing for him, instructed to keep this pose with their stiff, irregular arms and legs trembling from the tension of standing without support . Their eyes remained glued to the focal points just past Ricardo’s head, they were as intent in their focus as two hawks stalking a distant rodent. They moved backward with short metered steps revealing the screen as if presenting it to him, their arms out like demented Vanna Whites. A projection began and two fast images flashed across the screen in quick succession, he struggled to make them out, but they moved too fast. He got up from the couch and slowly moved toward the screen. An old man’s mouth filled the screen with a toothy smile “It all comes around again,” it said.
He awoke to a ray of sun in his face, a very unwelcome ray, that blinded him and immediately led to a throb in his head that he knew would last the rest of the morning. He didn’t want to forget the dream, he never had dreams or least he never remembered them. This one he remembered exactly, every detail, but he knew that wouldn’t last.
…One Hour Later...
Ricardo stared at the napkin in front of him. He managed to borrow a pen from the waitress and write down what he remembered along with two tiny, rough sketches of the girls. By the time he finished the images in his mind were fuzzy, his description was no more than a confused list of words: couch, puce, alive, knives and so on with ‘old man’s smile’ as the last thing on the list. He had found a diner with one other customer sitting at the counter. His sole companion was pouring sugar into his cup after each sip, then stirring the coffee with a weak twist that made the liquid spill over the edge and onto the counter, the spoon clicked against the ceramic keeping a beat with a pop song that played softly in the background. The waitress brought Ricardo a coffee without being asked; apparently she was used to this morning ritual. The watery black liquid was burned, it left a fuzzy, stinging sensation on the top of Ricardo’s tongue and the first sip fixed his stare, he retreated into a sitting, sleeping wakefulness that amplified the clicking of the ceramic cup next to him. A pair of hips stepped into his line of sight, he recognized them from the night before. There she stood, strange but well-rested. “God damn her,” Ricardo thought. She laughed the laugh.
“It’s early.” She said.
“Yes, very early.” He sipped his coffee and avoided her eyes. She stood and waited.
They both let a moment pass in silent collusion to honor the sacredness of morning.
In the early morning, before the rest of the world wakes up, Ricardo was hyper-sensitive, the drip of a coffeemaker is enough to enliven a response from him, either one of sublimity or rage, but he was free to feel the extreme of both these things, because no spectator was ever around to fetter his basest emotions. A ray of sun hitting a spot of grass that had worked its way through the concrete was enough to send him into a powerful sob. This was the beginning of composition and the beginning of graceful death, both of which made Ricardo feel regret that he hadn’t followed through with anything. Someone had told him that eventually he would have to decide on what it was he was doing otherwise he would never stop wandering unsatisfied and disoriented. He was on the verge of one these moments when Juliet walked into the café and he hated her for disturbing it. When he was disrupted, the potential for composition was lost and cannot be regained. Instead Ricardo thought of his own demise and the stench of his own death, because to be alone is to die alone, and a body that dies alone alerts the world of its passing through smell. Ricardo knew that once you know the smell of death, it never leaves you and it was hard to think of dignity again and any dissatisfaction with life was meaningless.
She slid into the booth and sat looking at him. He hated her, but only because he feared her: she knew this. He could tell by the way she sat still with unabashed eye contact and mocked him with her reserve.
“It wouldn’t have been extraordinary, no loss to you,” she said.
“I don’t want extraordinary.” Ricardo replied.
“But there is something exceptional in a mind that does not need stimulation from another to inspire itself. Don’t you think so?” She asked. Ricardo responded with a look.
“I met a respectable woman who was condemned to die alone because men are animals, but we’re all animals. Do you agree?” She asked this as a real question. She sat in her tranquility, and waited.
“With what?” Ricardo gazed out the window-not uninterested, but dazed, she was goading him and he could feel the hairs at the back of his neck raise in defense.
“That I able to visit your dreams.” She smiled.
Juliet sat looking innocent, as if nothing had just come out of her mouth. The muscles around her eyes relaxed to reveal more of the white, which gave her an innocent, doe-like look. She sat straight, with her body open and ready to receive. Ricardo had an urge to fuck her and kill her at the same time, but mostly he wanted to possess her, he thought it was a strange something in a man that wants to possess something helpless and make it his own, train and tame it into submission until it behaves as it should. But once this was done Ricardo got bored with them and would discard what he created in favor of another challenge. The process wasn’t sustainable, but it was a primal instinct that must have served some purpose. He thought how only the choice to be alone purified these instincts and made him civilized, then he couldn’t hurt anyone and no one could hurt him. Only a retreat into the deeper parts of the psyche, where a human person is neither man, nor woman and only thought reigns would save him. In that place there was no fucking and no killing. All the while his hand shook and he reached across the formica table toward Juliet’s wrist.
...Five Years Before Canada...
“I’ll leave you know.” She had said. “I will eventually leave and that’s it. I mean I can love you, I will, but I can’t promise I won’t change. Everyone is always changing.”
“But you’re making excuses, do you think I’m stupid? I can hear you making excuses. If you don’t want me around, you don’t want me to have you then be done with it. Why are you here?” Ricardo had asked and he could feel the hot tears on the bottom ridge of his eyelids.
“Stop it. It frig
htens me. What is this? What do you want, for me to lie to you?” Her voice became shrill and Ricardo was reminded of the sound of a rook squawking in the winter at his bedroom window.
He paced the room and tried to calm himself with images of peaceful water and laughter, the things she had asked him to think of when he was angry. But it didn’t work, “you’re heartless that is what this is. I give you everything and you feel nothing, you walk away, that’s it. Do you owe me something? You ask and I am expected to say no; altruism and love and bullshit. Yes, you owe me. You’re a spoiled little girl and you owe me.”
She glared at him with a hatred that revealed he had hit the truth of something, but she said nothing.
…Back in Canada...
Juliet and Ricardo walked toward his apartment. She let him take her wrist without resistance and led him outside the diner using her arm as a leash. She told him to get out of this place and she told him where to go. When she spoke to him, that electric fog sensation came back, but he agreed and for some reason he promised, he didn’t know why he felt it necessary to promise but she smiled as if a contract had been signed.
She was like no other woman he had ever met, but yet he was reminded of things all the time with her. He kept thinking of the other one, the one from before.
…Two Hours Later...
Ricardo didn’t have much money, so his first order of business was to collect enough to buy the fare with Juliet. The thought of seeing the desert again thrilled him. He almost forgot how much he missed the dust, the sun and the rocks. He remembered the rocks in the desert fading from one color into the next; from red into grey then white and back again until the granite sinks beneath the surface to continue its progression of colors underground. It was weird to him, this sensation of knowing and not knowing, a totally new feeling. He was following the explicit instructions of a woman he didn’t know or understand, and it didn’t sit well with him, somehow, this creature-woman had found her way under his skin.
But he needed money. Fortunately people owed him; nothing underhanded, just former employers and a friend here and there he had helped out with a loan. If he could collect what he was owed then he thought he would be able to purchase a one-way ticket.
The first call was to Manuel, who owed him about four hundred, a sum that had collected over a short period of unemployment.
“Hello man, recovered?” Ricardo asked.
“No, no, no. Never really. No, man, but what? What happened to you last night?” Manuel replied in a gritty voice that meant he just woke up.
“No, nothing. I went to bed. Sorry to wake you up, but I am calling on business.” Ricardo said.
“Business in the morning?” Manuel said.
“Sorry man, has to be done. I need to collect.” Ricardo said plainly. Otherwise he never would have gotten it out.
“To collect?” Manuel said
“To collect on the loans. I am sorry, time is nothing for friends, I know, but something has come up and you’ve got work now.” Ricardo said, feeling awkward and foolish, “Damn money.” He thought to himself.
“Yeah, yeah, you are right of course, of course. I owe you and its fair, yeah. So, what came up?” Manuel said.
“Travel,” that was the best way Ricardo knew how to explain.
Ricardo broke the silence first, “Just travel. An opportunity came up and I need to travel for it.”
“Yeah, okay,” Manuel said. They knew each other long enough that explanations were superfluous and sometimes annoying, so he left at that. Manuel knew if he pressed Ricardo wouldn’t answer and the moment of understanding would be ruined and broken forever. The conversation was brief. Manuel was at Ricardo’s door in less than two hours with cash in hand. He was as stubborn as a bull and as loyal as a dog; “a good friend to have in a time of need, “ Ricardo told him at the door.
Ricardo saved the most difficult money collection for last, the employers. He feared the red tape, the run-arounds and the ignored calls. The anticipation of these obstacles doubled his surprise when he got an answer on the first call. He was even more surprised when the call only took five minutes. He was told he had a check waiting for him and it had been there awhile. Between the two phone calls, which took all of ten minutes, he had the money. These stupid circumstances gave him confidence, in what- he didn’t know-but somehow money in his pocket made things real.
Ricardo’s relationship to money was a tense one, the question was always how. He hated talking about it, he hated showing it off, he hated having it and hated not having it even more. But it was one of the unfortunate things that he absolutely needed, and his current living situation demanded that he make any sacrifice of dignity to obtain it. Often this sent him into a reverie about how to get it and somehow he always found his way back to organs. What he could live without was always in the forefront of his thoughts. He discovered that the liver can regenerate itself fairly quickly, he only needs one kidney and, were he a woman, he could amass a small fortune by selling off artificially fertilized eggs. But the Chinese believe willpower is stored in the kidneys and Ricardo could not afford to lose his any of that. Assertiveness resides in the liver and Ricardo knew he didn’t have enough of that as it was, so he kept his liver; and he wasn’t blessed with a set of ovaries so the eggs were a dead end; there was nothing for it, he had to work.
…Five Years Before Canada...
“You’re a drug. You’re smell is like a drug.” He pushed his fingers up through her hair and buried his nose her neck.
“Don’t do that,” She admonished. He pulled away. “It tickles,” her voice emitted a soft whine of an excuse.
She was trying to relieve the tension but it didn’t work.
…Canada Back at the Diner...
Ricardo sat on a barstool next to Juliet. The diner was empty and Ricardo distracted himself with watching the grease pop off the flat grill behind the counter. They ordered bacon and scrambled eggs, it came with toast, but he didn’t really want it, so he had forgot what he asked for-wheat, white, didn’t matter anyway. Brownish red bubbles of grease covered the wall behind the grill and a thick layer of the stuff encased the steel ventilation above the stove, the popping and snapping from the stove made new spurts shoot up and splatter on the steel. Juliet was impatient, she squirmed in her stool. She crossed and uncrossed her legs, her skirt inched up the side of each thigh, she squeezed the top of each shoulder with her long fingers and constantly touched her hair. It was unsettling for Ricardo to see her like that; of the two of them, she should be the one with the self-confidence.
“When the eggs come, hurry with them.” She said
“Yeah, okay.” He said
“Otherwise we’ll be late.” She said.
The eggs came and they ate in silence.
...The Night Before...
After Ricardo found the money, she showed up at his door almost on cue. In the midst of their disjointed café conversation he told her where he lived and she came. He remembered her standing in the doorway and waiting with a calm air, like a vampire waiting to be asked into the house. It was tantalizing and Ricardo was surprised at himself because usually the sexual repartee between a man and a woman annoyed him, especially the kind he witnessed between men like Jose and the women Jose used. But this time it seemed right, neither one of them tried to flatter the other, she was there and that was it. So he asked her in and offered her his last beer, apologizing for not having anything else.
“I won’t drink it anyway, so don’t bother.” She said.
“Do you mind if I drink it?” Ricardo asked.
“No. What’s yours is yours.” She said.
Ricardo cracked open the beer and took a swig. He tried to make it look like he drank more than he did and he felt stupid; he wasn’t a drinker, but he wanted to appear a man.
“You don’t like beer?” She asked.
“Not really.” He said
“So, tomorrow we’ll buy a ticket, okay?” She said, matter-of-fact.
>
“Yeah, okay.” He said.
He was getting tired and he knew if they discussed much more he wouldn’t have the energy to sleep with her, so he didn’t ask questions and didn’t argue; “Okay, buy a ticket, okay get some eggs and go on an enigmatic journey, whatever as long as you are in my bed,” he thought.
“I can’t be alone there you know? I need you to be there with me. Can you understand?” She said.
“What about your brother?” He asked. She smiled but said nothing.
“He can’t come with you?” He said.
“No, I didn’t come here for him.” She said.
“Why do you talk to me like that?” He asked.
“You understand, you just play the fool.” She said.
The kiss was painful and glorious, heavy and ephemeral at the same time. Her lips could have been the size of the South American continent or as small as the beak of a pigeon, Ricardo couldn’t tell either way. If he analyzed it too much he would lose himself completely, so instead he kneeled in front of her, positioned himself between her legs and put his hands on the small of her back. His pinky finger touched her skin, this sent a rattling sensation up his arm. Her skin was as hot as coals, he felt like he just touched a stovetop and he wanted to pull away, but he didn’t. He pulled her hips toward his torso. She held his face in her cupped hands and leaned her head in taking his bottom lip in her teeth and biting hard.
....Back to the Next Morning...
They sat in silence eating eggs. Ricardo was never into hard drugs but he heard the come-downs are rough, he thought this must be what it feels like; to sit civilly with a girl you just fucked and eat eggs in silence as if she is unable to forgive him for what he just did and what he was about to do. She ate her eggs with zeal, taking big forkfuls up to her lips and shoving them down her throat. Her throat curved like the back of a snake that just swallowed a rat as she pushed them down. Her fork clanged against the plate each time she went back for more, she wasn’t a dainty woman.
“What are we going to be late for?” Ricardo asked.
Juliet looked at him and ate, Ricardo followed suit. He didn’t like to be ordered around, but his curiosity was getting the better of him.
“I need to tell my boss.” He said.
“Uh-huh.” She said, with her mouth full.
“I haven’t called him yet.” He said.
“Then do it.” She said.
“Later. When I want.” He said. It was a weak way to assert himself but he had to do something.
...One Hour Later...
His boss said it was slow and he didn’t need him right now anyway. It was good timing, etcetera. This surprised Ricardo, given the time of year; summer was usually the best time for work but it was unseasonably cool. Juliet was getting more and more antsy, wandering to and fro across the apartment floor, picking up things and inspecting them, obviously uninterested, but making an effort to dispel some of her nervous tension. Ricardo didn’t know how to help her, so he packed his bag.
He was methodical. He neatly stacked every white undershirt, all of them ironed and folded, then he folded underwear and socks-the underwear was also ironed. He packed one pair of jeans and two pair of loose- fitting pants-one beige and one black. He would regret black pants in the desert but there was no time to shop. He laid all his toiletries out in a row, only after they had been cleaned, then he placed them in individual pockets of a traveling case. Juliet didn’t laugh knowingly or tease him. She stopped pacing suddenly.
“Let’s leave now.”
“Where are we going?” Ricardo asked.
“We are late already.” Juliet replied.
“But the flight doesn’t leave for another ten hours.”He said
“Not the flight. We have to get away now, for the moment is all.” She said.
...Fifteen Minutes Later...
Ricardo couldn’t see properly because of the sun setting in front of them. It blinded them with its reflection and all he could make out were the outlines of dumpsters, buildings, streetlamps and people-some were fat and some were thin-but the sun blocked out all other distinguishing features. He was shielding his eyes and squinting when he was hit from behind. He couldn’t see who his assailant was , but he felt the impact; they hit him on the legs first, then the back. At first he thought it was a lead pipe, but the sound made him change his mind: it was a baseball bat, the dull thud of wood and the lack of vibration gave it away. The pain was like nothing he ever felt before, it radiated through him and shook everything, but the intensity of it cancelled out any effort at sound. After a few seconds he saw a shadow walk away. He was left there, bruised, but not so badly that he couldn’t stand, or think, or even cry out for help. They, or he, for it looked like a man, only hit him in places that could take the force: the back, the buttocks, the thicker portion of the legs. No one checked his pockets, insulted him, or said anything. He stared ahead into the sun and things started moving, like out a train window. The world passed him by, open countryside in the dark and he saw a set of blue eyes, childlike with inquiry, the girl from his dream. He held his sides and shut his eyes. The sensation of moving faster and faster, spinning through his mind’s eye and making him dizzy with his eyes closed.
Juliet whispered in his ear “Your body twitches, you’ve swallowed your own bile and the bones clink together, the muscles are loose rubber-bands dangling in deformed shapes around a newspaper , holding the delicate pages together that might otherwise blow away. This is what it feels like, life, life is pain, ache, unspeakable brutality, the desire to hurt, a small violence inside a child. What does it feel like?”
“They’re gone. You can get up now.” She said
Juliet was still there, watching and everything went black.
…Four Years Earlier...
He thought of the other one.
He threw the lamp toward her hard but it didn’t break. It hit the wall with a clump and fell to the ground. Then he threw the mattress and it bounced but landed against the wall at an angle on top of her making a shield. He felt like his strength was boundless and uncontrollable. He didn’t hate her, in fact, he loved her so much he hated himself.
She was crying softly. She didn’t scream or beg or protest, he wanted to be provoked so he wouldn’t feel guilty later, but she didn’t do that either. She huddled herself against the wall with her knees to her chest and tried to stifle the sounds that forced their way from her mouth, little whimpers and chokes came from behind the mattress. Ricardo could feel the pangs of regret and resentment for the weak already building inside.
…Canada Four Years Later...
Ricardo stared at the blank wall in front of him, “Hospital waiting rooms must be the same all around the world,” he thought. Juliet was calm; she sat smiling at him from the row of chairs on the other side of Ricardo.
“What are you smiling at?” He asked.
“Your face is okay. They didn’t hit your face.” She said.
“No, why not?” He asked plaintively.
“Wouldn’t have been worth it.” She said
“Ah.” He said.
“Besides, that’s not the point.” She said.
“Isn’t it?” He said.
“No it’s not.” She said.
She crossed her legs. He could just make out the rippling of cellulite on either side of her thighs, where her legs bulged from underneath her skirt. Her hands were motionless on her lap and her face looked like she was about to tell a joke.
“What?” Ricardo asked.
“Nothing, I am somewhere else, is all.” She said.
She got up, abruptly kissed him on the head and waved goodbye.
“See you back at your place.” She said.
He didn’t ask why, he didn’t care, he wanted her gone. He watched her hips shake as she walked down the hall and noticed two doctors who weren’t immune to them either. Strange that men who see the worse parts of bodies all day would still be attracted to them, he thought. At the end of t
he hall a little brown girl ran up to Juliet, grabbed her hand then they both turned the corner.
