Something similar happened to the next guests to greet Dr. Seeman. Well, that’s how it seemed, but afterwards we found out that it was only the people who had eaten the brownies. The point is that the electronic board went on announcing more donations. The tombola drum was getting fuller and fuller and the donors were gyrating around it in a circle. Dr. Seeman stayed in his chair, even when there was no one in line.
The only good thing was that the chairwoman didn’t eat any brownies and so was able to keep her calm. She went back up to the podium for the most important act of the night. The slips of paper with the nominees for the donation had all the usual categories: street children, mothers with AIDS, old prostitutes, and people with mental handicaps. Before the voting started, another woman from the committee whispered something in the chairwoman’s ear so that she could pass it on to the other guests. What she said was more or less that it wasn’t really fair to give the money to any of the groups because, despite the fact that they might help some particular victim, others would still be in the shit. But it would also, she said, be unfair to us, because we’d have to go on seeing the ones who remained in poverty. Then what she proposed was to give everyone the chance to feel better about themselves.
The idea was to create a center for appearance and good manners for the less privileged groups. It would be easier for them to bear their misfortune if they were clean, well-groomed, perfumed, and dressed in the residents’ cast-off clothes. They could also have a bit of training in how to talk properly so that they would have better manners when they were begging. Almost everyone dancing in the circle voted in favor of the new proposal. The tombola drum continued to rotate, as if it was happy too, and everyone there joined together again in shouting even more loudly the slogan of the night: Helping is so nice! Helping is so nice!
How far am I willing to go to continue hiding? Maybe I should say something to Nelly. She’d be sure to understand. And if I do tell her? That would mean my downfall. I bet the ones before me enjoyed her for hour after hour. It was only natural. I was really lucky today, but I should try to find less drastic ways of covering up. I was frightened by the permanent blindness, by not being able to see Nelly or anyone else. I’ve got to get through to the end of the campaign, come what may.
Pascual is surprisingly brilliant. Configurations speak to him in another language. When he suggested that thing with the chocolate brownies, I thought it was crazy. I imagined women throwing up, foaming at the mouth. Panic attacks. Everyone would know it was us. I envisioned Taimado arresting me. The fantasy only stopped when he started searching Sao. I don’t know what they added to the mix, but the dose was perfect. Dr. Seeman’s visit was the ideal element for taking things over the threshold. He acted as an unwary guru.
My father was right to despise his body in that way. It encapsulated all the truths he fled from during his life. His theoretical framework was just a defense. I hope, some day, I can feel sorry for him. For those couple of hours, I had it all clear. Pity it was because of the brownies. How do we get those permanently buried things to come to the surface? They’d need to be translated into language. The dance would have to be spoken in words.
I can see now I’m fucked. There’s no going back. No way out. For me, that would be like entering all over again. How could it be any different? Any political action on a grand scale has the same objective: denying to the point of annihilation the certainties that pulse in the body. Life is an unbearable threat to life. Our age considers itself the most liberated ever. But it’s no coincidence that it’s also the one putting most effort into denying the body, stifling it with goals, objects, and personas. It’s a matter of drowning out the pulse with a slogan.
As I was witnessing the event, it became clear to me that the essence of philanthropy is hypocrisy. It’s like creating a gold statue dedicated to a thief who’s giving back part of his booty. And each and every time it’s defended by the same quandaries: would you prefer all those people not to have medicines? Something’s better than nothing. If everyone adds his grain of sand…The same recycled claims: a little hunger is preferable to a raging thirst. Who’s going to argue with photos of mutilated children? The result is to make any kind of meaningful discussion about its lasting impact impossible. If you donate a coin toward paying off the community’s huge debt, it counts as the equivalent of exactly nothing. In contrast, if you construct a hospital without doctors or medicines that can, in any case, only take in a minute percentage of those in need, lots of photos have to be taken. If I get to be president of the board, I’m going to take two measures. The first is that donations won’t be tax deductible, so they have to fork out real money, not just what they have to pay to the community anyway. The second, to prohibit making donations public. Then we’ll see just how great their generosity is.
The pepper gas really frightened me. It was as if a thousand burning maggots were devouring my face. And my eyes. Blindness again. Past experience told me my sight would eventually return. But this time I wasn’t so sure. The Black Paunch who sprayed me was high as a kite: he must have eaten quite a few of the brownies. It was easy to provoke him into reacting. It seems their training has worked. Without missing a beat, the stream got me straight in the face. But then, confused by the squealing of a downtrodden mollusk, he even managed to fall on top of me. Nelly ran up, screaming at him to get off. I had to persuade her not to report it in her article, to say it had been an accident, my own fault.
She dumped all her stuff—she could come back for it later—and took me by the arm, walking very slowly, trying to calm me, telling me the effects wouldn’t last long. Her voice projected a facet I’d never seen before. The armor had vanished. She blew on my face to ease the burning. Although that actually made it even more unbearable, I had no intention of saying so. It would have been agreeing to the endless repetition of those smoky exhalations. The truth is, I’ve never seen that side of her.
Back home, she applied an ointment that gradually closed my molten pores. A damp bandage returned sensation to my eyelids, and I realized that I would recover this time too. Nelly guessed the disc that would best fit the moment. Another scene I’ll return to forever. I was fighting with all my strength to stay awake. Although they would never admit it, I knew that even the Many were spellbound. So much so that they didn’t notice the change in her caresses. None of us expected it. Anything I have to say on the matter would be an insult to what happened. For the first time, we made love.
DAY 5
THE LS’ DINNER PARTY
A Comedy in Three Acts
By Sao Bac-Do
DRAMATIS PERSONAE
l1 LACKEY ONE
l2 LACKEY TWO
l3 LACKEY THREE
L1 LORD ONE
L2 LORD TWO
L3 LORD THREE
ACT 1
(In the basement of a house with two upper stories, l1, l2, and l3, impeccably dressed in their long-sleeved waiter’s shirts, black trousers, and highly polished patent leather shoes, are carefully making the necessary preparation for the Lord’s dinner party. A dinner jacket with all the accessories hangs on a hat stand. The stage set is austere. Beside the kitchen utensils, the only noticeable prop is a large red vase.)
l1:Hurry up! The Lord will be here any minute. He might bring a lady. How stupid I am! You know what I mean. I’m referring to a gentleman. Anyway, we have to have everything in order. Remember the fuss he made the other day when there was no ice in his glass.
l2:I’m pleased by your diligence. A shame it’s not my turn today. At least not on the first floor. I do, however, feel obliged to point out your lack of self-criticism. I seem to recall that the person who committed the gaffe with the ice bore a suspicious resemblance to you.
l3:It’s not my place to arbitrate in disputes yet. I’ve got fifteen minutes left. At least let me enjoy them. I will, however, admit that there’s a pinch of truth in what you say. Kicking up a fuss about nothing is the Lord’s prerogative. That’s in the contract.
l1 and l2 (in unison, surprised): What contract?
l1:As if you didn’t know we were forced to sign our letters of resignation in advance. If there was a contract—and you know very well there isn’t—it would be no use at all. The day they feel like it, we’ll be kicked out on our asses without a word.
l3:Listen to you! The language purists. It’s just a manner of speaking. Like everything else, in fact.
l2:I don’t know what right you have to give us lessons. At least for a few minutes you’re just one more inhabitant of the underworld. Even if you’re wearing the other clothes. Not even your slicked-down hair can make you into a Lord while you’re down here. Appearances are deceptive. Until you’ve walked upright through the door and watched us crawl in through the cat flap, you’ll still be lower case. And don’t forget it.
l3:True. And that reminds me: Whose turn is it to give my attire a rigorous inspection? Because the last time…
(l1 picks up the vase and brandishes it as if about to smash it on l3’s head.)
l1:The last time what? Go on, say it. I’m begging you.
l3:Calm down, calm down. There’s no need for that. I’m not insinuating anything. The dinner jacket was impeccable. I’m only saying there could have been a bit of fluff on it. Just the idea is repugnant.
(l1 puts the vase back in its place.)
l1:That’s better. Come on, it’s getting late.
(l3 takes off his lackey’s uniform. l1 and l2 wash his body with a kitchen scourer. Then they methodically dress him. When they have put on his hat, he pushes them away from him. The curtain closes.)
ACT 2
(The first floor of the house. A table is set for two. The room is decorated with elegance, but no taste. The same red vase. There is a hat stand holding identical garments to the ones L3 is wearing. The latter enters through a wide doorway. He stands with an annoyed expression on his face, repeatedly checking his pocket watch. When he hears footsteps, he hurries to pick up the handset of the telephone and puts it to his ear, although the phone has not rung. He pretends he is answering a call. l1 and l2 crawl through the cat flap. They are carrying trays on their backs. They laboriously help each other to place the trays on the table. L3 puts down the handset.)
L3:I’ll be eating alone after all. The dog ate the keys of the lady who was going to dine with me. She begged me to let her take a cab, but that’s very dangerous. I had to refuse.
l1:Did milord call the lady “a bastard”?
L3:Lady? Did I say lady? I must be worn out. I meant my friend, a man of very important affairs. He’s got a cold. I had to be firm and stop him from coming. I can’t risk contagion. The vulgar expression you referred to is a sign of our close friendship.
l1:If milord says so.
(l2 shoulders l1 out of the way to stand next to L3.)
l2:Dinner is served. Without wishing in any way to influence milord’s decisions, he should be aware that it was a servant who devised the whole menu.
L3:What’s for dinner?
l2:Cheeseburgers and french fries.
(L3 picks up the plate and dashes it to the floor.)
L3:You know I hate burgers! When the fuck have you ever seen me eating one? Sometimes I don’t know how I put up with this.
(l2 turns to l1.)
l2:Wretch! The burgers were your idea. Is there no limit to your brown-nosing? You’d do anything to get in the room with the fireplace.
(L3 continues to talk, as if to himself.)
L3:I allow you to live in my home, eat from my icebox, receive calls on my telephone, have an afternoon off a week, and this is how you repay me. The two of you are completely incompetent. And to think I have to chose between you. Never did a king have to rule over such idiots.
(l1 is about to smash the vase on l2’s head. He stops to listen to L3’s last words, then runs over with the intention of shattering the vase on his head. L3 starts talking again and l1 pauses.)
L3:No. It’s not your fault. We belong to different species. My rank means I have to make sacrifices. It’s my responsibility to be patient with you. Educating you is impossible. I can only try to minimize your ignorance. Would you make me some little ham and cheese sandwiches with a bit of mayonnaise while I make my decision?
(l1 and l2 rush to the cat flap, and nimbly slide through it. When they have left the scene, L3 rings a small bell to summon them. They return on all fours.)
L3:forgot. I’d also like a nice little glass of red wine.
l1 and l2: Yes, milord. Immediately.
(They exit again on all fours. Less effusively this time. L3 rings the bell once more. l1 and l2 return. They find it more difficult to get to their feet.)
l1 and l2: Yes, milord?
L3:There’s something else I want, but I can’t remember what. Go away while I try to remember.
(l1 and l2 crawl back trough the cat flap. The bell summons them again. They crawl back in and move to one side of L3, making no attempt to stand.)
L3:All this coming and going has taken my appetite away. I’m going up to the lounge for a whisky. I’ll let you know my decision.
(l1 and l2 look at him expectantly. L3 adopts a distracted air. He pokes a finger in his ear and, on removing it, examines the wax and then wipes his finger on the tablecloth. He stands up, stretches his arms, and slowly cracks his knuckles. He begins to jump up and down, opening and closing his arms and legs as if doing a warm-up drill. l1 and l2 stand stock still, their heads bowed. He eventually approaches them with a solemn expression and silently points a finger at l2. l1 and l2 leap to their feet. l2 hurriedly puts on the dinner jacket, l1 picks up the vase and hesitates between smashing it on l2 or L3. He is undecided. Finally, he puts it back in its place. With his body language displaying exhaustion, he exits alone through the cat flap. The curtain closes.)
ACT 3
(On the second floor, L2 and L3, holding a glass of whisky apiece, are seated in adjacent armchairs. A fire burns in the hearth behind them. They are laughing uproariously. They turn to slap each other on the back. The laughter dies down, the backslapping grows less frequent. Silence eventually falls. l1 is standing by the table on which rest the tray of sandwiches and the whisky bottle. The red vase stands to one side. As soon as L2 and L3 have emptied their glasses, he quickly refills them. Every so often he offers them sandwiches from the tray. They give no sign of noticing his presence.)
L2:Yes, old boy, it’s hardly possible to live these days. The way prices have gone up is atrocious. You only have to go to the supermarket to see. I send him with the same amount of money as before, and each time he comes back with fewer bags. I know because the trembling in his arms is less pronounced than it used to be. At first I thought he was stealing from me. Now we check the receipt together to avoid suspicion. And he prefers it that way, so he doesn’t fall into temptation.
L3:Oh, the cost of living. It’s such a bad sign that we even have to mention it. In less vulgar times, our peers wouldn’t have had to worry about it. If a well-bred gentleman behaved with propriety, life gave him the reward he deserved. Well…Cheers my friend. To the complex times we live in.
L2:By the way, have you got your cloak ready for next week’s meeting? The brothers have bought some beer mugs that hold up to five pints.
L3:I’m devastated, but I can’t be there. I leave the day before.
L2:That’s a shame. It promises to be a very special occasion. Where are you going?
L3:To root for our Hopscotch World Cup squad. We’ve got the best selection in our history. This time we really are going to win.
L2:The hopscotch championship…you do live it up. Although I don’t have a wife, I can imagine how she’d feel if I announced my intention to go. It’s the sort of plan she’d detest. She’d make my life impossible, harping on about it for months. I’m sorry, old boy, I’d love to accompany you, but just the implications pain me. We’ll miss you at the lodge.
(L3 sits lost in thought. He has just realized something. He holds up his glas
s to be freshened, despite the fact that he has only drunk half his whisky. l1 moves quickly to fulfill the request.)
L2:Is something wrong, old boy?
L3:It’s just…I don’t know how to say this…(L3 switches into Spanish.) ¿No te parece que no deberíamos hablar de estas cosas enfrente de él?
L2:¿Por qué? ¿Quieres que seamos personas distintas?
L3:No, para nada. Es sólo que preferiría no mencionar estas cosas en su presencia. Podría darle ideas.
L2:Claro. Como tú digas, compadre.
(L3 stands up again. Something has just occurred to him.)
L2:¿Qué pasa ahora, camarada?
L3:¿No crees que sea capaz de entendernos?
L2:Estoy seguro de que sí. Después de todo, los tres fuimos a la escuela juntos. Creo que incluso él se graduó con honores.
L3:Cierto, cierto. Et si je parlais come ça?
L2:I didn’t understand that last bit, old boy.
L3:E si parlo cosi?
L2:I hear your voice, but I don’t speak that language either.
L3:To be honest, neither do I. Just picked up a few phrases somewhere.
L2:So…Cheers.
(l1 moves almost imperceptibly to stand in front of the Lords. He is holding the vase in both hands. The Lords continue their chat, waiting for him to leave. He stands stock still, not saying a word. When they can no longer bear the tension, they finally turn to look at him.)
L2:We’re fine for the moment. We’ll let you know when we need you.
l1:Milord could address me differently. Don’t forget that, up to a short time ago, we were equals.
L2:Equals? A short time ago? There’s nothing before the present moment. I don’t remember it. And what if I did? What difference does it make? Something that happened a second ago is as irretrievable as something that occurred a thousand years ago.
l1:Those conceptual games are easy when you’re a Lord. But scourged flesh has a longer memory. I’m very close to helping you remember. (l1 claps the vase tightly, doing his best to control himself.)
A Zero-Sum Game Page 29
