by Alina Reyes
Babe wanted to go so that it wouldn’t happen, but she couldn’t. “A doll, a doll,” the young woman continued to sing, it was like a playground chant, “A doll, a doll,” if I move they’ll see me, the alley was bathed in sunlight, it was warm, Babe’s head was beginning to spin, that’s probably why she thought what happened next was a dream, or a movie, two bad guys, one running after the other with a pistol in his hand, “A gun, a gun,” and when the first one reached the dead end of the alley, the other shot him, the woman watched the killing, then he shot her and the little girl, looked around and ran off. It all happened so quickly and Babe remained invisible, since it was as if she were watching TV, the people on the TV can’t see you, and even if they could you and they wouldn’t be able to touch, that’s why Babe couldn’t be killed, in the shadow of her corner …
But it had really happened, the little girl was dead, and the woman, before she could buy the doll as she had promised. All these years the doll had grown, grown in order to take revenge. My hour has come, my deep, dark, black hour. What have I done wrong? The doll doesn’t love you, Babe. You’ve been waiting for her all these years, waiting in secret, and now that you are brave enough to love her, you have to admit that she doesn’t love you.
Am I ill? Is it crazier to fall in love with a doll than with a human being? Does the doll love me less than some stranger I might fall in love with?
Will I go crazy? Am I already crazy? Have I always been crazy?
It’s the fault, the fault gaping in my stomach, like an earthquake crack. Love takes me to the edge of the fault, I can feel it at my back, trying to push me, the bastard, it wants me to fall in. The nonlove of the creature with whom I have fallen madly in love, kidding myself that it loved me, that it was responding to me with secret signs. Poor sick child! That creature can’t see you, that creature is not a real being, only its nonlove can see you, hypnotize you with its staring eyes. And you run toward the fault, your heart full of joy, full of the lie, you run toward the fault without seeing it, without seeing that you are about to fall into the precipice gaping at the center of yourself.
At the beginning of our marriage, I was so afraid. That I would be seized by madness. That it would get on top of me. Promise me you won’t let them use electric shocks on me, I used to say all the time to Bobby. Later, the feeling went away. I buried it in some deep part of my mind. Bobby also has caverns inside his head. He puts flowers in his.
Now I am sad, sad. I have seen the abyss and I won’t fall in. Not yet. But I feel sad, as if all my blood had suddenly turned gray.
* * *
When the answering machine clicked off, Babe got up, went to the kitchen and came back with a tray piled high with breakfast, which she placed on the living room table. She handed Carmen a cup of coffee and they both ate heartily—until, that is, the doorbell rang, and she heard the creepy voice of Shirley Gordon, insisting on being let in.
π
Babe! Babe! It’s me, Shirley!” (As if she weren’t instantly recognizable.) “Can I come in?”
The doorbell rang again, accompanied this time by three genteel knocks on the door. Shirley started bleating again in her high-pitched voice:
“Yoo-hoo! Baaabe!”
Sitting upright on the couch with its ethnic throw, her left hand resting on the arm, her right lying in her lap, clutching a slice of toast, Carmen was visibly transfixed by the commercials on the TV. Babe had dressed her in one of her nightgowns, which showed off her curves.
They both sat still as long as they could, hoping that Shirley would go away. And as Carmen watched the commercials, Babe watched Carmen, staring at her as lovers never dare to stare, and thought she was more beautiful, perfect and desirable than any other woman—even though she wasn’t attracted to women.
“Baaabe! Are you unwell? Do you want me to call a doctor?”
God, thought Babe, she never gives up. She ran her hand through her unkempt hair and tied the belt of her robe (noticing that it was spattered with grease marks). At first she tried to talk to her through the door:
“I’m fine, Shirley. I’ve just got out of the tub, and … I’ve got a touch of flu … I don’t feel myself …”
“What’s that? I can’t hear you … Won’t you open the door?”
“I said, I don’t feel myself,” Babe shouted.
“You’re going to kill yourself? Sweet Jesus! Don’t do it! I’ll call the police!”
“No, don’t …”
“Stay calm. I’ll take care of everything …”
“Shirley, it’s OK.” Babe sighed as she undid the lock and stood behind the open door, blocking the entrance.
“Sweet Jesus, you gave me a fright … You’re sure everything’s OK?”
“I’m sure.”
“Really? If there’s anything you want to talk about, Babe …”
“No. No, no …”
“All I’m saying is, you can talk to me … We’re neighbors, we help each other out, isn’t that right?”
“Listen, it’s just a touch of flu.”
“‘A touch of flu’? Is that why you were shut indoors the whole of Saturday?”
“Right now Bobby and I are pretty tired … We shouldn’t have said yes to working Saturdays, even as a one-shot deal …”
“Yeah, yeah … We all say that, but the money comes in handy, doesn’t it?” said Shirley, in her clucking voice. “And my poor husband with his two jobs … If you could see the state he’s in sometimes … Can I come in for a couple of minutes?”
“Oh, er … well, the place is in a mess and I’m not dressed yet …”
“I could give you a hand.”
“No, no thanks, Shirley … I think I’ll go back to bed …”
“I just have a favor to ask you … Could you lend me your axe?”
“My axe?”
“Yes. I’ve got a job to do. You know how it is … A woman on her own at home …”
“For what sort of job? Chopping down trees?”
“Hee-hee, you’re such a scream, honey. No, just a corpse to chop up.”
“Well, the tools are in the garage. If you want to walk round the back, I’ll hand it out to you.”
Babe closed the door. Shirley came down from the veranda and, balancing on her heels, trotted round the house to the entrance to the garage. A moment later the metal shutter rose a few inches and Babe’s hand slid the axe through the gap. Then the shutter slammed shut again.
“Don’t be afraid, it’s over … She’s gone …,” Babe murmured as she ran her hands and lips over Carmen’s face, neck, arms and chest.
“What do you think about that crazy woman, eh? She won’t bother us again … How beautiful you are, my darling … My doll, my baby doll … Let me undress you … You are so beautiful … I’d love to have had a doll like you when I was small … You’ll never leave me, will you? We’re so good together, you and I …”
Carmen’s skin was soft, so soft. There was no Evil in that body, lurking, ready to rise up and torment you even in the good times, no Evil would spread its canker into her limbs or her head, she was pure flesh made for pleasure, yes, pure, and in loving her you found yourself as if by a miracle, washed clean of all stain, for she accepted everything without complaint, like a Buddha or a garbage chute, Carmen, with her black hair and black pubes, her holes and her passivity, was simultaneously fire and ice, the Good Lord could not have made Himself flesh better than in this innocent and charitable body that asked for nothing more than to give relief to men and succor to women.
Babe took off her robe, placed her darling on the couch and began to kiss her passionately on the mouth, then over her whole body, purring like a kitten. She brought herself to a state of excitement, attempting to release the tension from her fight with Shirley. Finally, she got on top of the wanton body and lay there a long time, rubbing her pubis against that of Carmen. When she had finished, she started laughing feverishly.
“My darling, you’re so good! I love you, I love you! Ye
s, yes, I know what you want … Don’t you worry, Mama Babe will take care of everything … A lovely girl like you … Of course I’ll bring you what you need … You stay there, trust me … I’ll take care of everything … everything …”
And for the first time in her life, Babe left the house without having washed first. Her body smelled of love: no bad thing, she thought, considering what she had to do. She left Carmen lying on the couch, wrapped in the throw with the totemic pattern to keep her warm, and quickly slipped into her shortest, most tightly fitting dress, without putting on a bra and panties. Not bothering to wash her face or brush her teeth, she applied some showy makeup—blue eye shadow on her eyelids, large patches of pink blush on her cheeks, dark red, almost black lipstick enlarging the size of her mouth. Then she grabbed her handbag and decamped as if she had an urgent rendezvous.
ρ
Babe’s breasts bounced free, and the spring breeze kissed her lightly on her neck, her arms, her bare legs and playfully wheedled its way up her dress, as she ran down the alley to her car before Shirley Gordon had the chance to come out and call to her.
She got into the car, breathed a sigh, then drove off. She had never done anything so exciting, audacious, subversive. For once she was mistress of her own life; she felt as if she had entered another dimension. In a great surge of adrenaline she drove to the mall. She was nervous, elegant and sporty at the same time; she would never have thought herself capable of that. She thought about Bobby and his love of cars. Now she could see why. Once you got your hands on it, this vehicle so easily became an instrument of power and pleasure … ! Wedged into her seat, she felt alert and ready to eat the whole world!
At this time of day the mall was always crawling with people. Babe preferred the early morning, just after it opened, when she went for her weekly jog. There was hardly anyone about then, except for a few other joggers who did a circuit of all four floors as if chasing one another from one escalator to the next. They formed a sort of confraternity, felt they were kindred spirits—people-who-keep-themselves-in-shape, or people-who-push-beyond-their-limits. Running all the way round the mall in little groups was exactly the sort of thing that, in the modern world, gave human beings dignity and enriched their lives, something Babe understood, but which Bobby, trapped as he was in the material trivia of everyday life, pigheadedly dismissed out of hand.
Now, however, there was a crowd of people of all ages, pale in the neon lighting, packed into the take-outs, filling up the alleyways and sauntering from one store to another, killing time with the help of their credit cards. Babe went into Pearl’s on level two, and started checking out the rack she normally never stopped at—the one with the slutty underwear.
“Mrs. Wesson! Hey, Mrs. Wesson!”
Babe turned around and saw Carroll leaning over the counter, in the middle of paying for a white cotton bra-and-panties set. She was smiling and yelling out with all the naïveté and cruelty of her twenty years.
“Oh, very nice!” Carrol said sarcastically, looking at the garter belt in mauve lace that Babe was holding in front of her chest as if to protect herself; the minuscule matching G-string with the tuft of red fur on the front looked like a little heart.
“And so sweet …,” she added. “Bye, Mrs. Wesson. I’ll give your son your love!”
Babe went back to looking at some tight-fitting bodices, lowering her head to disguise the fact she was blushing to the roots of her hair.
It was time to get serious. If she wanted to get this done before Bobby got back, there wasn’t a moment to lose. Carrying her Pearl’s bag in her hand, she went up to level four and headed straight for the men’s bathroom.
She’d had time to think about it in the shop: where could she find a man quickly? In the past, whenever she had gone out she had felt that there were dozens of men who would have liked to sleep with her, felt it could happen at any time if she even once dropped her protective mask of dignified reserve. But today was nothing like her fantasies. No one seemed to be thinking about sex. They didn’t seem to be thinking about anything at all, they were like automata placed there by a stage designer. And it was as if Babe were an automaton herself, as if she were invisible as a person, as a body, as a look.
She had felt this ever since she had arrived at the underground parking lot. The cars were all in a line, with their eyes open, their eyes extinguished, and the people who got out, got in or sat inside looked dead or false, as false as that couple in the Ford the other morning, when Babe was standing naked in the window waiting for them to spot her. It was like a nightmare where she alone had survived in an annihilated world, but it was also a marvelous dream, for she no longer feared anything. She alone was alive, she and the cars, the nice cars. However, she had to find a man for Carmen.
She didn’t dare enter. She stood at the entrance to the men’s bathroom and waited. The first to come out was a young African-American in a cap, tall, handsome and as meaty as a steer. Babe felt herself melting like an ice cream in the sun. He must have an ENORMOUS one! Babe herself had never slept with a black man, but Carmen would love it!
But with only three strides of his long legs, the boy had already crossed to the other side of the floor. Babe hesitated before deciding not to follow him; she didn’t know what she would have to have done to attract his attention.
She stepped back to allow a large guy in a cowboy hat and checked shirt to enter the bathroom. He stared at her with a cheesy grin.
“Are you waitin’ for someone, li’l lady?” he asked in a falsetto voice.
Babe wanted to reply: “I’m waiting for my husband.” But nothing came out of her mouth. She felt angry and rather grubby. What did he think she was doing? She walked away, her legs trembling.
Yes, I’m waiting for my husband, of course. He is taking a piss—can’t you hear him? You see, my husband has the longest piss of any man I know. And when I say “long,” I don’t just mean long in length. He can certainly piss quite a distance—he could probably break records—but that’s not all. My husband is a stayer. He can stand there relieving himself for minutes or even hours at a time. He’s a genuine faucet, what am I saying, a watering can, no, what am I saying, a fireman’s hose! Why else would I be hanging round the men’s bathroom if I weresn’t waiting for my husband? That is indeed, sir, the reason I am here, waiting patiently but eagerly, as befits the wife of such a man. But now you mention it, he has been in there a good five or ten minutes … I think I’ll go and do some shopping, and I’ll be back to wait for him after you are long gone …
I’ll come back tomorrow, thought Babe. I’ll know what I’m doing then. In any case, it’s too late for today.
She drove home, then ran up to the front door to escape Shirley Gordon, who was already twitching her curtain to see what was going on. Exhausted, she flopped onto the couch, laid her head on Carmen’s lap and, grabbing the remote, turned on the TV.
σ
Asuite in a large hotel. On the walls, numerous glamour photographs of an actress in her forties, none other than … Shirley Gordon! Dressed in her flimsy, see-through black number.
Shirley checks herself nervously in the mirror: hair, makeup …
There is a knock at the door. She applies a last squirt of perfume.
SHIRLEY Enter.
Enter a man, about the same age as her, slim, charming, wearing jeans, hair tied back in a ponytail. They look at each other with great feeling.
He walks over to her and kisses her on the cheek.
SHIRLEY Thanks for coming …
PAUL I guess great actresses can do that—resurrect ghosts from the past just by picking up the phone.
Shirley goes over to a low table where there is an ice bucket with two bottles of champagne.
SHIRLEY Your favorite champagne!
She pours out two glasses.
PAUL (Raising his glass) Here’s to you, Shirley!
SHIRLEY No, here’s to you, Paul. I want to drink to you, to your success.
PAUL W
ell, I guess we don’t need to wish you glory, Shirley. Unlike me …
SHIRLEY Please …
PAUL I’ve had no news from you for fifteen years other than what I read in the papers …
They sit on the couch.
PAUL You said you wanted to talk. What’s happened?
SHIRLEY (Troubled) Nothing … It’s just that … I do have something very important to tell you, but … it’s difficult …
She pours herself another glass.
PAUL We’ve all the time in the world …
SHIRLEY You know, I never thought I’d find you again so easily. I’d have come to see you at your place—it would have been less impersonal than receiving you in this hotel—but I thought maybe you were married and …
PAUL The hotel is fine … But how is it to be in New York? You must be missing the sun of L.A.…
SHIRLEY Sometimes I dream of my simple little room on my parents’ ranch … Oh, Paul, do you remember going horseback riding when we were children? And when we hid in the barn among the hay bales? … How warm it could be! I don’t think I’ve ever felt as warm as that, not even in a palace … But I guess you’ve made a new life for yourself …
PAUL In fifteen years I’ve made three new lives. You can see it hasn’t been easy. But this is the real thing. I’m married, I have a wonderful baby, and Carroll and I plan to have at least two more …
