The Transmigration of Bodies

by Yuri Herrera

  Mamacita, bring the attorney here a beer, Gustavo said.

  On his way in, the Redeemer had not noticed that behind her was a boy with a baby-walker. Something was the matter with him. He was smiling and moving his legs but not making much progress, his eyes unfocused.

  So, you working too?

  Fraid so.

  At the foot of the sofa sat a metal pail of marijuana. Gustavo took out a sheet of rice paper, then another, and licked the length of both to make one long sheet. He rolled a leisurely spliff as fat as a churro and when he saw the Redeemer eyeing it said I’m not giving you any; feel free to roll your own.

  And toed the pail over to him.

  I’m good, said the Redeemer.

  So. How can I be of service?

  The Las Pericas place.

  What about it?

  It’s on fire.

  Gustavo arched his eyebrows and opened his eyes wide but didn’t release the tank of smoke he’d sucked into his lungs. He held it a few more seconds and then, after exhaling, said: God’s will that was, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

  Why?

  Had it coming, that’s why.

  Gustavo took another big hit of his spliff and waited, making the Redeemer work for it.

  What happened?

  They aren’t two families is what happened, he replied: They’re one, or almost, his voice tight with smoke. The two fathers have the same father. That’s what happened.

  And he expelled the smoke.

  The Castros’ father married on the up-and-up, but one day he got the hots for this girl in the neighborhood, took off with her and started another family. All well and good so far, right? Just the way it is. But then the old fucker went and died, fifteen years or so after he and his second woman had been living together. And that’s when this all started up.

  The girl came in with a beer for the Redeemer and Gustavo said Wait.

  He stroked her ass and blew her a big smacking kiss. The girl remained motionless.

  You’d never met my wife, had you? She’s a saint. Okay, mamacita, now run and make me one of those highballs you’re so good at.

  The girl left.

  Gustavo—this Gustavo—could never have existed in another age. For the first time in the history of humankind, legions of men his age could fuck like they were decades younger. The things they’ll never discover, these old men who can still get it up, thought the Redeemer. As if there’s nothing to be learned from defeat.

  We live in extraordinary times, Gustavo said. People nowadays are aware of so much stuff going on in the world that they can handpick their memories. Didn’t used to be like that, people used to live in whatever world their parents had left them. Some still do, like this gang—holding on and holding on.

  To what?

  The body. The day of the wake, the other family—the first one—came out, just to pay their respects and say their goodbyes. The widows greeted each another, the boys ignored each other—each family had a teenager almost the same age, see—and that was it. But when the Castros found out they were going to bury him who-knows-where, well that was the fuckin end of good form. Turns out the Fonsecas belong to some sort of sect, call themselves Christians but don’t belong to the church.

  It’s always the other guy’s religion that’s a sect, isn’t it? the Redeemer asked, unwisely, since he knew it was best to let people talk without rankling. Gustavo gave him a quick look like he’d had food thrown in his face, took another toke and continued.

  After that, no surprises: widow number one asked them nicely not to bury him there, then demanded they not bury him there, but since the other one kept saying no no no, widow one said she wasn’t going to let them do that, she wasn’t the legitimate wife for nothing, they’d see. Off she went, lawyered up, and came back. The Fonseca widow said they better not think they were going to take the body, and the lawyers brought some cops along.

  Did they get it?

  Well sure—corpse was in their name. Son of the second family didn’t even get his dad’s last name, supposedly to avoid complications. Ha! So they kicked up a fuss, there was back-and-forthing, there were threats, but what I remember best is that kid, Dolphin. Back then he wasn’t called that. The way he clenched his fists and stared at the coffin as they carried it out, his eyes little slits full of rage.

  Gustavo leaned forward to check if his drink was on the way but couldn’t see the kitchen from where he sat. The Redeemer could, tho, and saw the girl uncorking a bottle of brandy.

  Thing is, he hadn’t left a will, Gustavo continued, And the house where he and his second lady lived was in both their names, but the house they were about to move to was only in his.

  Las Pericas.

  Right. And ever since then there’ve been legal proceedings to see who gets to keep it, tho I know Dolphin has a key and pokes his head in, time to time. Might just be a good thing it’s burning down. Nobody likes to share money, but it’s easier than sharing a fistful of ashes.

  They’d had no Redeemer to lend them a hand, the Redeemer thought.

  Well now there’s fewer to share them between, but more ashes to go around.

  Eh?

  Dolphin’s son died, and so did the Castros’ daughter. And each family has the other one’s corpse.

  For a second Gustavo’s eyes popped out of their sockets.

  Shoot-out?

  Now the Redeemer was the one to enjoy letting the information steep a few seconds, as he took a sip of his beer.

  Coincidence.

  Gustavo narrowed his eyes.

  Those things just don’t happen, he said.

  He was tempted to smoke a joint but decided not to ask. It was time to go. He glanced toward the kitchen to say goodbye to the girl and saw her with one hand inside Gustavo’s glass, staring fixedly at the wall while she fingered the ice, as if cleaning it. The scene had the innocence of all unsettling things that take place in silence.

  He bought more flowers on his way back and stopped to watch a madman who used to bounce around among the cars until one of them would whack him to the curb. Now, with no traffic, he was walking on the sidewalk.

  What you doing? he asked. But the madman only stared as tho the question was idiotic.

  He arranged with the Mennonite to make the trade on the corner closest to the Big House. With the way the city was, better to do it quick and out in the open than try to find some other spot. He called Dolphin, too, and told him it was time, that he should head over, but to let him do his job.

  The Neeyanderthal had gone inside and was sitting in his apartment having coffee with Vicky, next to the bed where Baby Girl lay. The water must’ve come back on.

  They’re on the way, he said. Look alive, Neeyan, and let me know when they get here.

  The Neeyanderthal finished his coffee and left. The Redeemer took his seat.

  I won’t mix you up in this shit again, he told Vicky.

  At least this time it feels like it matters, she replied.

  They said nothing more. Everything was so quiet you could hear Baby Girl’s silence, as tho she’d absorbed every sound in the room. It was hard and yet formless, that silence. How to describe what isn’t there? What name can you give to something that doesn’t exist yet exists for that reason precisely? Kings of the kingpins, those who had invented the zero, he thought, had given it a name and even slipped it into a line of numbers, as tho it could stay put, obedient. But once in a while, like at that moment, there before Baby Girl, zero rose up and swallowed everything.

  They’re on the corner, the Neeyanderthal shouted from out front.

  I’ll get Neeyan so he can help you carry Baby Girl, Vicky said.

  No no no, that cat’s too rough, he might hurt her.

  Vicky stood and stared, in astonishment or perplexity, or maybe even admiration.

  In that case I’ll help.

  They got close to the bed and he slid one arm under Baby Girl’s back and the other beneath her knees while Vicky cradled
her head. He attempted to lift her but the pain in his ribs made him put the body back down. Fuckit, he said. He tried again and again doubled over, fuckit, and he didn’t know why but knew he was about to cry.

  Squat down, Vicky said. Then stand up slowly and I’ll take her back too.

  They did that, and as soon as he sensed that he held all her weight he stood as fast as he could.

  Vicky placed Baby Girl’s arms carefully on top of her body and then positioned her head like she was curled up against the Redeemer’s chest.

  Let’s go, he said.

  Vicky opened one door then ran and opened the next, as he followed in a juddering stumble of painful steps; Motherfucker, he said to each bruise and then to his whole body, Fuck you fuckin motherfucker; and then to her body: Don’t you go and fall on me, Baby Girl, don’t you fuckin even think about falling.

  It was dark out now, but in addition to that there was something different in the atmosphere, the temperature had dropped and the air had finally come unstuck; it wasn’t exactly windy but you could tell wind was on the cards. And the sky was clear and there was light coming from below.

  You want me to help you? asked the Neeyanderthal, seeing him on the verge of collapse.

  No.

  Then carry her properly, this ain’t luggage you’re delivering.

  I know that.

  He saw Dolphin’s truck round one corner. He and the Unruly were alone. They got out and the Neeyanderthal approached to check for gats or shanks or other instruments of slaughter.

  The Redeemer straightened up tall and strode to the other corner, where the towering silhouette of the Mennonite, the fidgety shapes of the Castro kids and the tip of the father’s cigarette could be discerned. Behind them a black hearse. Romeo’s mother wasn’t coming. Sometimes mothers come out to collect their children, other times they stay home no matter what, to make sure their children have a place prepared for them when they get back.

  The Mennonite took a few steps forward then stopped and stood before the Redeemer. He looked Baby Girl over carefully.

  Any need to inspect her?

  None at all. I trust you’re delivering Romeo exactly as he was yesterday?

  Every inch untouched.

  The Mennonite turned and walked back to the corner, circled the hearse and came back, boy in arms. The Neeyanderthal received him, and almost simultaneously the Redeemer delivered Baby Girl to her brothers. Up until that moment the families had been silent, but when the Neeyanderthal got close with Romeo, the Unruly stepped back and started sobbing disconsolately, shrieking with her mouth covered, hands choking back her cries. Trembling, it took her several small steps to make it to her brother tho she wasn’t far at all, and then finally she embraced him and cried on his chest. On the other side, the Castro brothers were placing Baby Girl into the hearse and weeping but not allowing themselves to sob. Their father shook his head slowly side to side; then, suddenly, he took a decisive step toward Dolphin, and the Mennonite took another in case he tried anything, but all the man did was point at the hearse, glowing ember at the end of his hand, and open his mouth without finding any words, until finally he said They told me she got sick, that you didn’t kill her, and I believe them, but what call was there to go and fuck us over like this? All for what? Fighting over ashes.

  They were my ashes, Dolphin said. And when he said it he sounded as if he possessed a strength he no longer did, said it without wheezing, with that lung he’d been missing for years.

  The other man waited a few seconds before replying. You’re right. But Baby Girl’s not to blame for that.

  Dolphin had nothing more to say. The other man turned back to the hearse and opened the door to get in.

  She never liked being called that, the Unruly shouted after him, and he turned to look. I have a name, that’s what she said the day I took her home with me, don’t call me Baby Girl. And she told me her name.

  The Castro patriarch glanced at her a second then said I know my daughter’s name.

  And he got into the hearse. Before following him, the Mennonite came over to say goodbye. They bumped fists.

  You going back home? The Redeemer asked.

  Nah. I don’t even know if there’s anywhere to go back to.

  The Redeemer approached the Unruly and said Give him a call.

  She looked at him, uncomprehending.

  Your brother-in-law.

  The Unruly nodded yes and turned.

  The Neeyanderthal accompanied the Fonsecas to their truck and placed Romeo into the box. Since they were going different directions, the families crossed each other once more, but this time no one looked. So many things had been hurled, things written in stone, that the street lay in ruins.

  The Redeemer watched the hearse drive away. Who will bury that girl? he wondered. Because it won’t be them, those who wept so much and threatened so much, they won’t be the ones to dig her grave. When did we stop burying those we love with our own hands? he thought. From people like us, what the hell can we expect?

  A cold breeze began, timidly. The Neeyanderthal rubbed his hands together and said What now? You got juice?

  No, Neeyan, Vicky said. It’s time to go. Each of us will clean our guts our own way.

  Okay, the Neeyanderthal replied, and looked the Redeemer up and down. I’d say I hope your way involves getting it on with the neighbor, but shit, state you’re in I think you’ll keel over before you can say bless my soul.

  He gave him a rough pat on the back and said We’re outta here.

  Vicky came to give him a kiss and, right as she was about to, turned to one side and sneezed into her elbow.

  Maybe one day people wouldn’t even remember when everyone had started doing it like that, instead of covering their noses with their hands. It takes a serious scare for some gestures to take hold but then they end up like scars that seem to have been there all along. Maybe they themselves would one day be nothing but someone’s scar, nameless, no epitaph, just a line on the skin.

  Because like everything, this too would pass, and the world would act innocent for a while, until it scared them shitless once more.

  The two of them left, and the Redeemer entered the Big House. He tried to remember a good mantra but the only thing that came to mind was Let them burn me and turn me, mark me and merk me—and that wasn’t what he wanted.

  Three Times Blonde opened the door and the Redeemer walked in.

  She took a look at his split lip and stroked the scab on his head.

  People are fools, she said. They spend their whole lives getting stuck with pins and act like nothing’s wrong, they just leave them there, and then one day they go and scratch someone’s eyes out.

  The truth is, the Redeemer said, maybe we’re damned from the start.

  What truth? Three Times Blonde looked at him like he was an idiot. I don’t buy that crap, that Look but don’t touch stuff. Tell me, what truth? Maybe someone out there knows, but it’s not me, so I call it like I see it.

  And she poked a dieresis into his chest.

  The Redeemer placed a hand on her back and ran it all the way down and over the curve of her ass.

  Plus, she went on, they said on TV people are getting better now, that they really know what it is and there’s no reason to die.

  They pressed up against the wall and the Redeemer kissed her a bit of his blood. Suddenly Three Times Blonde cocked her head and said Listen.

  A wavering windstorm was blowing outside the Big House. Maybe the clouds are gone, she said, and let go of the Redeemer.

  The Redeemer observed her profile, so luscious and tuned-in to the sounds on the street. Talk and cock is all I got, he thought. And sometimes fear.

  I’m tired of being cooped up, Three Times Blonde said.

  She walked out into the hall and then onto the street and the Redeemer followed, but before he caught up to her at the front door, la Ñora’s opened.

  Are your visitors gone?

  They are, señora, thank you fo
r your discretion.

  Young man, said la Ñora. You knew, didn’t you?

  The Redeemer had known, but he also knew sometimes it was best not to say. So he said nothing.

  He got mad and left, la Ñora went on. And I thought I’d never hear from him again, that’s the way it is these days, people just disappear, but someone called from the courts, a young lady he told to phone me. I don’t know why they’re holding him. He says he’s black and blue but they’ve stopped beating him now.

  La Ñora paused to allow the Redeemer to intervene and he hoped against hope that she wasn’t asking what she seemed to be asking.

  I’m going to go get him, la Ñora said. Do you know where the place is?

  Fuckit, she was, she was asking. For a moment he considered the possibility of letting the little sonofabitch spend the night in the hoosegow but he couldn’t do it. Perhaps Gustavo was right: these days we walk past a body on the street, and we have to stop pretending we can’t see it.

  Aren’t you afraid you might get whatever this is? he asked her.

  Me? I don’t get anything anymore, not even tired.

  Best not to go out, señora, I’ll get him and bring him back to you, I just have to do one thing first.

  Thank you, young man.

  He headed for the door.

  Young man, said la Ñora.

  The Redeemer turned.

  I didn’t ask for this.

  The Redeemer nodded.

  He turned. Be right back, he said to himself. And he opened the Big House door and went out to look at the stars once again.

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