by Miriam Toews
On the way to the death scene location we stopped to quickly film a scene where Alfredo and Marijke talk in the car. Alfredo is supposed to tell Marijke that he just can’t stop loving that other woman or whatever, and Marijke is supposed to ask him why he doesn’t want to be with her, Marijke, anymore. I leaned into the passenger side window of the car and told Marijke that this time she’d be looking right at the camera. She wasn’t really talking to Alfredo but it was supposed to look like she was. Alfredo wasn’t there. She was talking to a camera that was on top of Miguel’s stomach. Miguel was lying down, sort of, driving the car with the camera on top of him. He could barely see over the dashboard. Elias and Sebastian and Diego sat in the back seat.
Tell her to look right into that spot just above the lens, said Diego. To count in her head to ten and then to talk to it as though it were the love of her life.
I told Marijke in German to count silently to ten and then to ask the spot just above the lens why he doesn’t want to be with her anymore. Marijke nodded.
And then, I said, ask is it because my vagina is so big after having all these babies?
This time I had gone too far. Marijke smiled and said I must be joking. Diego wouldn’t have written that. Was it for real? Okay, well, no, I said, but it’s more interesting and don’t you think it’s kind of the truth?
We can’t wreck his movie with things like that, said Marijke.
Nobody seeing the movie will understand, I said. So what difference does it make?
It’s not true to my character, said Marijke. I mean her character.
What character? I said. She’s a prop for Alfredo’s dark night of the soul. For his excruciating existential dilemma. She’s barely breathing.
Did Wilson say that to you? said Marijke.
Yeah, I said. Don’t let Diego take your soul.
What are you talking about?
Oh, I don’t know, I said.
Suddenly I was exhausted. Diego told us to hurry. He asked me if Marijke was sure of her line and I said yes.
Then let’s roll, he said.
Miguel began to drive the car, haphazardly, down the road. It was obvious that he couldn’t see where he was going. I stood and watched them leave. I counted silently to ten and then saw Marijke turn her head to the camera, her husband, to speak to him with a broken heart. I watched them disappear into dust. Then they came back and left again and came back and left again and kept doing that for a while until Diego had his shot. He and all the others huddled around the little viewing thing that showed them what they had on film and nodded in approval. Beautiful. Perfect. Wilson would take the rushes today and fly them to Mexico City before they could be destroyed by my father.
Are you coming back? I asked him.
Yes, he said.
We were tearing to the house so that Diego could talk to Alfredo again. The death scene was postponed because my father had told everyone in church that if they co-operated with Diego they might as well book themselves a window seat to hell and enjoy the ride. He told them that Diego was stealing their women and perverting the will of God. He’d also made his position clear in more tangible ways, according to Diego.
What does that mean? I asked him.
Nobody in the area will do business with the agents of Satan, he said. Alfredo had radioed Diego to tell him that he had gone into the store to buy cigarettes and had had to pay twice as much as he normally would. Same with his vampiros. And the Wayfarer’s Inn wouldn’t serve him at all. Alfredo told Diego he was done. He couldn’t take the pressure anymore. This really was it for him. Diego told him to meet him at the house. He sent Sebastian off to the businesses with some more money and a heartfelt plea to allow him to make his art. He told Sebastian to tell as many people as he could that the premiere of the film would be held in Campo 6.5 and everyone would be welcome, young and old, and it would be beautiful and sacred and true to the gentle and forgiving character of the Mennonite people.
It sounds like a war, said Aggie.
That’s exactly what it is, said Diego.
When we got to the house Alfredo was standing in the middle of the yard with his wife and my father. Diego jumped out of the truck and walked quickly over to them.
Let’s go in the house, I said to Aggie.
No, I want to hear what they’re saying, she said.
Aggie, I said. Let’s go in the house.
No, I’m going to wait here. You go.
He might drag you back home, I said.
He can’t, she said. Can he?
Of course he can, I said. Come into the house already. We’ll have Oveja.
We walked past Diego and Alfredo and his wife and our father. Oveja barked at them and I told him to shut up.
Don’t look at him, I said to Aggie. Don’t act scared.
I’m not scared, she said.
Our father said something to us, something I couldn’t understand. If it was a harsh word he said it with a catch in his throat, like he wasn’t convinced. Or that may have been my imagination. Tenderness bleeding like sap through bark. Maybe not. Then he said something to Diego.
It’s not your property, he said. It doesn’t belong to you.
I’m renting this house, said Diego, and the land that it sits on. So leave now, please. We have work to do.
Whosoever shall seek to save his life shall lose it, said my father. And whosoever shall lose his life shall preserve it.
Pardon? said Diego.
I tell you, said my father, in that night there shall be two men in one bed. The one shall be taken and the other shall be left.
C’mon, Aggie, move your ass, I said. Let’s go inside.
Two women shall be grinding together, said my father. The one shall be taken and the other left.
Irma, said Diego, what is he saying to me?
I mumbled a few words, nothing really, and pushed Aggie towards the house.
Two men shall be in the field, said my father, and the one shall be taken and the other left!
All right, said Diego, I think I understand now. But—
And they answered and said unto him, where, Lord? And he said unto them, wheresoever the body is, thither will the eagles be gathered together.
Okay, said Diego. Okay. His hands were up to say stop, please, stop.
Then Aggie and I were in the house and couldn’t hear any more of what they were saying. We watched them from the kitchen window. Elias and Miguel had showed up and were standing out there too, looking up towards the sky and clearing their throats. Then Wilson came into the house and said that he had to go right then to the airport with the rushes. He was carrying them and a tiny stuffed backpack.
Can you take Aggie with you? I said.
What? he said. I don’t think so. Why would I do that?
Why not? I said. She can help carry things.
Irma, I don’t think that’s a good idea, he said.
Why not? I said.
Well, he said, it just doesn’t make any sense.
So? I said.
I had started to shake slightly, a bit of old-fashioned trembling, but I was trying not to let it show. Then Diego came into the house and told Wilson to bring back two or three more guys from Mexico City, and to explain to José, the producer, about the money. He spoke so quickly I couldn’t understand exactly what he was saying.
Irma, said Diego, walk with Wilson to the truck and take Oveja. And then come back into the house.
No, I said. I don’t want to leave Aggie in the house without Oveja, I said.
Just to get the rushes to the truck, said Diego, and then bring the dog back inside. Go now.
Oveja and Wilson and I went outside and walked to the truck, past my father and Alfredo and his wife and some of the other crew guys. Wilson put the reels of film and his backpack on the front seat and got into the truck and said he’d see me the next day or the day after and Oveja and I walked back, past all those people who were just looking at us and not talking, and into the house. Then Diego wen
t back outside and said something to Elias who slowly walked away towards the other truck. Diego kept my father talking for a long time. Elias parked the other truck behind my father’s truck so he couldn’t drive away and then he came into the house to get a beer and take a deep breath.
What’s going on? I said.
Diego doesn’t want your father to go after Wilson and steal the film before he can get to the airport in Chihuahua. So I had to block his truck.
I looked out the window at my father standing in the middle of a circle of young filmmakers. Alfredo and his wife had gone to stand in the shade by the barn. His wife had a small, tough body and a huge smile with one dead tooth, and gold-green eyes. I imagined Diego saying cut and everyone going back to their real lives. I stared at my father from behind the windowpane. I knew he was getting tired, that his back was hurting him. He couldn’t stand for very long because of the three-inch lift he had built onto the sole of one of his shoes after the doctor told him he had some kind of scoliosis that had twisted his spine into the shape of a snake. I didn’t want him to hold his hands out that way, palms up, or to wipe the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand and I didn’t want to see him stammer for the Spanish or English words that would add to the sum of his rage.
He won’t do that, I said.
What won’t he do? said Elias.
He won’t chase Wilson, I said. That’s stupid.
You never know, said Elias. There’s a black … there’s a black storm … no?
Yeah, I said.
Moving like this in circles, he said. Inside. He can’t control it.
Yeah, I said. Tornado.
Yes, said Elias. A tornado doesn’t know what it’s doing. He started to spin around the room intentionally bumping into chairs and walls and kitchen appliances.
I know, I said. You’re a tornado.
We should play music, he said.
He put on some music that would drown out the voices from outside and Aggie and I watched our father and Diego argue to the beat of something called cumbia. Slowly everything became dreamlike and soft in the dying light. Aggie got bored and started making pictures on the wall with the green tape Diego used to indicate to the actors where they should stand. I heard Elias talking on his cellphone. He was excited that he finally had service here on the moon and he was walking around the house trying to make it last. Can you hear me now? I heard him say in Spanish. How about now? Is this better? He lost his connection. Then he swore. Puta. That was my girlfriend, he said. She just agreed to give her body parts away to a hospital or something like that.
That’s pretty nice, I said.
She prefers to give her body to science than to me, said Elias.
Well, science is science, I said. I didn’t know what we were talking about.
That’s true, he said. It’s precise and useful. How can I compete with science?
I didn’t know if he was being serious or not. I told him she’d probably change her mind when she realized how much energy would be involved in donating body parts.
No, Irma, she’d be dead, he said, it would be afterwards.
I am living beneath sea level in a basement apartment in Vancouver, ostensibly taking courses in fine arts and Marxism, I said to myself. It was a line from a letter my cousin had sent to my older sister Katie way back one hundred thousand years ago in Canada. You should join me. You’ll like it here! Sometimes I recite these ancient lines to myself when I don’t know what to say because I always feel my eyes open up a bit afterwards, maybe even shine with something like excitement or guilt, or like pilot fish. Ostensibly taking courses in fine arts and Marxism, I say to myself. You should join me. You’ll like it here.
Diego came into the house and told Elias to turn the music down. My father was alone in the yard, standing close to a shadow cast by the barn. He could have moved into the shade but he didn’t. Alfredo and his wife were gone. Diego told me he wanted to speak to me privately in his bedroom and I followed him down the long hallway that used to belong to my cousins and through the door with the upside-down cross and into his room. He had bottles of what looked like urine lined up against one of the walls. He had piles of books and a very neatly made bed.
Please sit, Irma, he said. I sat on his bed and he sat next to me and put his hand on my shoulder. Aggie has to go back, he said. I promised your father I’d make her go back. If she doesn’t go back he’ll call the police and the newspapers in Mexico City and tell them I’ve kidnapped her.
She can’t go back, I said. I promised her she wouldn’t have to.
She has to go back, said Diego, or I won’t be able to finish my film.
I know, I said, but she can’t go back.
And when I’m finished making the film then I’ll make sure that you and Aggie are safe.
How will you do that? I said.
Don’t worry, he said, I’ll find some way.
He’s not really going to call the police and newspapers in Mexico City, I said.
How do you know? said Diego.
And who cares if he does? I said. You’ll tell them you haven’t kidnapped her and that’ll be the end of it.
That’s not really the point, said Diego. He wants her back in his house. And if she doesn’t go home he’ll fuck up the production.
No, I said. She can’t go back.
Irma, said Diego, she has to go back. Please. I’m begging you now. Please tell her to go home.
I can’t tell her anything, I said. She doesn’t listen to me.
Then I’ll tell her, said Diego.
No! I said. Please don’t.
Diego and I stopped talking and stared at the line of books he had on the little shelf above his bed. We looked at those books beseechingly, as though they were UN peace workers sent to help us negotiate our impasse. I imagined them rearranging themselves on the shelf to spell out some cryptic answer, a solution, but they didn’t move an inch.
Tell my father that Aggie is sleeping right now and will go home in the morning, I said.
She’s in the kitchen playing cards with Elias, said Diego. Your father can see her through the window.
Tell him she’s sick with parasites, I said.
Irma, said Diego, she’s sitting in the kitchen and—
And that she can’t infect our mother or she’ll lose the baby. Worms will eat it from the in—
That’s ridiculous, Irma, said Diego. You know it is.
Tell him it’s like a quarantine.
He won’t believe me, said Diego.
Then tell him Oveja has to go with her, I said.
No, said Diego. We need Oveja here and besides, your father will just shoot him if Aggie brings him home.
You said we could live here with you, I said.
I know, said Diego. That was before.
Well, then I’m quitting, I said. I can’t work for you anymore. If you send Aggie home you’ll lose me too.
You have no place to go, said Diego. He looked at me kindly, steadily, like a cop who’s just busted a kid for a very minor offence, like it hurt him a little bit but the evidence was there and it was irrefutable.
I need to get paid, I said. I need to get my wages.
Yes, said Diego, that is correct. You’re right. Wilson will bring your money back from Mexico City in one or two days. I promise. I radioed José about it.
I got up and left Diego’s room and walked down the long hall and through the kitchen, past Aggie and Marijke and the others, and out into the yard to my father who was now standing by himself in the half-light, waiting. He was in the same spot. He could have moved over and leaned against the wall of the barn. He could have held his arms out as I approached him. He could have kept us all in Canada and shape-shifted with the times. He could have been a million things.
Let Aggie stay with me at my house tonight, I said. I need her to help me pack my things up and clean the stove and fridge and stuff before you change the locks. When we’re finished I’ll send her straight home. For good.
And I won’t bother you again.
My father looked so tired. Daughters, I imagined him saying to himself. Who are these people?
You can do those things alone, he said.
But I can’t do them and the milking too and have it all done by the morning, I said.
I don’t need you to do the milking anymore, he said. I’ve arranged for Klaus Kroeker to do it from now on.
Well, I said. I could hear a few soft strains of cumbia playing in the house. The stars mocked me, even the puny one all on its own in Texas, four hours to the north.
I thought: I’ve run out of words. I have nothing. I’ve failed. My father was quiet, waiting. He could stand and wait it out, wear me down. He could stand forever like the Tarahumara family on the side of the road. I could learn about this. I touched my forehead, the space between my eyes, the source, according to Marijke, of my energy and my light.
Please? I said. That was all I had, apparently, nothing but a dim flicker. Just the one low-beam request for mercy. I looked down at the ground. I covered my face with my hands. My eyes burned and tears fell. I got down on one knee, then the other, and prayed quietly at my father’s feet. When I was finished I opened my eyes and he was gone.
I need to use one of the trucks, I said.
Why? said Diego.
I’ll bring it back in an hour, I said.
Where are you going? said Diego. It’s very late.
To see a friend, I said.
Is Aggie going home? said Diego.
Yeah, I said. I’ll drop her off on the way.
I want to start shooting early in the morning, said Diego. Like at five a.m. We have to do as much as we can before everything goes to shit. Alfredo is giving me three more days before he walks. He says.
I know, I said. I’ll be back in time.
And Marijke is losing her mind, he said.
She’s fine, I said. She thinks she’s disappearing but that’s all normal, I think.
Aggie and Oveja and I were in my house, standing beside the kitchen counter, and Aggie was trying to get the tap to run but it wouldn’t.
Don’t worry about it, I said. He’s turned off the water. Go to the pump and fill up some buckets from the barn and put them in the back of the truck and then meet me in the grain shed.
