What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (25 page)

—Nice girl don’t you think?

changing the position of my ivory letter opener, my carved inkwell

—Countersign this note for me and get me out of a bind, old brud

as you examined the watercolor on the office wall

—Nice oil painting Pedro

hefting the bronze horse that my wife at Christmas

—You’ve really got a pile of dough haven’t you?

counting the money and smoothing my lapel and tossing the bill away without tearing it up

why tear it up

into the wastebasket

—You’re my savior you’ve stopped me from getting arrested

and you can still perceive, even if my wife doesn’t believe it I could even swear that you liked me

it’s so important for me to be sure that you liked me

unlike you, your son didn’t lie to me with pages from a notebook, didn’t look for invented hairs on my jacket, he’d slip into the kitchen

disagreeable, withdrawn

chatting with the maids by the edge of the pool drawing secrets out of the giraffe, so different from you, I showed him Alenquer and he didn’t know the town, I showed him the labyrinth of buildings that the farm had become and he was bored with the farm

—We’ve scarcely missed a single Easter here

he wasn’t impressed by a part of the main entrance, the limestone column that stood at a corner of the square, that is

—We’d gotten through the gate and were all beaming

just like the mother you’d dug up I don’t know where

not in Spain, not a chorus girl, not anything, an ordinary working girl, stupid, sluggish, so that instead of a Spanish girl, a chorus girl, a prostitute from the word go, João, you brought her to me at the company, guiding along her sheeplike obedience with an invisible crook

—Meet my millionaire brother, Ofélia

while you could have been saying

—I brought you this toad, Pedro

and I with my hands behind my back

—They’re poisonous I don’t want it

someone who curled up on the sofa fiddling with the catch on her handbag, give her the giraffe from the pool or conversation with the maids so she can enjoy herself with people of her own kind

—You’re not my nephew you’re the son of a common maidservant get lost

and Rui immediately under the table unwrapping candy, why don’t you get up, are you afraid to show some little piece of paper, a crumpled bill, a page from a notebook with doodling

—Cosign this note and get me out of a bind uncle

why don’t you get a job in a bank sometime and during breaks at work poking me in the belly with your finger, making fun of me but still my pal, I’m still thankful

—You’re my savior you stopped me from getting arrested old pal

why do I always remember you as so serious you were never serious, lying on the bedspread with a crucifix on your shirt assuring me

—It’s all over, palsy

with a solemnity I don’t recognize in you, get up, come out from under the table, leave the candy alone, do you remember the widow who received us in Alenquer in the little house right next to Mr. Machado’s property, a pinch on the cheek and

—Take off your clothes

she would wind up the phonograph, get out of her clothes smelling of violets, tiny, chubby, jolly and what am I doing now, don’t mess up her eiderdown quilt

we only had shoes and socks on

above all don’t mess up her eiderdown quilt

—I’m sorry Dona Clarisse we’ve messed up your eiderdown quilt

and her breast

my mother probably had a breast like that

—You messed it up you messed it up you’re a naughty boy come here so I can punish you

no, my mother doesn’t get undressed, my father always sleeping and my mother dressed, the music from the phonograph an opera with a woman annoyed at us repeating in the midst of violins, eider-downs, and Mr. Horácio’s elms, naughty boy naughty boy

—Disobedient boys bad boys

asking each other in our heads what now, little porcelain angels fluttering on the dresser, one of us, who knows why

—I’m sorry father

or maybe I think I know but I don’t know, a clock with Roman numerals in a glass case

we have one in the living room

who am I, tell me who I am

a hairpin sticking into my back

you on the right and me on the widow’s left, my darlings, my well-mannered little boys who won’t kiss me on the arms, kiss me on the arms, I was bothered by the vaccination mark

me on the side with the vaccination mark, just my luck, the widow went deaf years later, I was back from the army and the little house needed plastering, the clock with Roman numerals stopped at some lost hour, my mother to her

—My son Pedro

not full voiced, not jolly, bent over, taking her time remembering

—You had two children didn’t you ma’am?

how to tell that to Rui

to João

how could I blame him for my always being on the vaccination side, having to close my eyes because of the scar, how could I ask him

—Change places with me today

I bought some little porcelain angels so they could fly over the dresser Pilar

Pilar incredulous

somebody was incredulous

—That’s awful

an eiderdown quilt of fake satin, an attic phonograph, she had the chauffeur build a chicken coop next to the garage, studied it for a moment, got mad at the chauffeur

Alberto, I think that back then

she called on Rui as a witness

—It wasn’t like that in Alenquer was it?

she ordered Alberto

Alberto or Amadeu?

Amadeu

she ordered Amadeu to cut the roost in half, raise the netting, remove a shingle from the roof and calmed down

—That’s fine you can go now

the chauffeur was baffled, he shut himself up in the shop muttering about us

—They’ll never understand

he left the door ajar so Rui could go in but he didn’t, Pedro was complaining that his nephew was just like his mother, a good-for-nothing

—Better some Spanish woman a chorus girl a prostitute but somebody with life

and Rui in the kitchen with the maids asking for lemons, the first time I found a syringe in his room and told my husband, my husband pointed out his thinness to him, upset and stammering

—Have you decided to imitate your father and die on me too?

João, we never spoke about him, if I just happened to mention him I’d be pierced with a look and he’d waddle off away from me, insisting that he had no family, he wouldn’t let me mention him

—Do you think there was any brother?

my brother-in-law would make fun of me all the time, would lift up my skirt and in a tiny little voice, completely rude, naughty boys, wicked boys punish us punish us, he would put an opera on the turntable and say he was going to tear off my blouse smiling at Pedro

and Pedro, I swear, took his side

the widow didn’t pay any heed brother, tiny, chubby, if our mother only knew, my mother-in-law who didn’t have an inkling of anything was getting the names mixed up

—I don’t know

like I’d gotten pregnant Pilar and my brother-in-law was feeling my belly

—Nobody would have looked at her twice and still

maybe I’ve been capable and left barren for my sins, reduced to telephone calls and teas, and João doing a mocking pirouette

—I spotted it right off little brother

whenever he wasn’t shut up in his room Rui would have fun with his lemons and his giraffe, I’d go over to the pool and I could hit him and tell him get out of this house nobody wants you here, my husband didn’t say anything, the giraffe didn’t say anything, I was even afraid that the giraffe

—Don’t be mad at him ma’am

but all it did was get thinner while a little whistle turned into a rag that the gardener pulled out of the water along with the leaves, if only my brother-in-law would stop appearing to me from time to time, even today when we’re alone and I can see him quite clearly with his leg stretched out on the chaise longue as though the house belonged to him and I was the guest, as though the money hadn’t come from my parents, get it into your little head that everything’s in my name, understand, your brother works for me, understand, if I felt like it I could kick out the two of you, understand, and in his impudence asking Pedro

—Haven’t you had it up to here with her little brother?

inviting him to some house

a shack in Alenquer next door to Mr. Machado’s property where there was a widow and a phonograph howling operas and a pinch on the cheek and

—Get undressed

he was naked with the widow, with me wearing a bathrobe, Pilar rubbing his knees with her hands

—Rui?

and me noticing that his mouth was saying

—João?

his mouth the whole time

—João?

João, the one my mother liked best, she would debone his snook while with me you’re quite old enough to take care of your fish by yourself, she’d push him in the swing longer, when my time came I’m tired, when he got close to the well and all those bees good lord, wasps driven crazy by the smell of the water, the bloom in the cherry trees that I never saw so beautiful

thousands of such beautiful blossoms

those threads left by the little seeds as they sailed through the grass, the bad things

soup, aspirin, brushing teeth

not existing, when he got close to the well she barely spanked him and if it had been me how’d you like a good whack on the behind, I tried to give her my arm at the funeral and she pushed it away or stop it don’t you feel guilty at being the one who’s left, my secretary can’t get in can’t get in and João pretending he was stroking her behind, amused, merry, going down into his grave, signaling them to cover him with dirt, getting undressed

—So long little brother

João to the secretary I’m not going in sweetheart, where’d you get that crazy idea, nobody went in, until the gravestone shut him up or maybe not even a gravestone since in the middle of meetings you’d appear before me in the office

—Peekaboo

interrupting the Englishmen with the farm equipment, with you drinking my coffee, suggesting

—Shall we go now?

shuffling the order of the files

—Don’t let yourself be tricked little brother you’re such an innocent

the Ping-Pong table set up on a paved spot at the farm, the case that I imagined contained the bones of our grandfather the notary, the respect shown by the family in front of the frame with a skinny fellow made dignified with praise

—Your grandfather notarized more than a thousand deeds in Coimbra

and the skinny fellow writing his name with a pen that was missing its tip and was displayed with all the pomp due a relic

—Grandfather’s pen

the Ping-Pong table, the Englishmen waiting, grandfather the notary from inside the chest, impatient

—Well?

more than a thousand deeds in Coimbra and now his bones, clean of flesh, gleaming in the chest, when they opened it up with a crowbar no grandfather, moldy curtains and empty cookie tins, I don’t remember if it was raining, I remember my mother folding her fan, complaining about the heat

—Such heat

I remember the widow, my darlings my little boys, the Englishmen waiting while I picked up the Ping-Pong paddle and the ball

while I picked up the pen that was missing its tip

while I was taking the pen from my jacket and in place of the pen given to me by the Industrial Association the pen for signing deeds, my brother helping himself to the cigarettes from the head of the English delegation and blowing smoke in my face

—Surprise

I’d better pick up the paddle, concentrate on getting the ball over the net, my father dozing in a rocking chair and in spite of his being so very chic, hair tonic, suit, ring

I wanted that ring so very much

what you could spot was the pair of patent-leather shoes laid out at the head of the bed at night, the label on the lining

Mimosinha Shoes

which carried him through the rooms with a sleepwalking slowness

—Leave me

the cherries that the wagtails were pecking at, Mr. Machado’s property, apple trees, vines, Dr. Elói who played the big mandolin

or the banjo, or the guitar

on holidays, inaugurations, weddings, he would wear a medal, he would visit the widow with a flask of liqueur, he would leave, combing his hair, smoothing his jacket, the widow would give me the yellow liqueur to taste where shiny little pieces of straw glowed in the light