What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (30 page)

a waterwheel, a girl

who’s holding a sigh in her hand, Dona Amélia arranging the perfume bottles on her tray let me talk to her, it’s loneliness, it’s nerves, who can put up with this life

—Marlene

I was standing up, fluttering about, not in Lisbon, in an olive grove where there’s a highway now, buses and palm trees around a restaurant where the house used to be, a team of oxen looked at me through the bars

—Why did father take both the shotgun and the hoe when all he needed was the hoe, mother?

my mother putting it away in the chicken coop

pet me if you like but forget my eyes for a moment

—What hoe Marlene?

bringing in more charcoal for the iron, pulling a splinter out of her hand, the splinter was out and she didn’t pay any attention to the cut in her hand which surprised me

you promised to forget my eyes didn’t you?

—What hoe Marlene?

the hoe near the dead man’s arm, the shotgun farther off, my mother moving it closer to my father the way he would move the pitcher when he got home the hoopoes sat on their eggs on the Frenchman’s wall with feathers all around their bodies like the skirts of the Gypsy women or Dona Amélia in the dressing room rolling up and unrolling a tube of lotion

—Don’t you feel well Marlene?

my mother in the kitchen to the crickets in the night

—The police have gone, so beat it

a smooth cloak of crickets on the ground all across the fields, broken by a rooster or a dog, Dina was pounding on a slipper with the spatula she used for waxing her legs preventing me from hearing a rustle of cloth and my mother making the crickets quiet down by closing the window and with the crickets some heavy breathing

—Tough luck

people hiding and she pointed to the hollow by the stove where the kindling was piled up

—What people, it was a rat in the woodpile didn’t you hear it?

but I feel fine Dona Amélia, why shouldn’t I feel fine because it was a rat in the woodpile just like it was a crane for unloading ships, not at home, what a silly idea, at home, on the docks, a slip-up on my stepfather’s part just his luck and a cable went slack, a mistake with the levers, the maneuvers of a beginner

why do they take on green people?

my mother came into the room and I let go of the hoe

—It was the crane didn’t you see?

and my stepfather prone in the picture on the plate, what plate mother, a Greek ship with its name in the letters that you write on your breath on windows before you know how to write, it’s here in the window frame, I read it before what was left of it faded away, I’m not completely sure but I’ll bet it was a Greek ship don’t you think, sailors talking in some foreign language that means whatever it wants to mean, glass for example a strange collection of sounds that has nothing to do with a glass, if they don’t call a glass a glass how are we going to use it, stepfather for example they say rat, crane they say hoe and as a result he didn’t see the crane, Dina finished pounding on her slipper and in spite of Lisbon the crickets again, Dona Amélia imitating the hoopoes incubating the tray on the small bench in the dressing room

—Don’t you feel well Marlene?

a smooth cloak of crickets on the ground all across the fields, no rooster to puncture it, no dog, the shotgun harmless by the door frame, no rustle in the olive grove, the ironing board closed up, cold water and handkerchiefs on the spot on his head where the crane broke the picture on the plate crippling my stepfather, the rats behind and in front of the woodpile, his brain dried up too bad but let him have the shawl because your husband’s cold, not my shawl from working at the club yet and Dona Amélia

—Don’t you feel well Marlene?

a piece of wool that covered her in January, the music man came to call Dina who’d lost one of her necklaces for the finale, the crickets were expanding and contracting, sewing up the darkness, fix him some soup, give him a crust of bread, unbutton his collar so we can lay him down ma’am, a moment before I said no rooster and yet Dr. Magalhães’s rooster scratching inside our bones with the abrasiveness of a crow, Dina looking under the clothes have you seen my necklace maybe Dona Soraia, I to the police taking my stepfather as a witness tell the sergeant maybe it wasn’t the Greek’s crane that fell on his head sir, my mother not a peep and he was hiding the bread in his pockets

—Tough luck

leaving the kitchen hauling the inert half of his body that the crane had shriveled up and I who felt sorry for sick people, take the broomstick my father fished with to help you walk please, the broomstick, the string, the hook and both of us not moving

I remember

a whole afternoon by the brook, or better a tongue of murky water lingering along the stones going from stone to stone with the slowness of the earth itself, olive trees that took their time for years on end to reach their death agony, the cork tree I’m not sure whether alive or not turning to granite, my father weakened by drowsiness and no fish of course, what fish, threads of slime, the proof that I feel sorry for sick people is that after my mother’s death

a mixup with rat poison

a crane on a Greek ship

a mixup with rat poison

I brought him with me to this second floor in Alcântara where the trains shake the furniture and hour after hour repeat it’s time to leave, Dina desperate for the necklace I’d stuck it in my bag

—The necklace the necklace?

since I’m not young anymore, one of these days the manager’s going to give her my dresses and my songs

—You’re all through Marlene

and me without a job gnawing on the plaster of the wall and the embroidered pillows, maybe Paulo in that chair with me or not even Paulo since I can’t pay for his visits to the Cape Verdeans in Chelas, me on a corner in a daze from the trains, using more perfume, using more padding in my breasts, keeping out of the light and hiding my age, lighting a cigarette instead of a smile and the cigarette going out, the women or the ones in charge of the women

—Beat it

in the neighborhoods of Lisbon where first thing in the morning, before the lights go out, the delivery trucks and the drivers with a wave of the hand

—Come here

suckling pigs, fruit, vegetables, dolls swinging on rearview mirrors, getting out of the trucks with lipstick on their cheeks

—What do you mean pay, faggot?

—Did I do you a favor or didn’t I, faggot?

—How much have you got there tell us, faggot my purse on the seat, glasses, bus pass

—Haven’t you got a fucking cent, faggot?

—Has business been bad, faggot?

—Who’s this a picture of, faggot?

—Doesn’t anybody love you, faggot?

the glasses tossed into a bush and me crawling, unable to see, the way my father couldn’t see my stepfather thirty or forty

forty-four years and two months ago, busy with the root of the olive tree in spite of the warning from the hoopoes

—Mr. Freitas

just the way I didn’t see the drivers getting rid of me

—Can’t find your glasses, faggot?

my stepfather in a ditch cocking the shotgun, checking the trigger, turning the gun toward my father, looking around to make sure I wasn’t there, the waterwheel and the girl in braids at the bottom of the plate weren’t there, waiting for my father to stand up and the hoopoes all upset, jumping from limb to limb, fluttering around him

—Mr. Freitas

the trucks heading north, only those red lights, sometimes not two, one, getting smaller as they went away, me finding the glasses just when my father stood up and finding my mother’s eyes as she held the iron over the board and seeing in them the trees, the birds, the brook that was drying up over the stones, the spread of the fields

if I could only live there, if only the house was still there

my father staring at my stepfather with the hoe hanging from his hand, my mother handing me the grapes

—Would you like a bunch Marlene?

Joaquim Joaquim Joaquim Joaquim

—Would you like a bunch Marlene?

my name is Marlene, it’s always been Marlene

—Would you like to come up with me Paulo?

I’m sorry, it’s not that, after the age of thirty-five you get everything mixed up

—Would you like a bunch Marlene?

would you like to come up Paulo and relax in what’s left of the afternoon, Dona Helena didn’t put her hand on his arm, afraid of annoying him

—Don’t touch me

if I could only live there again I’d straighten the rug, put the pitcher in place, chase the rats out of the woodpile

Paulo’s elbow moving away

—Leave me alone

I’d open the window to hear the crickets

fingers that weren’t fingers for him but slugs, the thimble for repairing a mantilla on the middle finger, the forefinger with a cracked nail

—Get that off me please

a veil of roosters lighting up the night and Paião in the distance, the new housing project, the firefly of the radio antenna throbbing on a hillside, bringing the fruit basket

—Would you like a grape Paulo?

at the same time a spotlight on stage and me pushing Dina away

—It’s for me

the drums announcing the music, the tape starting up

moving a leg toward the stage

it got stuck

the leg hesitating, waiting, I’m leaving, I’m not leaving, Dina the dummy

—What’s wrong Miss Marlene?

starting to draw back

I’m leaving

the tape starting, what a relief, I’m not leaving, the music too loud and the leg that was dancing stopped now, the sound man lowering the volume and the leg dancing again

—Paulo

the second leg, a glove

we all wore gloves

spangles, twirls, Dona Amélia very good Marlene, the manager finally with

—Would you be offended if I said I liked you Paulo?

you can still make it Marlene, you don’t have to look for some corner between streetlights, you don’t have to disguise your age, we’re not firing you, we’re raising your billing, we’re putting you on a poster by the entrance, don’t take off your makeup, take all the time you need, we’re firing Dina, you’re fired Dina, you don’t have to drink with the customers or accept the invitation from table nine, forget about table nine, which we’re giving to Vânia, don’t be in any hurry, let the people wait, you’re not a drag queen you’re an artiste, Marlene, our own artiste, now that you’ve found your glasses clean those leaves off your breast and your knees and smile, don’t grab the shotgun, don’t turn it on yourself, smile the way the girl in the picture on the plate was smiling

do you remember?

a little hazy now and still so beautiful, shaking her braids and saying hello to you.

—Gabriela

why do you sit on the bed all by yourself and explain to me without speaking

—You’re the maid from the hospital dining room, you’re nobody

hearing voices and steps I’m not aware of and I stop existing for you, what does exist, is it those voices and those steps I don’t know who they belong to and you’re there listening to them without saying anything, every once in a while you’ll speak to them but in such a low voice that I can’t catch it

—Who are you talking to Paulo?

and the leaves of an elm tree answer through the boarded-up window where in September there are echoes from a backyard we can’t see, the flapping of neighbors’ clothes on the line, my sister worried about me and looking at the bed, the washbasin, the wardrobe, she’d press money into my hand

—So are you living with him Gabriela?

if only my father could pick up his accordion, start a little tune, take me with him, I’d say

—I’m going with my father Paulo

and Paulo deaf, worried about the rain and what the rain brings out, a man with a cane explaining the maple trees to him in Latin, for example, an old woman in a laundry room where he used to fly before he flew with me, for example, the actress’s lady friends who would visit us sometimes and leave a happiness of laughter in the room, for example

the singers were so happy

perfume, traces of makeup as they pinched my chin and kissed my cheeks

—Your wife’s very nice Paulo

they would twirl around the bed in a kind of merry dance, Miss Micaela, Miss Marlene, Miss Sissi, missing was Miss Soraia who’d died six months earlier and when I forgot she was dead and asked

—Where’s Miss Soraia?

Miss Micaela, more respectable, older, coming over to me with a tango step

—One of these days when you least expect it you’ll have Soraia here my pretty one

while I wondered why my father hadn’t taken me out of here, it’s been so long since we’ve seen you father, you don’t look me up, you never put in an appearance, my sister

—Still working up that mania about father what a silly notion

and Paulo listening to the rain fall, I even thought about going with him to the doctor at the hospital but when I was thinking about going with him to the doctor at the hospital who when he passed me

—Susana

me

—My name isn’t Susana, doctor

and he, in spite of being important and serious without ceasing to be important and serious, had a flirty little hand like the kind Mr. Vivaldo had except that he hadn’t committed suicide yet

—I’m sorry but you have a Susana face, Susana

when I was thinking about going with him to the doctor we went up to the Cape Verdeans in Chelas, we looked for the broken-down wall or a shack with half the roof missing that had been a garage because of what used to be a cement floor and today was cracks, seeds, dried oil stains and a tire where we’d unroll the newspaper, cut the lemon, heat up the spoon, and the trip would start, my father opening and closing his fingers, I would say

—Thanks for the tune, father

and I’d forget about the doctor, that I had a Susana face, and about Paulo listening to the rain in the bedroom, while I fluttered with open arms over the beams of the garage without my sister’s angry judgment as she hugged my nephew to her breast

—Gabriela

made me come down and when I came down I found myself with no wish to find myself, that is, a girl in a hairnet carrying patients’ lunch and dinner from kitchen to dining room followed by plane trees and pigeons, the actress in the center of the yard blinking indecisively, animated, merry

the singers are so happy

—Have you seen my nephew, sugar?

sometimes the actress at other times someone who must have been the actress’s twin brother excusing himself with fancy words

—Have you seen my nephew, sugar?

the same faces, the same rings, a graying bald spot instead of blonde hair, a suit instead of a dress and yet a scarf that was exactly the same, it seemed to me that there was the same mole on the chin and that a penciled mole on a man was impossible, it must be a real mole

—Is he your uncle, Paulo?

one of the two of them was sick at Príncipe Real while I hesitated

—Which one of the two?

so that whenever Paulo’s eye went far off as he listened to the rain falling I would cease to exist for him, he didn’t talk, didn’t connect, would excuse himself to the man with the cane who was explaining the maple trees to him in Latin

—I’ll come visit you one of these days, I promise

because Lisbon isn’t all that big that I won’t run into you, the coffee shops where you meet your comrades from Timor, the bench where you sit to rest your lungs, the maid from the dining room interrupted me, the boob

—Do you miss your aunt and uncle, Paulo?

I don’t miss anybody, I can’t stand anybody, the owner of the café brought a pint of wine while I played with empty matchboxes on the floor

—Send that spook away Judite

or pulling out the cork with his teeth because his other arm was where I don’t care to remember

—Open your mouth, spook

pulling my head back, giving me a drink and everything warm, tickling my stomach, my mother getting free from him

—Alfredo

she wiped me with her sleeve and the sleeve turned purple, the floor wouldn’t let me walk

my mother on the hippopotamus on the carousel, I on the elephant, do you remember the lights on the Tagus?

if I tried to take a step it went soft on me, I came up for an instant, swimming in the mirror on the wardrobe and right after that I wasn’t there, I searched for myself with my hands and what I found was me without being me because my hands were slipping around without reaching me and I began to cry, the café owner, the floor hadn’t changed for him

—What’s all this Judite don’t get mad at me, come here

I appeared in the mirror again along with the corner where my mother had run over and then only the café owner and then one of us, the refrigerator that rose up all of a sudden and something hurting me on the back of my neck, I tried to get a grip on the mattress that was getting away from me, the café owner grabbed me around the waist

—I’ll help you up, boy, it wasn’t anything

stronger than my mother, your son looks skinny and he weighs a ton the little devil, the floor settled down, the bulb in the ceiling got smaller as the rug got bigger, through the open kitchen door a gull was preening its wings, my mother helped me down the steps by the entrance, the café owner don’t worry everything’s okay give the big chief a big kiss pussycat, my mother’s body shaking, wait

—You go play on the beach for a while

not on the beach because herons were on the beach, in the garden where a lizard scurried off through the opening in the wall, I thought maybe I could grab its tail with my thumb and forefinger but the opening beat me, came up and swallowed it, the sound of shoes, the neck of a bottle on a glass, the café owner invisible, imitating a child whose big kiss hasn’t come, the café owner’s wife was cleaning the tables and watching me silently, that is, she kept on cleaning the same table while I hid in the gentian where the branches were scratching my nose

—Are you my grandson?

a small dark parlor, my grandmother never turned on the lamp at night, she’d walk without making a sound and then the heartbeat of the clock would change, a gray splotch would get larger among the shadows

—Judite

and changed as the lampshade turned into mourning sleeves and brazier ash, in winter, when the cat died, she put it in a drawer with some pill bottles, letters, and those throat ribbons from when she was young, faded now

—Don’t bury him on me Judite

my grandmother behind us stumbling in the corn patch in spite of the rain that was erasing her features

—What happened to your head, grandmother, your chin?

fingering her rosary beads one after another and grinding her gums

—Don’t bury

the pump on the neighbor’s well confused her and we went to get her at the barrier fence where she was tearing at the boards in hopes that the animal

—Don’t bury him on me Judite

the cat who didn’t need any light to settle down on her lap, its eyes round, turned into nothing but hair and coming out of the hair a lump with claws, my father patted down the grave with the shovel, also erased

—What about your forehead, father, your chin?

my mother erased, me erased, the well and the lemon tree erased, the drawer with the letters empty, my mother gave her the drawer, grabbing vials, buttons, I think a picture with a book in her lap, a bouquet of violets that smelled of scented memories

—Here’s your drawer, mother

the next day my mother was out in the corn patch looking for the cat talking to it

—When you hear the rain falling and you don’t talk to me are you thinking about the cat Paulo?

when I hear the rain falling and people without any foreheads or chins I’m thinking about my grandmother in the photographer’s studio, the photographer handing her the book

—Put your index finger on the page and pretend you’re reading my

grandmother who didn’t know how to read, rolling her eyes at the writing in front of a curtain with a tropical background

bays, coconut palms

where the shadow of the camera extended and he was calling for attention with an authoritarian arm

—Smile

a girl that none of us knew with a hat that must have belonged to her mother and her feet together, who’s blind today

tell me about it

keeps looking at the bays and the coconut palms, my father patting down the cat’s grave with his spade

—Look, it’s raining

because of the rain you couldn’t see the vegetable garden, you could see the bread oven and the chicken coop, too, but hazy, dim, those lenses on the glasses grownups wear that distort everything

—When you put them on, doesn’t everything look terribly strange father?

faces at a slant, objects falling apart, my grandmother searched through the drawer and for a second the girl with her shoes together was surprised at us, an arm ordering her

—Smile

I took a better look and there was no arm no girl at all

—She was never young, didn’t you know?

only my mother getting sentimental over the picture and my grandmother warming her feet on the brazier, I was waiting for the lizard to come back along the wall, the café owner passed by scratching himself

—You can go back to your mother, spook

while his wife was cleaning the table and wasn’t looking at the café owner until he said

—Bernardete

even today I wonder if it was me she was looking at, we brought the picture with the bays and the coconut palms to Bico da Areia and one day we lost it

I lost it

I didn’t lose it, I tore it up, I thought it was unfair, my grandmother dead and the girl with her finger on the book was alive, they lowered the casket using ropes and I said

—Aren’t you going to pat down the grave father?

my mother gathered the pieces together looking at me with an expression like the one gulls and the cleaning woman have, a Gypsy came out of the waves whipping a horse with the remains of a belt, what happened to the box with pill bottles and letters, on top of the wardrobe, in the tub among the bottles, a part of the café owner in a part of my mother that I preferred not to know

that I don’t know

that I know that I preferred not to know, the Gypsy erased in a tone that intrigued me

—Give the big chief a big kiss, pussycat

pulling the cork out with his teeth because his other arm was where I’m not going to remember

where I didn’t want to remember and still I do remember

—Open your mouth, spook

so that a few months ago I bought a can

before spring because Alto do Galo was fogged over and the flowers on the gentian closed up, my father at Príncipe Real

—The gentian flowers, Paulo

so that before spring I brought a can of gasoline to Bico da Areia with the flowers on the gentian closed up, I leaned against a bridge beam until a bit of moon was over the water, rags and bottles, that is, and a piece of shopping bag with no electrician, no pups or Dália’s aunt noticing me

it’s been ages since anyone’s been pedaling the tricycle two houses away

Lisbon across the way and the lights of ships, several Lisbons and several ships set on top of one another by the movement of the Tagus, one Lisbon folding into another and another into another and at that point the first one again, my mother chatting with a man, the man dumped a pail out into the yard and pushed the door open, wearing Rui’s topcoat I brought a can of gasoline, the syringe, the newspaper, and the cigarette lighter to heat the spoon, it’s been ages since anyone’s been pedaling the tricycle two houses away because the niece there didn’t become engaged to a doctor, she begs on the street, they told her that her niece is begging on the street