What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (33 page)

—I’m sick aren’t I?

one afternoon in the Alentejo the skeleton of a calf that the foxes had stripped, pieces of cartilage on the ground, a shred of hide, the birds that eat dead meat slipping about, not afraid of us, my sister and me

—Run, Luciano

us running home and at home no bones, curtains, rugs, my mother polishing the candlesticks on the piano that never held any candles

why don’t they put candles in them mother?

the blonde wig taking off her cranium, her name is Soraia, my name is Carlos, her name is Soraia I’m her husband, a fear just like my sister’s when she came upon the calf’s skeleton

—I’m sick aren’t I?

except no house to run to, in the office a tableau of a man in riding breeches asking a lady with a necklace I’m sick aren’t I, run, you were never here, they never found your bones in the hospital although home, an ancient ground-floor apartment, a fringe of handkerchief on the artificial lashes, and underneath the artificial lashes the cedar in Príncipe Real noiseless rain, if only the Cape Verdeans from Chelas could help them

—Help us

the husband wearing a vest with spangles, lying like Elisa if I ask her

—Do you love me?

(can I love her?)

a sigh to the ceiling, her waist disappearing out of my hand, sorry because don’t you even dream of losing that gold mine of a doctor, and you a cripple on top of it all

—I’ve told you twenty times

lying like Elisa, arguing that maybe I’m not sick, let’s do the test again and the cedar missing, the blonde wig smiling, the caretaker who buried the calf, guaranteeing to the skulls, guaranteeing to my sister

—You had a bad dream you were mistaken I didn’t see any bones, girl

I can continue working because I’m fine Dona Amélia, a passing fever, these autumn upsets, my old weight back in three weeks at most, tell the manager I’ll make tonight’s show, tomorrow’s, every day in the week, a lab mistake, a mistake in numbers, hanging up the phone, calling Marlene

—Can you guess what they told me at the hospital, silly?

looking about serenely, reconciled, happy, and in that instant, in a chance reflection, the skull looking at her, not me, not me I swear, a dead man Micaela, the mummies in the House of Horrors that rise up slowly waving their arms between the hanged Judas and the witch who’s petting a lizard, not a rubber one, even if your lover swears it’s all fake, it’s a real animal, the two of us

—Good heavens

see how my pulse is quivering, see what’s happened to my pulse, if you put your finger there, you’ll see that my heart’s giving out, Micaela covering me with the quilt

—Don’t get yourself all upset, it’s nerves

so many shows we did together, we toured the provinces with a circus, do you remember the Jehovah’s Witness who handed us the Bible

—Convert

showing us how God’s breath had destroyed cities, we closed the first half dancing with the extras, the one who smelled of wine grabbing us

—And then?

Micaela to my son

—Bring some water

my son just like his mother, how should I know what place years ago, pouring water on the ground, probably in Bico da Areia or married again to someone, she doesn’t torment me with accusations, suspicions, nosing into my pockets, checking out my clothes, finding a picture and showing me the picture, Alcides and me embracing on the beach

—Why Carlos?

tearing up the photograph, throwing it out into the marigolds, me not moving, give me some reason why I should move a finger and in spite of my not moving my wife

—Please don’t touch me

Micaela held me, tipping the glass, just a sip go ahead, explaining to Dona Amélia who’s peeking at me from the door not daring to come in, just like the woman who was talking to the man in riding breeches in the tableau at the hospital, timid, beseeching, calming her the same way Micaela

we toured the provinces with a circus and at ten o’clock the band was playing to an empty house, a piano, that is, and two trombones

the same way Micaela calmed me, don’t worry Dona Amélia because after all I’m fine, tell the manager I’ll be working quite soon, tomorrow at the latest, a passing fever the doctor said and Dona Amélia snuffling into her handkerchief

—Of course

if you don’t believe me ask the doctor at the clinic, what do you think doctor, his eyebrows a flock of doves in flight

the fireworks in Reguengos

next week, my dear lady

me a lady, me a lady, did you hear Dona Amélia that’s right

the doctor stirring calf bones, not bones that belonged to me, calf bones, next week a conference in Vienna, back from Vienna have them do a second test for me maybe it’s not sickness, her husband do you hear that, Soraia, maybe it’s not sickness, my mother not finding the spoon, she didn’t know the purpose of a glass, a plate

—Do you find me changed?

she stopped, asked us what time it was, not

—What time is it?

an incomplete flourish pointing at the clock, we told her the time and she

—So early

next week Vienna, the conference, the Hotel Mailberger, there’d be no skulls, no dead people, no Elisa, my wife knitting before an empty armchair, the cleaning woman peeking into the office leaning on her brush or maybe peeking at the blonde wig

—Good heavens

and the blonde wig

—I’m an artiste, doctor

I’m a singer, I’m a dancer, I’m an actress, my parents would take me to the theater in Beja where people were all excited, were hollering in a foreign language, a curtain closed, all twisted, I tugged at it, and one last howl, a dog was barking backstage or in some nearby alley, near and far away like the sounds in the country starting at dusk, the rustle of the walnut tree among us at the table, the goats huffing in the closets, you’d open a drawer and only lavender, the eleven o’clock mail train, and a lantern swinging between rails, my mother

—Did you hear?

as the lights went on in the theater, the performers

the false lashes, the rings, the earrings

—I’m a performer, doctor

come out from a curtain that an old man was opening

I could have sworn also fifty-eight, cholesterol, lumbago

just like me by the car door so Elisa could get in, her father in a suit that belonged to me

belonged to me

winking at his friends

—The doctor’s a gentleman

they told me to hand a bouquet of I-don’t-know-what to the ones hollering, I went up a side stairway where scenery was piled up and a man

—Go ahead

one performer waiting for me with exaggerated niceties, seen from close by, her mouth was in acid folds, my mother to my father

—You should have brought the camera Raul

also a wig, also false fingernails that picked me up, they made me acknowledge the applause, instructing me, furious inside her nice manners, nod your head idiot, and following aloud, without any fury, stroking my ear although it seemed to me to be a slap of disdain

—What’s your name, boy?

throwing pieces of the bouquet of I-don’t-know-what to the audience, a second performer tripped over me in my timidity

—Get out of my way

maybe this one here picking up the test without noticing the cleaning woman

—Good heavens

when my parents hollered at each other

no one there to applaud them

—Do they want a bouquet too?

the blonde wig and her husband in front of me and on stage Elisa moving her elbow away, pretending not to be moving her elbow away

—Don’t give me your arm, Luciano

the cleaning woman

—Good heavens

my wife on the sofa agreeing, I’ll come back home, give me another month two more months and Elisa’s scorn

—Who’s that old woman, Luciano?

every so often, without my realizing it, I’m fine in the car and I come to the avenue almost in front of the building without daring to go in, when I think about going in a neighbor, the dentist with the Jeep, opening the mailbox, thumbing through his letters, looking up and before he spots me, I step on the gas and good-bye, the old grocery store, a fashionable shop, one of the mannequins

—Doctor sir

the art gallery deserted, the pastry shop whose name had been changed, looking back to see if the lights in the windows are on, and they seem to be

on

the electric kitchen gadgets, the kettle, the round clock which I didn’t know how to set when they changed the time, locked into a time sometimes right sometimes wrong, but when was it right and when was it wrong, if I took a drink of water from the bottle in the refrigerator I’d look at the hands with hate

—What are they trying to tell me?

and the hands paying no attention, my wife

—Who are you talking to?

and how can I explain to her

tell me

that my mother back there, the Dutchman’s hill bordered by lemon trees, rocks with weeds around them which the teacher made us respect

—The graves of Lusitanian warriors, show some respect

and only snipes among those enormous rocks, how could I explain

—Who are you talking to?

that my mother there in the clock, the smell of medicines, female cousins with rosaries, careful little steps, my father to us

—Go play in the dispensary while the orderly

they were changing her sack or something like that for her lungs, with us, swabs, tinctures, how to explain movements that are looking for something in a place where she didn’t see them

—So early

finding her very voice strange, her eyes

—I didn’t say anything

how to ask you to give me another month, two more months, if at least you took down the kitchen clock, lying, silent, your taking it off the nail without understanding, how could you have understood, it’s impossible for you to understand

—The clock?

it’s not impossible for you to understand because you didn’t know the dispensary

—Go play in the dispensary while the orderly

the basins, the flasks, my mother’s Pierrot from when she was small that frightened me, my mother to my father

—I can’t throw the doll away I’m sorry

and since she wasn’t capable of throwing us away either

—I can’t throw you away I’m sorry

we were in the dispensary so the orderly could change the sack for her lungs, the dentist with the Jeep in the elevator with me opening a letter with a key, saying hello to me and while saying hello to me the floors slower than when I’m by myself, first, second, third while the 3 lighted up and the 2 went out, going from 3 to 5 with a pause at 4 burned out, you could see it was 4 from the grayish number, right there he interrupts his letter, takes a nail file from of his pocket, moves close to me

—Let’s see about this

a doll that in May with pumpkin sweets relegated to the bottom and only the tip of its hat, invisible

—Raquel

my mother Teresa, my grandmother Manuela, my sister Manuela too, she inherited the farm, which her husband sold to foreigners

they sold me they were Scottish

and still he

—Raquel

—
What’s your name ma’am?

words are so hard dammit, you forget that words are hard, placing the card on the mat and the other skull, the young fellow’s

—
Soraia

too quick to be sincere

—
Soraia

too tense, not even like a challenge, from fear, I’m not a faggot, don’t think for a minute that I’m a faggot, doctor, her name is Soraia, I’m her husband, doubling over as if with colic and the blonde wig taking off an earring, rubbing her ear, contradicting the young fellow

—The Pierrot says my mother’s name is Raquel

and my mother

—
My name is Carlos

and my mother in the middle of the living room

—How strange, Raquel

an aunt of my grandmother’s I think, they said that at night

the overseer said that at night there was a soul in torment looking for her wedding ring in the well but overseers poor devils believe in tormented souls and werewolves and ghosts, on that night or on the following night my mother by the well, we went to get her with the lantern and she was poking in the mud with her umbrella