What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (34 page)

—Wait

she was trembling so much

my father with his pistol in his pocket to defend himself from the ghosts

although only overseers poor devils

he had them burn the Pierrot in a basin, falling apart, inert, as soon as it stopped burning they threw the cinders into the edge of the field and the pistol went back to the desk, on holidays when he came out where the linnets were with us, my sister said

—Look

I saw the gleam of a piece of mica and instead of the piece of mica a wedding ring that said Rolando and my father didn’t pick it up with his hand, he hooked it with a stick and ordered us not to tell anyone and repeating Rolando, he asked my grandmother at dinner

—What was the name of your aunt’s bridegroom, Raquel?

—
Don’t lie to the doctor Rui why lie to the doctor my name is Carlos my name isn’t Soraia

and taking closer notice I found that she didn’t smell of perfume or deodorant or any of those creams they put on, she smelled of gentian and cheap bouquets, something like the gulls on the river, the false thumbnail lost without her having noticed, the blonde wig that fell over her forehead while the vine grew, hiding the traces of a beard and the purse with the broken clasp and the young fellow

—
I’m her husband

insisting with pride

—
Her name is Soraia, doctor, don’t listen to her

and suddenly, I don’t know why, I was in the car spying on my building waiting for a lighted window, waiting for you

a bronze pheasant in the center of the table, Saint George fighting the dragon in a carved frame selling the farm

—What was the name of your aunt’s bridegroom, Raquel?

they sold the picture too, the impression of my coming across it in an antiques shop in Sintra but I put it aside because I wasn’t sure, Saint George on horseback in armor and helmet, the dragon rising up to the sword with a snort of light, covering her ears, not listening to the answer, and before covering her ears my grandmother said

—Jerónimo

spying on my building waiting for your window, two months more and I’ll come back asking

—Forgive me

the dentist with the Jeep making room for the baggage and the dentist interrupting his letter, studying the suitcase, studying me, getting out on the sixth floor and his doormat new, going down to the ground floor in spite of your being alone in the living room, going off, running away, asking for forgiveness without your hearing me, putting the baggage into the car swearing to you

don’t think badly of me

because I don’t belong here, Elisa brushing her teeth annoyed at seeing me, leaving the baggage by the door, maybe if I tried to kiss her

—With this heat, Luciano?

so taking a magazine out of the basket, not thinking, not reading, waiting for her to go to sleep in order to lie down next to her, hesitating about hugging her, hugging her, sorry at having hugged her because her shoulder

—What a bore

and me uncomfortable with the idea that the dentist with the Jeep had heard her, I don’t belong here, my father put the pheasant back by the window where the shadow of the wall

—I think it was Rolando

I asked about the painting of Saint George in the antiques shop in Sintra and a fat man with a child’s pacifier

—To quit smoking, old man

came out weaving his way among dressing tables, sideboards, large mirrors

—It’s not for sale, old man

there it was no doctor sir, no doctor

old man, in a moment now Luciano and a familiar
tu

—It’s not for sale, old man

trying to put me off

or console me

with some Louis XV chairs, dozens of cowbells along the wall, the pacifier with the tedious tone of someone testifying

—It’s what they use in vacation homes, you push the button and instead of a doorbell a cowbell to recall the country, understand

in the end not the familiar
tu
, the formal
você
, on a second wall tile fragments hanging from wires, the remains of landscapes, wild boars, martyrs, I thought I caught sight of the bronze crest of the pheasant but at that moment the sun from the window and with the sunlight worthless pieces of junk, not the Saint George, a canvas with a conquistador leaping over a ditch, the dragon a wounded Indian with ridiculous feathers, my father to my grandmother, not really to my grandmother, to himself

—I thought it was Rolando

my mother

—Rolando?

the doctor assured me Micaela, he says there are a lot of viruses going around in the fall, I’ll repeat the test and when he returns from Vienna on Tuesday or Wednesday

Hotel Mailberger Hof on the Annagasse, Hotel Mailberger Hof

He’ll see us in his office, we’ll give him the test results

—
Completely normal ma’am no need for concern

and right then, he reminds me to send him an invitation to the show, after the visit, on leaving

—
I promise

—
You smell of gentian did you know that?

just like that, I looked at him, Rui was flabbergasted

—
You smell of gentian did you know that?

and immediately Bico da Areia, Judite, the Gypsies’ mares coming from the sea, I was

how else can I put it

content, not nostalgic, content, the albatrosses, the bridge, my son

my nephew was small, it was gratifying

you’re going to laugh at me, don’t laugh at me

dancing, luckily Rui pulled me out of it

—
Soraia

and the cleaning woman looking at us with that face they put on when they look at us, crossing herself

—
Good Lord

but I shook his hand and he shook mine, we shook hands and I understood

Hotel Mailberger Hof, me in the Hotel Mailberger Hof with prints of Flemish masters

Spanish, Italian?

imitation Empire furniture, two small bottles of Sankt Leopold on a square tray

understanding that he was calming me, finding me fit, wishing me luck, his lips without any sound to be heard, he was standing very straight and closing his mouth, Rui

—
What’s the little man got?

and me getting clo
…

two small bottles of Sankt Leopold on a square tray

me getting closer

—
Doctor

and the doctor

—
Rolando

the room was large, with prints of Flemish masters

Spanish, Italian?

imitation Empire furniture, two small bottles of Sankt Leopold on a square tray. The bed seemed too big, with the look of having served for the wake of an important corpse the previous night. It also gave the impression of a glimpse of a gentleman in patent leather shoes lying on the quilt, a crucifix between his fingers and his face covered with a handkerchief. From the window the Annagasse was visible

a street with no cars

and a Neapolitan restaurant a hundred feet down. Peeking at the bed again after closing the window on the Annagasse, the gentleman in patent leather shoes had disappeared. The mark of his body on the quilt was still there, however. He picked up the ballpoint pen that came with the wine and began filling out his breakfast order, a hole on top for the doorknob. He hesitated about putting down two persons or one because of the corpse. He decided on an intermediate solution and ordered
2 Eier im Glas
: thirty schillings isn’t a lot of money. Besides, Austrians are pleasant people; a placard proclaimed W
IR SIND IMMER ZU
I
HREN
D
IENSTEN

W
E’RE ALWAYS AT YOUR SERVICE

and the lady at the reception desk, with painted eyelids behind her glasses, gave him a kind smile over the map of Vienna. Wien. An odorless and weightless city

maybe the aroma of sugar

which vaguely reminded him of Paris although lighter, softer, more intimate. The biscuit-like texture of the girls’ skin enraptured him, especially when their laughter broke like a crystal glass. He filled out his breakfast order, put it outside, and thought about lying down: the memory of the dead man in patent leather shoes held him back. There was an armchair in front of the TV and thirty-six channels. He didn’t turn on the sound out of respect for the dead. The first little bottle of Sankt Leopold, with a palace printed on the label, tasted like a gum remedy and therefore he didn’t open the second one with the metal implement. The telephone maintained the look of loud objects when they’re not making any noise. The electric clock with red numbers was announcing 2234. A Virgin with lowered eyes was protecting the Infant Jesus and a chubby little friend against spectral branches and a stormy sky. He counted the toes on the Infant Jesus and the chubby little friend and it annoyed him that they were correct. In spite of being no more than three or four years old the friend suffered from bunions. It must have been something esteemed during the painter’s time. On turning his head to the left he caught sight of himself in the mirror on the wardrobe. He took the opportunity to turn sideways and measure his belly. He tightened his belt and measured again. Besides his belly he didn’t like the fact that his shirt didn’t match his necktie and neither the necktie nor the shirt matched his pants. He found himself too old. The clock had gone from 2234 to 2243 without his having noticed the time. No: 2244. He looked for the menu with a photograph of various vegetables

und so gesund

a pepper mill and a bowl of sauce, he ran through the pages, he came to
Rahmgulasch
, he stopped,
Rahmgulasch mit Servietten Knödel
. He leaned the menu back against the lamp and the clock, implacable, 2249. He wanted, without understanding the reason, a Bible on the night table. There wasn’t any. He made the best of it and read the instructions in case of fire, with explanatory drawings. The last one showed a woman smoking in bed, with the cigarette covered by a red X: R
AUCHEN
S
IE BITTE NICHT IM
B
ETT
. He cast a glance at the quilt: the worthy gentleman, one who respected instructions, wasn’t smoking. Maybe if he lifted the handkerchief from his face. He lifted it. That is, he had the intention of lifting it but on touching the quilt no one on it. 2255. Rural scenes in black and white on a double print next to the bathroom. On the left panel a pair of hunters with shotguns on their shoulders and some quite tall trees. In the background a building with an abandoned look about it. In the print on the right the same building from a different angle, the same trees, scattered people. The label was identical on both of them: P
ROMENADE
P
UBLIQUE DE
V
IENNE
, in nicely shaped lettering. Maybe Vienna had been a kind of farm in 1779, since under the label it stated it was drawn

d’après nature

by Laurent Janscha, a student of the famous Professor Brand, whose fame must have evaporated by 1780. Or 81. He decided to make a note not to forget to ask at the desk about Professor Brand, for whom the public promenade of Vienna took on the proportions of a provincial panorama. The lady with painted eyelids behind her glasses would clear up everything in the didactic manner of a librarian before he went out to take a streetcar ride through the center of the city. With a little luck he might run into the hunters with shotguns. Nor did he understand the reason for the soap in the bathroom being called Ginkgo Classic. He tried the Ginkgo Classic and his hands were left smelling of cedar. Besides that, there was the picture of a cedar tree on the Ginkgo Classic and at that moment he came upon eight fauns on the wall balancing on blue crags. If the hall is full of smoke, close the door and remain in the room. Attract attention from the window. Wait for the arrival of the firemen (
Sollte der Fluchtweg voller Rauch sein schliessen Sie die Tür und bleiben Sie im Zimmer. Machen Sie vom Fenster aus auf sich aufmerksam. Warten Sie auf die Feuerwehr
). Who was going to notice 329? Speaking of 329, the electric clock 2327. The Infant Jesus and his chubby friend five toes on each foot. Counting the fauns, 100 digits, speaking only of those below the knees. He took the metal implement and opened the second bottle. It also tasted like the gum remedy but it diminished his fear of dying.