What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (35 page)

 

long to forget my father because nobody remembers a dead clown, the same goes for Marlene, Micaela, Sissi, Vânia, too far on in years to dance at the club, too shapeless for the privilege of a street corner, coming out under a streetlight

—Hi there

and then nobody, I thought I caught a car looking me over, wondering

—How much a trick

and nothing but a fireplug or the reflection of the name of a hotel fluttering over the sidewalk

QUARTOS CHAMBRES ROOMS ZIMMER

fluttering over the sidewalk,
se habla español
, English spoken and neither Spanish nor English, flags behind the desk, a guy rising up out of a newspaper I don’t know how many weeks old and pointing twice at the price on the sign in pencil, folding down his pinky and ring finger as accomplices in a discount and even so eight fingers, nine with the cigarette, nine bills
caballero
, nine bills
monsieur señor
sir, there’s no bathroom but there’s a small washbasin although unfortunately and for no apparent reason they’ve turned off our water, a stairway to the top floor where we’re closer to God, sometimes we can hear His footsteps in the attic back and forth bringing order into the world, I could never understand people who don’t believe in Him because God is changing the station on the radio and knocking over chairs with his unsteady knees, His cataracts, eyes worn out from searching for lost sheep among so many sinners destined for hell, loan sharks, cops, bill collectors for the gas, God is a little clumsy it’s true but He’s forgiving, kind, determined to forgive

—Come unto Me come unto Me

the hotel guy would bring up alms in the form of a little soup now and then because God is a widower and hasn’t any stove there, wearing pajamas and a rubber cap ever since that tile

—That devilish tile

broke off because of the hail or the angels

—You’ve read about it in the Bible haven’t you?

who because they revolted against Me I exiled them to the utter darkness, put the soup down on the floor, straighten out the stool, stay with me for a bit because I’m bored in Heaven, tell your boarders to do penance because the hour is near, prepare the Ark, Monteiro, because it’s only waiting for the company to turn the water on in order to set up the Flood, the flags behind the desk are loose, Australia’s has fallen off its staff, the ashtray in the shape of a metal turtle, if you lifted the lid you got the smell of stale tobacco in its shell, nine bills then

make it eight

eight bills
caballero
and with God as your neighbor what more do you want, He’d been sitting on the edge of the bed governing the universe ever since His wife’s aneurysm, when she was alive He’d disguise himself as a desk clerk and watch over us in a bow tie, meticulous, judicious, studying our virtues, good morning, good afternoon, unsure we wouldn’t suspect His divine nature but as soon as she’d been lowered into her grave, it must be five years now, He decided to reveal Himself

—I am what I am

Marlene, Micaela, Sissi, Vânia grow larger in the rain

—Hi there

Dona Amélia too, they told me Dona Amélia was without her candy tray ever since her husband’s surgery but not with the others, all by herself, the expensive medicines, the dressings, the tiny roast chicken, I thought that another customer

—How could it be Soraia, as if my father who never grew old, because underneath the photograph

not written with a pen, printed and therefore true

Soraia the Star, I thought a customer

what foolishness

—Paulo

and I realized the maid from the dining room was stopping getting dressed

the blouse with the anchors

how many months has it been, how many years Gabriela?

I’d forgotten about her as she filled up the room, worried about me

—Paulo

as though all of a sudden Dona Helena and Mr. Couceiro were in her, the same expression, the same quivering mouth, the fear that I

—Don’t bother me

me to her or to the customer in the car

—Don’t bother me

drawing back toward the entrance offended, a faggot, a transvestite, a dead clown while God, in His pajamas, was spying on me in the seraphic heaven of the little attic window without being able to see me, maybe if I called Him a freak, a fright, the feeling that He’d been in a hurry creating everything in six days and a small guilty blessing, my father always paused even though the music had already started and the spotlight man said

—Let’s go

he’d do a dip with his right leg and cross himself before the curtain went up on stage, Rui wearing for the first time the vest that Vânia had given him and my father in the middle of his prayer

—We’ll see about that

Rui leaning against a column smoking, money in the pocket of the new vest

—Promise me you won’t say anything to your old man

and the two of us in Chelas,
caballero monsieur signore
sir English spoken, on Mr. Couceiro’s landing in Anjos, or the Esperanto teacher trailing after us maybe, a small man with a white beard and a Siamese cat that was getting out of his arms just the way doves get out of a magician’s pockets vanishing into the air, the nameplate by the door next to the bell
Esperanto parolata
, he would pause on the steps assured, fraternal, never a wrinkle, a crease, all his pleats perfect, with the Siamese leaping from his arms and immediately disappearing

—In a matter of months, not too many two three we’ll all be speaking the same language, brothers

the nephews who didn’t speak the language had sold his dictionaries and grammars by weight, the bust of the distinguished Polish gentleman who invented those verbal orthopedics, Vânia was studying my features with pity, how long have you been on drugs Vânia, your knees are so skinny

—If only you were cute like Rui, Paulinho

if God could only come down from the attic and correct my imperfections, straighten my nose, the maid from the dining room watching me as I tried to make the nose bone thin

—What’s wrong with your nose Paulo?

not just the knees Vânia, your body is so skinny and I never saw you in Chelas, Dália yes, you no, they’d stopped sending you notes from the tables, you’ve got number nine waiting for you, girl

a fire hydrant, my father coming out of the entryway

—Hi there

with the bashful smile of not having slept at home making my mother despair

—Where’ve you been Carlos?

before Bico da Areia we lived in Lumiar for a month, my father repeating

—Do you remember Lumiar?

me

—I don’t remember anything

and he was disappointed in me, some brownish buildings just beyond the military post, I used to take you to Ameixoeira on Sundays, there was an abandoned factory there, if we coughed there were echoes and echoes like people walking, Lumiar while he repaired a redheaded wig and I didn’t think much of it

—You’re not going to wear that piece of shit are you?

a redheaded wig to go out into the rain on a step by the entryway

—Hi there

I asked the hotel guy to take me up to the attic where God lived, a small stairway disguised by a wardrobe on the third floor, you moved the wardrobe to one side and the stairway was there in darkness, difficult but necessary

smelling of dried urine and mildew

the eye of the needle that comes before the Kingdom of Heaven, the desk with the keys are so earthly, so unimportant, the guy climbing up with me, pots all boiling up in his lungs

—You wouldn’t think this could tire you out

the dried urine and mildew grew stronger, a hint of light where surely Paradise was and people exalting the Power and the Glory with psalms, a movement of martyrs and seraphs closer and closer, the guy, who was familiar with the corners of eternity, rapping on some invisible thing in the shape of a door, not with his knuckles, with the strength given for spinning out millenniums and for the destruction of cities without just people, God’s eardrums had hardened a bit, pounding therefore, getting impatient because man’s nature, unfortunately, is to be anguished and avid

—Mr. Lemos

someone shaped from too much clay was on the floor here below, still prisoner of a worldly state

—The law again?

the maid from the dining room grabbing me by the lapels

—Don’t leave, Paulo

she’d set up a lamp from the hospital which went on if you shook it and you’d blink your eyes not used to the light, she’d put together a kind of sideboard with shelves from the storeroom, if we uncovered the window maybe we’d see the Tagus, a park, people just like us shaking out rugs across the street, my lapels were being gripped the same way my mother would in times past

—Don’t leave, Carlos

—Don’t leave, Paulo

a silence that was demanding, begging, give me the car with wooden wheels

I can’t hear the waves though

so I can smash it on the floor

where the stairs ended rarefied solemn air, much higher than the clouds, the hotel guy, sacrilegiously, working on the lock with a piece of wire, twisting doorknobs

—
The old bastard’s deaf

the Esperanto teacher would drive away his Siamese cats with sweeping gestures, it was his hands, designing the cats, in the beginning there was nothing and then a nose, a paw, a curled-up life that stretched out with a leap and an animal running off

the doorknob came off with a bang, he lifted the latch to the dull glow of good fortune where the windowpanes hadn’t been cleaned and a rubble of comets, lunar detritus, the bowl of soup from the night before or the night before that, cold on the windowsill

—
Haven’t you eaten, Mr. Lemos?

and no one in the little room, just as it was

se habla español
,
on parle français
, English spoken, from time to time a wandering foreigner, a Japanese an arm raised protesting

—No no

a barefoot girl asking for a handout, angry,
si parla italiano
and the Japanese right out into the street

—No no

the first time I slept with a woman not really a woman, Micaela the first time I went to bed with a woman I stayed motionless waiting, a tureen with the picture of an aqueduct saying Cidade de Elvas and before taking off my shirt, before taking off my pants

—Elvas Elvas Elvas

shrinking away if she got close to me, pushing her hand away, the lamp on the night table had the nose of a seal balancing the ball that was the lampshade, next to the seal a shaving brush with the dried remains of lather and I kept my eye on the tureen Elvas Elvas Elvas, no matter how much I tried to say something else and I really wanted to say

—I don’t want to

a fever inside of me Elvas Elvas Elvas, if only I could have been able to run away over the aqueduct, if only I could have run away over the aqueduct, Micaela tugging as she put on her bra

—I’m doing you a favor and you push me away

the seal turned off and we all disappeared, no viaduct over which

so the Esperanto teacher with a long caress showed me a nose, a paw, a life all in a ball, I straightened out with a leap and

what a relief

good-bye

—
I’m sorry Miss Micaela

no viaduct over which I can escape, Micaela a man after all, fingers without rings pointing to the doormat

—Get out of my sight

and instead of

—I’m sorry if I upset you Miss Micaela

—I didn’t mean to offend you Miss Micaela

—I’m so ashamed Miss Micaela

my throat disobeying me Elvas Elvas, I ran through the tureen toward Spain, a sulkiness that was disappearing

—You ingrate, I was doing you a favor

beyond the mailboxes by the entrance no Seville, no Elvas, Lisbon was emerging, I took shelter next to a cement mixer near some construction work