What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (36 page)

Elvas Elvas

with the certainty that as long as there were tureens

and thank God there was no lack of tureens

I could keep on running

a folded mattress, old furniture in the shadows, the bowl of soup from the night before or the night before that

I could keep on running

the hotel guy looking at the bowl

Elvas Elvas with an indignation not worthy of God even if God was rheumatic and deaf, surrounded by angels who no longer flew, nestling casually in pitiful dejection

—
Aren’t you eating, Mr. Lemos?

nobody in Paradise, martyrs, seraphs, that is, my grandmother, for example, who was in torment because of her blindness

—
And this one, Judite?

His wife’s nightgown on the armchair with just one arm from where He annihilated Gomorrah and governed the navigation of the nebulae, the skylight in the ceiling open, vapors from the constellations made on the Second Day beyond the span of the bridge and the statue of the Son blessing us, most lovingly, from the heights of Almada, the hotel guy leaning out the window, one shoe on the floor, the other hanging

—
I can’t believe that the filthy bastard

Micaela who was changing earrings at the club in a quiet little voice

—You don’t like me, do you?

the hotel guy called me over, waving his hand in the air

—
Come over here

and God was hugging the chimney pulling off pigeon crud, I asked Him about my father and He

—
What?

I explained that he lived in Bico da Areia, he likes marigolds, one afternoon he left the house on the highway bus, he took pride in masquerading you know he worked as a clown in a club I don’t know if you understand

Elvas Elvas, no farther, even last night when I woke up in the middle of a dream, Micaela or the maid from the dining room kissing me

or me thinking they were kissing me and right away the tureen on three wire hooks

he worked as a clown in a club lip-synching songs, he went with the man from table nine right after the show, they’re asking for you from table nine Soraia and table nine

—
On my right, girl

you must remember him when he’d come back to Príncipe Real hooted at by the city workers washing down the square, taking off his rings, loosening the elastic of his wig, kicking off his heels, it was impossible not to notice him, I waited for God to peel off the pigeon crud, leave the chimney, see fit to look at me while the hotel guy I’m going to call the firemen, Mr. Lemos, and God was listening to me thoughtfully

—
There’s such a lot of you, boy

I got up onto the roof catching a whiff of the birds’ dead feathers, the birds’ crap, the weeds growing in the gutter crud, the Lord to me in His infinite goodness, in the mercy of His heart and in His celestial stench of dried urine and mildew

—
on my left, boy

let them come unto Me

and I was prodding his memory maybe you know Bico da Areia right after Caparica, near Trafaria and Alto do Galo, not a rich neighborhood don’t worry, a place for people like Your Majesty and I said, whenever the Tagus came up it would pull our yards back toward the woods, I should say something about the Gypsies to you, the pine grove, the wife of the café owner looking at my mother without paying attention to her wiping of the tables, it’s possible that you don’t know my mother or that you can’t distinguish her from her colleagues as they come out of school but you certainly must remember the park with retired people like you, with a trump card in the air waiting for the first slam, of the cedar in winter and a little one

me

waiting for the signal, the curtain being drawn back and a clown, not a woman, a clown

my father

—
Paulo

and God in His infinite condescension finally paid attention to me, examining a shoe that’s slipping off His foot, leaning on the chimney

—
Wait

Micaela changing earrings again, huge pearls now

—Do you still not like me, Paulinho?

a man, make it a man, getting into the tureen and escaping over the viaduct until whatever was left of me is glazed ceramic

Elvas

while God, more relaxed in His measureless condescension thanks to the shoe He managed to get on

—Wait

noticing my father

blessed be thee

appearing on His face, the sleeves of the pajamas reaching out and pointing from the ceiling to some spot among dozens of spots, a street corner, a doorway

—Hi there

the hotel guy behind me thinking that he existed and didn’t really exist, we existed on the roof taking off the pigeon crud, the Lord in His prudence advising me

—Wait

a horizon of antennas, courtyards, and extinguished neon tubes, for a moment my grandmother running her fingers over me, pausing to think

—Is it your son, Judite?

a gravestone where a girl was busy drawing squares in chalk, the hotel guy chasing the girl away by raising and lowering his stiff forefinger

—I swear to you I’ve phoned for the firemen, Mr. Lemos

and God indifferent, the creator of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob, Exterminator of first-born, Headman of Nineveh, Hangman of the Sodomites, extending to me curved little fingers stained with the blood of the impious or liver spots trying to button up his collar and missing the button

—Would you happen to have a newspaper or something like it to wrap me up in, because it’s cold?

God in His pajamas, tied with a cord, putting on the glasses that were missing a lens

—I think someone is out there

Micaela leaving her earrings alone and taking a drink from a small bottle and coughing at me while Dona Amélia are you still here children

—
If you wanted to, Paulo

all I feel like doing is talking I swear, feel that somebody’s with me, that there’s somebody in the room, they tell me that this cough and doctors and I don’t know what and I say don’t even think about any treatments, I’ve always taken care of myself by myself, a customer years ago, almost a friend, after a time you start feeling affection for them, worried about my lungs

—
Take care of yourself

you may think he was an idiot but he was always

—
Take care of yourself

I look at the aqueduct, the landscape, I answer him

—
Elvas

and I keep thinking why Elvas, why did I answer Elvas, I never lived in Elvas, a city almost in Castile they tell me, a fort with prisoners they tell me, the tureen was already there when I rented the place, maybe the previous tenant too

—
Elvas

like me, left it on the hooks to free himself from some fate or maybe from us and our mouths

—
Elvas

the customer

just an eyebrow

stopping to tie his necktie

—
What’s that?

and me holding back my cough trying to stop my mouth Elvas, trying to replace

—
Elvas with

—
Nothing

I tried to adjust my wrapper just so I’d be adjusting something

God adjusting the glasses that were slipping off His face because of a bend in the temple, moaning without paying any attention to the hotel guy about this damnable cold that pours water into My bones, waving His arm can you hear the water plop plop, don’t you have a newspaper there or something like it, when My wife would go to get Us some papers at the newsstand, the man at the newsstand pointed out to her that the day was over

—Auntie

handing over the leftover newspapers after gathering up his things

—A soft quilt if Dona Berta will accept it

Almighty God and the fountain of salvation that comforts souls in the joy of His presence in spite of the castanets of gums chattering with cold

—Enough to freeze your balls, boy

huddling by the chimney in order to avoid the treachery of the north wind and the dampness in His joints making it almost impossible for Me to walk, I’ve got a crutch somewhere but it’s got no padding and it hurts My armpit

—Isn’t someone there who might be your father

among the mortals

praise unto Thee, praise

only buildings, a fountain with the king’s coat of arms

MDCCCXXXIV and a spigot where once upon a time the coach nags, the ferns in the Botanical Garden rustling their mysteries, even in the daytime mysteries, even in the afternoon mysteries, mostly before it gets dark while birds are still warbling, the ferns revealing to me what was to become of me

—Pzgtslm

Mr. Couceiro asking them

—Repeat that

searching for pzgtslm in his Latin, complaining in confusion pzgtslm pzgtslm

—I don’t understand

the ferns waving their evidence and I annoyed with the ferns annoyed with him

—Maybe they’re talking about Noémia, Mr. Couceiro, saying that she’s complaining about not having any visitors and she asked them to tell you that she’s suffering

a trembling of the cane because Noémia was dying again, the meningitis, the coma, the orderly inventing cures, you never know, when least expected, we think one thing and you’ll see something else turns up, Dona Helena consulting a knowledgeable neighbor woman who read the cards, this red queen is smiling she noticed, this jack of clubs, and this miraculous five in the middle, don’t worry, a little baked fish, a hot-water bottle on her feet and she’ll be cured, the ferns in a hurry pzgtslm pzgtslm and Mr. Couceiro at the door of the room searching in his dictionary

—I don’t understand

God, however, Who understood leaning over the date on the fountain with the divine cloak of His rubber cape flopping about

—Let me take a better look because it might be your father

a faggot, Lord, a transvestite, a clown whom the Son pardoned in Your Holy Name, let he who is without sin cast the first stone remember, and God far removed from me, a mere grain of dust in the vastness of the galaxy, blowing on His fingers and going back to the newspapers with gums weary from dictating Commandments

—Not even a single page from the supplement, boy?

His mind on the newsstand and His wife, you take a step and the newspapers right away

—Pzgtslm

like the ferns, boy, He lifted a skeletal shin, showed me the step, slipped along four tiles, a sleeping pigeon went off moaning, the hotel guy despairing

—Mamma

I never imagined there could be so many veins in a face

pzgtslm

—I already warned Mr. Lemos that within five minutes we’ll have the firemen on the stairs

and not just the guy, an alarmed woman tenant, a second woman tenant looking for a deal that if I don’t pay the room rent for a week it’ll be all right