What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (42 page)

odd or even?

while my father, his ankles together the way my mother used to sit, was examining his fingernails, the trim on his blouse, an imperfection in his skirt, he examined me

—Do they feed you at least?

but I was still me and you weren’t you anymore, you’d unlearned how to make paper airplanes that almost flew even though they’d fall down down right away, how to talk to me, you looked on your wrist for the watch that Eliseu had carried off and even without the watch it was two o’clock at last, how do you take care of a child for two hours

teach me

because there aren’t any games or toys or hard candy in the place and he gets the settee all dirty on me with his filthy fingers, I wash his hands and three minutes later if even that long and there’s an hour and fifty-seven minutes left, I’d let him have the doll from the head of the bed, the peasant girls on the oil and vinegar carafes, the little bird in a bamboo cage that you wind up by the tail and it whistles the national anthem, he’d let me have a little bird in a bamboo cage that didn’t whistle at all with whistling music that was full of drumbeats that weren’t coming from the bird but out of the bottom of the cage while the creature went back and forth and didn’t give off any sound at all and I’d pretend I was interested in it just in order to please my father while my father was convinced he was pleasing me

—A real little bird, Paulo

when the drumming was over, the bottom of the cage would stop shaking and the bird was left with an idiotic expression, my father pointed to the creature that was masquerading as a canary the same way he was masquerading as a woman

—Don’t you think it’s cute, Paulo?

the bird and my father begging, ridiculous, asking for something or other with their little painted beaks, while I listened to them without hearing either one of them as through the window I noticed Dona Helena taking out her crocheting and Mr. Couceiro, helpful, explaining to the tree trunks in Latin who in fact they were, my father set the cage down on the dressing table and the bird was looking at me, defeated, as if I were asking

—Why Carlos?

you were rumpling and smoothing the quilt and it was the one at home, not at Príncipe Real not at Anjos, our own house, the electrician, the café

don’t forget the sound of the water that was rising, rising

our home in spite of the fact that they never took me to Bico da Areia, the social worker arranging some papers I can’t make it today you see, next week, next month, there’s no hurry, not getting to

—Your mother doesn’t want to see you

to

—Your mother doesn’t want to see a faggot’s son

and there was the shaking of the cane, the words just as if she was shouting, not see a faggot’s son, not see a faggot’s son and the sound of the water

calm down I haven’t forgotten

which was rising, rising, the faggot’s son refusing his soup, Mr. Couceiro

—Just ten more spoonfuls Paulo

and me with my mouth closed

—I won’t eat

the turnips were running out of my mouth down onto the cloth tied around my neck, if you eat something we’ll go to the movies, to the Ghost Castle, to the circus where the other clowns play saxophones in the ring, one of them very proper, elegant, with white cream on his face and eyebrows like your father’s when he got annoyed with his colleagues’ remarks

—Vânia doesn’t know how to dance at all I can’t understand why they took her on

as soon as one of them started crying the water would pour from her eyes, my father never cried like that, maybe if he talked to me about the dwarf from Snow White

and anyone who mentioned Snow White would be talking about the time we lived on the other side of the river

he’d turn his head to where he wasn’t, he’d take that imbecilic bird out of the drawer of the dressing table and with the drums from the anthem you couldn’t catch anything, not any horses not any gulls, maybe the cedar saying all the while

I never met anyone so selfish

—I’m me and I’m here

if it figured out that we weren’t paying any attention to it, it would call to us with its needles, peeved at us, holding out its branches until we connected

—What a pretty tree all that shade

I told my father that I believed in plants and my father

—Don’t be silly Paulo

he didn’t believe in plants but he believed he was a woman

—I’m a woman

he stood straight up before me, his arms out, chin held high

–I’m a woman

I was searching with my tongue for the remains of a piece of candy lost in my molars

—You’re a woman

in order to avoid any flood from his eyes, I think he was squeezing a rubber ball in his pocket so if the clowns were crying I could cry too, the man who was combing his mustache with the toothbrush

—Cut that out, you dummy

at lunchtime Dona Helena would start rolling up her knitting, would say something to Mr. Couceiro and my father would bring me my coat a little too fast

—I’m sorry but they’ve come for you Paulo

I got the idea that a seam was coming undone and he’d spotted the break and was getting rid of me

—It doesn’t show, it’s all right

if you stood on tiptoe you could make out the river and beyond it Bico da Areia where I never returned for years on end, the mares must still have been trotting by the waves, when a Gypsy died the others would gather together like a flock of crows, playing the guitar, singing all night long, the soles of their feet would explode on the ground and I wondered if it was hollow and so I asked

—Is the ground like a tambourine, mother?

the dead man’s wife was leaning on friends who were scratching themselves and shouting, everybody drunk on the terrace of the café in spite of the owner saying

—Closing time closing time

always some shot, some switchblade, more shots in the pine grove, the dead man I came across one afternoon smiling on the pine needles, an insignificant little hole in the back of his neck, almost no blood and he looked so happy, my God, my mother put her hands up to her mouth, the café owner walked around the body wondering what to do, suggesting while he looked over at the tents it would be best if we forgot about this, but he ended up coming back with the police and not a trace, an oriole amused by us, the corporal to the café owner are you having fun with us, have I come up with a joker in the lottery

if it hadn’t been for the police I might have got the oriole even without a spear

the café owner said it was right here sir, I even told Judite that we should forget about it in order to avoid any complications, the one who would come into our house without knocking and order me

—Beat it outside, you

respectful now, submissive, the oriole flew off just when I found a stone that was perfect, the tide was coming in or going out

coming in

and the Tagus was different, one of the soldiers in leggings

I remember that the leggings needed polish and had buckles missing

he got out of the Jeep struggling with a lighter that refused to light, his thumb was turning on a little wheel and there was a spark but, the cigarette went out right away

—We should invite our joker here to come to the station house so our comrades could have a laugh, the corporal too

the tide wasn’t coming in, it was going out as could be seen from the slower, more peaceful sound, in just a little while now lots of algae on the beach

the café owner kept walking back and forth whispering to my mother

—You just wait and see what I’m going to do to you Judite

he took some matches out of his pocket with the idea of helping the soldier

the oriole came back for an instant swaying in the high treetop

but the matches got away from him because he couldn’t get a grip on them, the soldier put the cigarette into a crease in his cap

—You just wait and see what I’m going to do to you Judite

and he put out the matches with his boot, I grabbed my mother’s hand and her palm was wet

there couldn’t possibly be any mistake, even a child could tell that the tide was going out

the soldier invited the café owner

—That play with the matches is funny too, let’s go have a laugh at the station house

as they left I thought I saw the happy dead man a few pine trees up ahead but I was wrong, a piece of blanket hanging on a branch, the owner came back to the café the following Tuesday holding his sleeve up against an eyebrow, one of his legs slower, his wife who was cleaning the tables came over to him along with the pups and their pine cones, she was carrying a basin and some soap, Dália’s aunt and Dália on her tricycle were watching the healing operations frightened, that night they cut off our lights, pulled up our marigolds, broke three windows, we could hear them in the yard stealing the sheets that had been put out to dry and pouring lye into our cistern

wandering reflections in the mirror on the wardrobe were growing larger, my mother on the bed hugging me, her breast heaving, tears, I could have sworn, I looked with my finger and I found hair, my face was on her neck, do you miss the smell of the mimosas, do you miss the vineyards, do you miss the car with wooden wheels, mother, and my mother didn’t answer, do you miss father, mother, do you want me to call father and her hair covering my mouth

my father Carlos, my mother Judite

Carlos Carlos

the mirror on the wardrobe calming down or maybe it was then that I fell asleep, the maid from the dining room who fell asleep, we who fell asleep mother, they can’t hurt us while we’re asleep, that’s not knocking on the door, it’s the wind, there’s nobody outside, it’s the gentian branches sprouting, tell the maid from the dining room that we’re all alone, we’re all alone Gabriela, not you and me, I’m sorry to tell you this but you and I don’t matter, my mother and I are all alone and now it’s only the sea coming in or going out

coming in

don’t forget the water that’s rising, rising

just a few minutes from now there won’t be a single bit of algae on the beach, or any bridge, or any house, or any Bico da Areia, or us

Sardines

if someone stood on tiptoes he could make out the river, he couldn’t make out Cacilhas or where we’d lived years ago, only waves mother, not the bridge, not Alto do Galo, not them in the yard, the maid from the dining room

—Paulo

looking for the lamp, getting out of the sheets, turning on the lamp with the window covered, Lisbon mother, Lisbon, when we were in Bico da Areia

piggyback on my father

—Gallop

holding him around his forehead, his cap, his ears, thinking

—I’m going to fall

while he stumbled along over clumps of grass, garbage, rubble on the way to the bridge and not at a gallop, at a trot, if only I had a whip, a branch, a stick wrapped in barbed wire, if only I could have ordered him

—Don’t stop do you hear I forbid you to stop galloping

don’t pretend you’re tired as your fingers slide down my sandals, don’t think the maid from the dining room is defending you when she calls me

—Paulo

swearing to me poor thing thinking I believed her

—It’s nothing Paulo

because logically it is nothing, how could it be anything new, I know quite well it’s nothing, it’s some guy

at most

some guy or other climbing over the beams where there are gull eggs and mussels and slime, leaning against a rail

do you still want me to call him, mother, seriously do you still want me to call him?

taking off a shoe to get rid of some pebbles, shaking it, putting it on again and I right away with my heels into his kidneys

—Gallop

look at how the faggot

the pups say

is playing mare for the kid and still at a gallop, don’t try to amuse me, don’t give me candy, don’t show me the cage and the music of the anthem, don’t think that Dona Helena and Mr. Couceiro will be of any help to you

they’re of no help to you and Eliseu isn’t any help for you didn’t you know, not even my mother

—Let him go

I let you go didn’t you know, don’t get dressed as a woman, don’t put on mascara, don’t put on makeup, don’t disguise yourself with a wig, don’t ask me

—Do you think I’m a woman like them?

plucking an eyebrow in a way so that one doesn’t match the other at all

and it won’t match the other one sir, you’re a clown and clowns use different eyebrows, the left one normal and the right one higher

don’t ask me why they’re stopping me from being a woman since I’m more of a woman than they are, take a look at my waist Paulo

—Did you take a good look at my waist Paulo?