What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (45 page)

this time it wasn’t her knee, it was my mother’s lip and her teeth showing, growing in size as they start shoveling the earth, her lips teeth, her features teeth, her body teeth, my father repeating

—Like a dog just like a dog

but in such a low voice that I might have been wrong, but I wasn’t wrong because one of the guards, the one with the document

—Is there any doubt that your father-in-law was a dog?

and my mother’s teeth disappearing one after the other

he was a dog, he was a dog, you’re right mister guard, he was a dog, the dog was rowing on the Tagus straight up to the frigate and Paulo’s arms were gripping mine, the palm of his hand was covering my mouth

—You’re going to wake up the whole building, Gabriela

beyond the wall uninhabited houses, trees from China, gates, the air seeming to be boiling with bees, a little woman prodding a turkey with a stick, the man with the document saying to my mother so you put on your mourning clothes for a dog friend, you just tell me whether it’s worth putting on mourning clothes for dogs, they bite you, they betray us, we’ve got the kennel at Peniche full to overflowing, when they can’t find people to bite they bark at the government, bite themselves, I swear, the shadow of a cloud

not a cloud, the shadow of a cloud, Paulo, it passed over us, its blur made the plaster cherubs dark for a minute, the Our Ladies, the too-white statue of a girl my size

a little bigger

Eternal Longing

and the girl’s prayer card in a copper oval

praying on a tombstone, the statue, not the prayer card, the girl puzzled that they’d put her there

—Did something happen to me?

you couldn’t see her forefinger on her breast in the picture arguing that it can’t be me, it’s a mistake, puzzled by their sticking her onto the marble above Beloved Daughter, her name and two dates in gold, looking all around, worried

—Come clean with me whether something has happened to me or not

and what can I tell her Paulo, you tell me, I showed her the little vase with small wilted flowers, the iron fence missing a spike, I confessed to her

—I don’t know

because I felt incapable of disillusioning her, you understand, but the thought still came to me of finding out where your mother is, your father, swearing to her that her mother and father were coming back to get her it won’t be long

and the shadow of a second cloud almost next to us, you looked at the sky and it wasn’t round, it was stretched out, with golden edges, if I could have managed to read, I would have called her by name or maybe called her father, her mother

—She’s here waiting for you don’t forget her

they’ve gone to take a walk, don’t be frightened because they’re not lost to you, they have money, they sleep with the lights out, they’re older, and the girl in the copper oval calmed, content, settling into the decorations, taking on the responsible and serious look that dead people have, they never lie, you can trust them with a secret, they won’t tell anybody, what they promise they do, once I stole a coin from my parents, looking at the picture of my uncle, my mother asked

—Was it you Gabriela?

my uncle was silent, he probably wasn’t on my side but he was mute, my sister, even if she was on my side the third or fourth time that my mother said

—Was it you Gabriela?

she couldn’t hold back and she snorted, my uncle, on the contrary, was beside me, not dressed like my father and the other adults, in a fireman’s uniform and a medal

Uncle Firmino

if he took off his helmet I’ll bet his bald head would show so he never took it off, the cemetery workers finished smoothing over the grave without bothering about the rake

—Please

not to my sister, to me and I let it be understood that it could still work

—You can still work I’m sure

although for every five leaves, two got picked up if they were lucky, as soon as the cemetery workers put their shovels into the wheelbarrow, the guards said to my mother

not two, several of them Paulo, my sister had been right

jeering at the workers, look how the boobs are scared of us, we don’t hurt anyone who doesn’t get involved with the State, they don’t thank us for solving the problem of your dog, lady, he doesn’t bark at your heels anymore, he doesn’t bother you, he doesn’t annoy you at night scratching at the door and you scared about the neighbors who might phone us, write a letter, turn him in, the dog barking in your ear hide this for me Isabel and you in a women’s prison, you doing a good stretch of years making handicrafts in jail, potholders, baskets, crocheting while the matron teaches you to love your country

—Love your country Isabel!

a lot of guards Paulo, you can let go of my arms because I won’t run away, this heroin was cut with so much talcum powder, a lot of guards went along with us and my grandfather near the too-white statue whose parents, getting on in age, were capable of sleeping with the lights out and probably haven’t lost her, have taken her home, given her some supper, put her to bed, and that’s enough of cemeteries, iron fences, vases

—Nothing’s happened to you, can’t you see that nothing’s happened to you?

the way nothing’s happened to me, don’t give me any camomile tea, don’t warm my feet, nothing’s happened no matter how much Mr. Vivaldo might have hinted otherwise, nothing’s happened Paulo, my grandfather’s friends at the cemetery entrance and the guards

eight guards, definitely eight guards

spotted those dogs, look at those dogs who won’t have to wait long for a box for each one of them and that’ll be the end of their fleas, communism, disrespect for the church, your husband throwing packages into garbage cans lady, what a rotten life, what a stinking smell, you were scared that they’re screwing up your life, the floorboard at rest finally, the rowboat alongside the frigate, those lights on the water that aren’t even blue, reflections, but of what if it isn’t the moon, let me sit for a while Paulo, let me breathe, I don’t feel anything see, I’m not hollering, I’m not trying to hit you, I’m fine, it’s been a long, long time since I felt so fine, notice the way I carry the trays into the dining room without a single spoon shaking, the dogs at the cemetery entrance all in a pack, sneaky, look at what cowards they are, if we throw a stone they’ll run away, your father wasn’t any different, lady, if you threw a stone at him he’d run away, how do you want us to bury them except in boxes that aren’t worth a penny, the mine’s not sticking, help me, the glue on the mine isn’t catching, and now try a little farther on where there’s no paint, there on the bedroom wall between the bed and the window, take advantage of the rising and falling of the river, it’s got to stick, damn it, when in just a little while the wall of the room and we can forget all this, Príncipe Real, Anjos, Chelas and go to sleep in peace, the guards along with us from the cemetery home to protect us from any bad meetings, friends, and my mother nodding yes, my sister clutching her legs and my father’s fingers playing the accordion on his vest, I told the girl in the copper oval

—I’ll be back

and the silly girl believed me, I fooled her, I’m not coming back, the way you look at me sometimes like that, I don’t think you’re coming back Paulo, the guards took their leave by the entrance landing don’t make us get mad at you, friends, holding out their hands to my father, shaking hands, holding out their hands to my mother and my mother not moving, looking at them, don’t you think that’s enough, won’t you leave us in peace, the ceiling light mixing us all in and, even so, the girl recognizing me, pulling on my dress

—Will you really come Gabriela?

And I didn’t know where the cemetery was, relax, I’m really coming, what a silly question, have I ever lied to you, my mother closing the door, they’ve tormented me enough, they won’t bother me anymore, we heard them talking to each other on the landing, going down the stairs, disappearing into the street, from the pantry we brought out the mourning wine, water crackers, and the mourning figs and no neighbor with us to pay our respects to the dead, afraid that we’d invite them to the supper for the deceased, I took advantage of the ups and downs of the river and I stuck the mine to the hull, I set the clock, I connected it to the mechanism with a couple of wires, half an hour, Paulo, twenty-nine minutes, twenty-eight, twenty-seven, inside of twenty-seven minutes if the alarm clock works as it should, if my grandfather’s friends were right, and they are, we’ll finally know after so many months what there is behind the covered window, whether it’s the sea at Peniche, whether it’s Dona Micaela dancing, whether it’s Mr. Vivaldo in the bandage room with his naughty little hand moving away from the dinnertime pills

—Every day that passes you grow more appetizing, my little one when we didn’t have any money Paulo looking at the Cape Verdeans in Chelas, sizing up them and me, deciding

twenty-six minutes

—If you spend a little time with my girlfriend will you give me a fix in exchange?

he stayed sitting on a log drawing on the ground with a small stick, when I gave him the heroin, he kept on drawing, if I kissed him

—Let go of me

if I said to him

—Paulo

he erased what he’d drawn, turning his face to where I wasn’t

—Don’t talk to me, whore whore

if I stood in front of him and I didn’t feel them Paulo, I don’t know them, I don’t remember them

—Get out of my life, beat it

twenty-five minutes

with the tone of someone begging don’t get out of my life, don’t go away and the invisible jackdaw making fun of us, maybe the girl in the copper oval, used to

twenty minutes

their fooling her

—Will you promise you’ll keep your word, Gabriela?

I had to adjust one of the connections on the clock better, I mean there was a screw that was out of line and right away, the hand wasn’t jumping in leaps, it was slipping along over the numbers, you thought twenty minutes, there they were, twenty minutes and then, all of a sudden nineteen, eighteen

Paulo, in spite of his cramps, his pain, that jab in his liver

—Shit on your drug, you inject it and everything’s fucked up

if I only had a business of my own, a neighborhood establishment, a laundry, a newsstand would be nice, I remember the girl and I really feel sorry but how can I make room for her in this place where there isn’t even room for a couch, we have the night table, the trunk, we eat sitting on the bed, the next day I leave the paper plates in the garbage can and when I leave the plates in the garbage will I run into my father hiding the communists’ package, I thought he’d died and he hadn’t

—Good morning father

nervous until he recognized me and when he recognized me he moved his arms back and forth, moving his fingers on an accordion that wasn’t there

—I’m going to play a little tune for you daughter

we’d never had a little tune that belonged to the two of us, he never told me

—This one’s for you daughter

he never wrote in charcoal on the landing Gabriela & Father, I would be coming out of the dining room or from school

out of the dining room

looking at the plaster maybe, spotting in the midst of so many scratches, so many cracks, so many tiles showing us on the mailbox or where the stairs curve up Gabriela & Father, not at all, always Marina & Diogo, never

twelve minutes

us, I tested the screw and the wire and they must have been right because the clock was working, a vibration going on inside the mine, whatever it was, it was expanding slowly in the same way that I’m expanding slowly in myself, if I could only tell you but the little stick was drawing on the ground

—Which one of the blacks got you pregnant Gabriela?

a whore like the Gypsies’ mares who don’t pick their males, my mother, for example, because my father, looking at me and asking which one of them, the café owner, the electrician, the pups

—If you tell me I won’t get mad, Judite

or maybe going down into the yard worrying about the gentian eight minutes

he was worried, so little time to get the boat away, eight minutes, my parents, my sister and I, the four of us in the living room wearing our Sunday shoes and the lace tablecloth, a drop that went across the label and continued on down, hold it with the napkin, mother, before the accordion lies down on the floor, stop the silver decorations from shining, its lungs are deflated, defunct, Paulo’s mother without answering his father or answering

—He’s just mine

two minutes and I’m not going to have enough time, I can’t make it, if I stop in the middle of the sentence you won’t get to know, Paulo, I only wanted one for you and me, I only wanted

I only really wanted

don’t get mad at me, I only really wanted

the four of us in the living room wearing our Sunday shoes, Sunday clothes, the water crackers, the figs, for the first time no sound of my neighbors, scared of the police, communists

—They’re communists, those people