What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (64 page)

but the jackdaw amused me, completely unimportant, you know, and I was in the garbage and the weeds, forgetting about the scar and taking you in my arms, hanging over you, it was during those days

I’m sorry

that I remembered my father, the clown, and his belief in some kind of miracle, he’d close up his fan and stare at me, I would get annoyed while he hesitated

—Don’t be mad at me, father

just the way other people stared at me, you, for example, I would have been annoyed too, you and the Mulatto with the jackknife flicking out the blade, making me get up, leave

—You piece of garbage

stumbling down over the uneven ground, coming upon a dead cat, the maid from the dining room with her sleeve rolled up, examining the syringe

—Promise me it won’t hurt, Paulo

how in hell can it hurt, it’s great, it won’t hurt, I’m here I’m not here, I talk to you I don’t talk, it won’t hurt at all

you’ll feel better, I’m not even worried about my father, Gabriela

Judite & Carlos

and the maid from the dining room

—Your father?

she didn’t know about my father, she knew about the singer at the hospital, Mr. Vivaldo coming over and flirting

—Can I help you, sweetie?

my father opening his fan, his eyelashes were also two fans, three fans fluttering at Mr. Vivaldo, a quick question that grew long, taking possession of him, tying him up and taking him from table nine to the ground floor at Príncipe Real, posters, decorations, petunias in the vase

—I beg your pardon, sir?

things that come into my head, crazy things that I think about, a lacquered dressing table at your place, your name surrounded by poppies on the wall

cherries

Julinha

the way we sink into ourselves even at night, first communions, birthday cakes

ten candles, eleven candles

Caldas da Rainha waiting and then Caldas da Rainha hazy, the candles going out, we’re about to doze off and boom, the raindrops

speaking of rain, did you notice all that blood?

the tree, the schoolyard, we try to go back, we try to run away, and yet always the schoolmates

—Don’t stop

knowing that we can’t jump, we’re not going to jump, the rope beneath us and above us, coming back, going away

—Don’t stop

take care of the switchboard, don’t listen to them, transfer a call, change the order of the plugs, ask the little holes

—Personnel Department?

or Accounting or Main Office or Human Resources, not schoolmates, clerks who don’t jump rope, stop the raindrops from spreading over the bricks, where there are candy wrappers, rotting leaves, maybe we’re reflected in the raindrops just like we are now, just like you are now with a chain around your neck and a blouse with polka dots and yet

—I don’t feel myself, how strange

wrinkles that I don’t have, freckles all over my skin like old people have I swear, my hair’s ridiculous, the scar on my lip

—I don’t feel myself, how strange

and yet

—It was nothing

and yet

—It’s all over now

and it’s not really all over, it goes on, even with my father dead I happen to detour over to the club and for a few minutes I stare at I don’t know what by the entrance where my mother would wait for him, I just happen to go back to the church in Anjos to take a look at the building that no longer exists under scaffolding, canvas, I watch the workmen dismantling laundry rooms with hopes of seeing a little woman ironing beside the sink and saying from a distance, not waving her arms, not shouting, discreetly

I was always discreet, Júlia

—It’s me

as the clock goes along blowing away the five o’clock sparrows with a ringing of wings I seem to see a little old man with a cane walking toward me

and it’s not a little old man, I was wrong, it’s a beggar who can’t even see me as he waves his lottery tickets or his bad arm

I stopped seeing him too

so every night, it’s not true, we fall, I mean I fall and you’re not handing me the phone once in your life you’re not handing me the phone

you’re scared by me, letting me lean my head on the robalos

—It was nothing, Mr. Paulo

let’s suppose that in spite of the telephones to the right and to the left

—An outside call for you

what a word, outside, as though there was an outside, from nine till six there are confirmations of expenditures, duplications, bills, and, as for outside, the violin of a beggar putting my guts out of tune, just let me imagine that you’re about to embrace me, about to hug me

—It’s all over now

just imagine that your embroidered name in its frame is giving me some help, through the blinds, instead of morning on the street it’s the park in Caldas da Rainha with statues in the flower beds, the museum, the palace, your home close by, I think, over a restaurant or a furniture store, the small balcony, the window, and inside, your family, you, a fireman’s hat

your father’s, your brother’s?

because you must have brothers, Júlia, you don’t have anything to do with them but they exist, one’s off in Luxembourg and the other one, older, is an elementary school teacher in Coimbra, your father, who worked in a pharmacy, your mother taking in sewing to make ends meet when the month was over, you, after grammar and high school, your boyfriend, the son of the owner of a candy factory and a fireman, too, turning on the siren of his fire engine when he’d see you on the street and your mother would frown, they closed the park at seven o’clock, and still

was I right?

some steps, the palace all lighted up, the watchman far off, a flower bed right there, not damp in May, a lot of bats in the treetops and with your fear of bats and his body close by, words that didn’t mean anything, fingers that hesitated a little, made it finally with the help of something

a rat?

that appeared, disappeared and couldn’t be seen clearly, dry branches, a moan, noises, the fireman stamping on the ground, pretending there was panic, it was nothing, it’s all over now, don’t be scared, the next day your mother showing you the skirt where you didn’t know what it was, a stain or something like that

but from what?

—You can’t tell me, Júlia

so it was Lisbon and the room of a cousin who forgave sins, the first job as a cashier, the second job in a laundry, the boardinghouse because my cousin only had a narrow little couch, my brother from Luxembourg boiling over with threats, my brother from Coimbra deaf to my cousin’s attempts, she shouldn’t write me, she’s dead, luckily the third job at this switchboard because of a customer at the dry-cleaning place who wanted me to have some comfort and peace, thank God, the copper decorations, the lacquered furniture that he let me pick out, I brought the little frame with my name embroidered on it so long ago, my grandmother taught me

—I’ll teach you, child

not on my mother’s side, on my father’s, she lived in Foz do Arelho, my grandfather had a seaside restaurant and after he died the gulls

so they told me

ate him, hundreds of gulls tugging at the reed roof and the shell-fish left over in their tub and no customer to buy them, in the morning there was mist on the estuary and my grandmother, invisible, said

—Julita

not Júlia or Julinha, Julita

I don’t like my name

coming out of the gold-colored mist, taking me by the shoulder and I gave a start

—You scared me

the restaurant that had belonged to the dead man was nothing but dried shrimp, a few scattered reeds, the hat that she dug up, not the whole hat, just the crown and a piece of brim

—We worked there

I wondered if maybe the gulls had eaten my grandmother too, what time had left of her, that is, the years had gotten inside her and they were gnawing away, gnawing away

—Your muscles were all finished, your flesh was all finished

my grandmother was nothing but the scarf around her head, her mourning dress and her hand on my shoulder as it came out of the empty shawl

—Julita

the two wedding rings stuck together, the dead man’s and hers, in the afternoon we’d bring our stools together, a pair of eyeglasses under the shawl and behind the glasses were boats, the diamond-shaped cloth over the knees she didn’t have, the needle was turning out cherry after cherry around the letters until the gulls decided to gobble up the dress and the kerchief, I grabbed the embroidery before the sea carried it off and the waves were swirling about madly, splattering me

the sea has a speech defect

—If we could only grab you, Júlia

what I remember is light, the clear sky, a window blind wandering among the cliffs, if my brother in Coimbra would only answer my letters I’d ask him

—Do we still own the house the old girl had in Foz do Arelho, Clemente?

the day before yesterday, without knowing why, I almost asked Mr. Paulo at the office, a skinny fellow, always checking up on his baldness where there’s a reflecting surface, the metal plaque on the door, for instance, he’ll plant himself in front of it, push back his hair, turn his nose to one side and roll his eyes, if he’s wanted on the phone

he’s almost never wanted on the phone, who’s going to call him

and I hand him the receiver, he lingers at the window looking at me and mumbling silly things that don’t mean anything

—It was nothing

like

—It’s all over now

folding his arms in a rocking motion, and me with a million extensions and lights going on, a hundred eighteen, a hundred nineteen, two hundred forty-seven

—I haven’t got all day for you

his arms are hugging a non-existent little girl to his chest, I was being driven by the light from the main office

all by itself at the top of the board

asking for a ministry, a bank, the secretary’s daughter’s nursery school

—If you don’t want to answer, that’s your business

and his mouth isn’t where it should be but is roaming around his face, by his nose now, on his forehead now, coming to roost on his collar, declaring now

—I love you

following me to the photocopier, when the top is closed it starts to rumble and gives us paper in a small grated tray, coming back from there, he’s nothing but a mouth wandering around without a stop

—I love you

to the coffee machine, which pours coffee into cardboard cups that will burn you, a cup comes out and right away the chrome spout dribbles out steam in tired gurgles, I’m in a great hurry bumping against the machine and Mr. Paulo says to the coin slot

—I love you

going into some strange lecture about schoolyards, raindrops, and girls jumping rope, two turning it and the third jumping, I go to get my jacket in the closet and he’s consoling the closet

—Don’t cry

going on with silly talk about torn curtains and pine trees and a wind of little printed flowers that leads to a ladder by a wall, I can’t remember any ladder at Caldas da Rainha, I remember the statues on the lawn, the bats in the garden, looking for places during the day where we were at sunset, near the boats on the pond, and a man was trimming a hedge and not paying any attention to us, a man or a Mr. Paulo

—Dona Júlia

greeting me from the museum, I look at the museum and Mr. Paulo has disappeared, I stop looking and Mr. Paulo returns, I can’t get a good look at him, but I’d swear it’s him, suddenly I’m back by the pond and no one’s paying any attention to me

I think

and Mr. Paulo is turning into the trunk of an ash tree or into the bust of a painter

—Pardon me

examining my zodiac sign reverently

—Please let me talk to you about us

the robalos are all teeth and Mr. Paulo is drawing back

—Pardon me

in the apartment there is no lacquered furniture, no bronze decorations, a few pathetic items

—
They belonged to my father

that belonged to his father

—
My father’s dead

a lot of little ribbons, cretonne stars, and gaudy fripperies, a wardrobe mirror where I’m sure there’s a woman with a fork in her hand and a man in an apron smiling at me, or not smiling, just looking me over, the man in the apron saying in a kind of mocking voice

—Maybe your son won’t turn out to be a faggot, Judite

comparing Mr. Paulo to the character who was rumpling and smoothing a portion of a spread, thinking, I’m sure

—I must be crazy, it’s a lie

of some lame mares trotting, animals that the Gypsies haul from fair to fair, prodding them along with insults and pleas