What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (65 page)

—I must be crazy, it’s a lie

Mr. Paulo brings up some chairs

—Please sit down, girl

girl, how idiotic, I stopped being a girl twenty-one years ago in the garden at Caldas da Rainha when the rat ran over us in the flower bed where there was no May dampness

yellow carnations, zinnias, my mother showing me the skirt

—You’re not going to tell me, Júlia

my not understanding

—What’s wrong with a stain?

she drove me into the bedroom making mysterious gestures, my father

—Mercês

and she gave a signal

—Not now

a signal

—Wait

she closed the door, unfolded the skirt in front of me, and there was a small clear stain

—You’re not going to tell me, Júlia

my not understanding

—Not tell you what?

concentrating on the little stain, understanding suddenly, zinnias, zinnias, the lights were on in the palace, afraid of the bats, the other body got closer, some schoolmates and I took a hammer and knocked down the boards of a closed-up house and went in, hidden rooms, a flowerpot with some narcissus on the terrace, my boyfriend, or let’s say the fingers that ruined me, Julinha Julinha, he grabbed the narcissus pot and broke it

—Not tell you what?

I heard my schoolmates laughing, or it was the shards of the pot that seemed to be bleeding, pink and red pieces of pottery, you’re not going to tell me, Júlia, not going to tell you what, what is there to tell, what do you want me to tell, the green narcissus, oozing green, murmuring green, almost shouting

—I don’t shout

green, lots of narcissus, lots of pieces of pottery, pink, red, and green all blended in my eyes, my father got up from his chair

—Mercês

wearing an undershirt and suspenders that weren’t pink or red or green on top of it

brown?

his suspenders were so vivid, I’d never seen them so vivid, when he shaved in that piece of mirror they were drooped down to his hips and now they

my mother

—Not now

—Wait

now they were so clear, my brother, the elementary-school teacher in Coimbra, don’t let her write me, she’s dead

—You’re not going to tell me, Júlia

in front of me in the bedroom, unfolding the skirt, a light stain and I said

—It’s so light

bats and rats, the flower bed I thought was dry, I took a look and I was wrong, it was wet, my schoolmates and I went back to pounding on the boards and the boards weren’t secure, they fell down, the twisted nails scraping the wood

they fell down

Ernestina, Rute, Sofia, who was big, Sofia died of septicemia, the first dead person I ever saw in a coffin, a piece of pottery not pink or red

dim, translucent

that I saw in her coffin, she could run faster, she was stronger than I, the small light stain, you’re not going to tell me Júlia, my father with a third of his face shaved, turning the knob

—Mercês

use the hammer, father, use your fingers, hold your fingers like this in the dark next to me, near the palace you can barely see the museum, use your fingers, dry branches, sounds that don’t mean anything, words that don’t mean anything, my love, I adore you

—I don’t believe you

—I adore you

—How much do you adore me?

—I adore you because I’ll only be adoring you for a little while

Mr. Paulo

—Excuse me?

taking my zodiac medallion, turning it over

his happiness

his mouth

—Excuse me

and because I knew the rest, his knee between my knees

—Open them up

the other knee asking

—Let me be just like this

the other knee, both knees, four knees counting mine, my knees up, not his

—Open them up

the hammer we used to knock down the boards and after the boards the thick, stagnant air, a few sofas and after the sofas the flowerpot on a clay base, the way I knew the I adore you, the be patient, the just a little while longer, I adore you, I allowed Paulo to hold my little zodiac medallion, to say

—I love you

at the same time that he said

—I thought they were robalos, they’re porgies

I asked

—What?

I asked

—I beg your pardon?

and he said, pointing to the cord

—What I thought were robalos were porgies

the porgies were joined to his love for me, the wardrobe mirror where a woman with a bottle in her hand and a man in an apron were smiling at me, the Gypsies’ mares, some boys on the beach

could it have been a beach?

who were throwing pine cones at the herons, Paulo going to the curtain and asking me

—Look

insisting, afraid I might say no

—Can you see the clown, Júlia?

Dona Júlia?

Dona Júlia’s no good, Júlia

—
Can you see the clown, Júlia?

—Can you see the clown, Júlia?

and I said, in order to calm him down, yes

—I see the clown, Mr. Paulo

when what I was really seeing was the sun leaping out of the neck of a bottle, reaching the ceiling, and he saying right away

naturally

and he saying right away, naturally

—It’s the changing of the tide

and it might just be happening

it really happened

because along with the tide, the curtain was furling up and the wind in the pine trees, a wind with little printed flowers and a torn spot because of the screw on the door latch through which the switchboard operator at her job

me?

holding the phone out to him

—For you, Mr. Paulo

and Paulo stroking my skin with his finger, slowly following the thread of the Blue Prince on his way to me.

—It’s nighttime, Paulo

and I’d stay there in the dark listening to what we called the sea down there, and it was nothing but the river, the mouth of the river, the place near the bridge where the Tagus, tired of bumping into mountains, dams, castles, mills, desolate

I imagined

plains, finally reaches the ocean and dissolves into it with a kind of sigh or something like that, when we were all living together and I stayed in the dark looking at the door to the backyard that rose up like a halo on the wall, I always thought that the tears, the arguments and the questions were finished, my parents

you

went to bed too, at peace with each other in that ember of harmony that old people have in spite of the fact that you hadn’t reached the age of thirty at the time, and how peaceful you were, I was peaceful too, moving about on the mattress in search of sleep, a bit of straw or a rag or a piece of basket that the waves pick up and drop and leave on the last beach where a tricycle and a car with wooden wheels lay sunken, and then, in the silence, seeing myself in the kitchen under a striped blanket, it seemed to me that

it didn’t seem to me, I was sure you two were fine, it was all right for me to be away from you because we were

I mean it

a family, nobody

not even me

asking

—Take care of us

and yet I said good-bye to us, I went along through the daytime, treetops with no feeling of remorse, it was ending just the way I’m ending my story, father, and afterward we never existed, the way none of us existed when I was asleep, the beach, we can agree on that, the car with wooden wheels, we can agree on that, the tricycle, we can agree on that, that child on the mattress

what child?

whose name I don’t know anymore and whom we don’t see, all that’s left to be said is that it’s February, Friday, February twenty-third, that it’s raining, I don’t remember its raining during those days except on one or two occasions, tears on the window and the smell of the woods closer by

February too?

clouds from Trafaria making the gulls nervous, the marigolds complaining from hunger

—Feed them, father

you had the package of fertilizer, your mouth was twitching with annoyance, the act

—Don’t put on an act with me, sir

and a side glance, not angry, offended, my mother yes, angry

—Paulo

I was big and small at the same time, how strange, where did I go looking for those marigolds, please tell me, I never think about them, I never saw them again, the stems as tall as I was at the time

enormous

—
Do you like marigolds, Paulo?

wasps on the petals and my father says

—
A wasp, keep away, watch out

the bricks beneath the cement of the wall, the cracks between the bricks is where the wasps

saying it’s February, Friday, the twenty-…

make their nests like paper roses and they hide, quivering in the petals

third of February, it’s raining, since I didn’t take the clothes off the line there’s a shirt fluttering on the clothespins, if my father were here, the collar would be left and right, the shirttail would be flapping, the arms would be dancing aimlessly, I open the window to stop it from falling into the street and the people around are looking at the ground, looking at my fifth floor

—A clown

are going to think I pushed him

I hug the wet cloth and when I notice I’m hugging it against me, I let go of it, angry

—Don’t grab me, father

stop getting me upset, get lost, one afternoon you rang the bell at Anjos, Dona Helena was on tiptoes peeking through the peephole, staring at me, wiping her hands on the hem of her skirt, shouting

—Just a minute

staring at me again, fixing her hair, straightening the topcoat on the coatrack

it was the same thing

huge wasps on the stamens that weren’t black anymore, scorched, their buzzing would get louder by the tank during the summer, taking my shoes off and smashing the paper roses with my shoe, someone pulling me away

—
Leave them alone, be careful

at first the landing was dark, the skylight was visible but what’s the use of a skylight that’s all dirty from pigeons and leaves and trash, Dona Helena opened the door, annoyed by the coatrack where the topcoat

after the doorbell rang

was getting all wrinkled and my father, without a wig, without a dress, modest, a rose of wasps, timidly excusing himself

—If it’s all right with you, ma’am, I’d like to see my son

I said to myself, hiding on the sofa

—Leave them alone, be careful

no paper petals in December, only moss, the cement was crumbling to dust and the bricks on the wall were too, a bridge beam that had become detached from the planks, it spun around in a wave and went off slowly, my mother blowing her red nose

—
I don’t like this, Carlos, didn’t you say you were going to get us a place in Lisbon?

there was no Lisbon, there was the fog that came up from the water, the herons were numbed, the owner of the café chewing on his cigar

I’ve come to the end of my story, father

you’re just like other fathers, without any makeup or fans, if only I could have seen my mother looking proud, pointing you out to her friends

—Carlos

after my father went away, I found her in the kitchen holding her wedding ring, aware that I was there, she threw it into the silverware drawer and closed it with her hip, the next day I couldn’t find it in the drawer or on her finger, I looked among the forks, the teaspoons, alongside the fish-scaling knife still pink with blood, I came across some old pennies, the cover to a pen, no wedding ring, and I began to cry

clouds from Trafaria, clouds from Alto do Galo, I didn’t see any roofs or walls, I saw the curtain of my eyelids, I caught the tears with my tongue and they tasted like raw eel, rust

—Where’s your wedding ring, mother?

while my father was on the landing at Anjos, I caught sight of the wedding ring before I caught sight of him, my mother showing it off to her friends

—Didn’t I tell you that you were wrong?

—
Promise me you two won’t start arguing, mother

the friends who could see and Dona Helena couldn’t, look at my mother’s friends, Dona Helena, the schoolteachers agreeing, in smocks, interrupting the dictation

—It’s true, Judite

my father, who was going to take me to Bico da Areia, and the three of us were going to live with no arguments or questions, going to bed at night on the mattress, listening to what we called the sea down there, and it was nothing but the river, the mouth of the river, the place where the Tagus, tired of bumping into mountains, dams, castles, mills, desolate

I imagined

plains, finally reaches the ocean and dissolves into it with a kind of sigh or something like that, a shrug of its shoulders, a shaking of its long foamy hair, I was in the dark looking at the door to the backyard that rose up like a halo on the wall, a gleam of aluminum, a rusty edge, the windowpane where there were black tree trunks in the woods, help me put my clothes into a bag

Dona Helena helps

takes my jacket off the hook because I can’t reach that high, that one with the velvet collar hasn’t fit me for more than a year, the other one, the blue one, because we’re losing time here while Dona Helena worried about me because why in the world, my father sure I don’t see him, making all kinds of signals, what are those signals for, there must be a bus straight home, mustn’t there, you catch it on the Avenida Almirante Reis, good-bye Dona Helena, cross the Tagus, to Costa da Caparica and right after that, boom, a second bus, almost always empty, makes a right turn by the campground near the pharmacy

at night only the store windows are lighted, no building fronts or trees

my mother waiting for us, my mattress in the kitchen, Dália’s aunt raising her eyebrows

—Have you come back?

we only talk to a few people, indifferent to the rest, when my mother got annoyed with my father, only half her face would argue, her hands kept on cooking the rice and her eyes kept watch over her hands, from time to time her eyes would join her mouth and get angry too, her shoulders, indifferent until then, would go into furious agitation, I knew the schoolteacher was scolding somebody because her hip was leaping about under her skirt, her absentminded fingers were gripping the piece of chalk, the shoes weren’t concerned with us, Dona Helena was concerned about me, asking my father are you going to work in Spain

—I can’t go to Bico da Areia, Paulo

running into the laundry room, refusing to eat, lying down on my back until the next day, Dona Helena mumbling in the dark

—Don’t be upset, Paulo

trying to console me but she wasn’t doing it, if she happened to straighten out my sheets

—Go take care of your daughter, leave me alone

there’s Mr. Couceiro, just the way I said, nothing but the cane, staying awake, grabbing my clothes

—Are you going to work in Spain?

and running away, the church not looking at all like a church through the curtains, something else that was waiting for me, threatening me

—Don’t go down the stairs, Paulo

since when have churches talked to me?

streetlights that grew smaller all the way to Martim Moniz, in just a few hours the garbage truck, if they caught me on the street, the men who emptied garbage cans into it would gag me and goodbye, Mr. Couceiro’s footsteps in the hall and Dona Helena farther off, intent on her crocheting because her syllables were correcting a stitch

—Don’t bother him now

leaving the sentence half done, finishing it right afterward, laying the needle and the ball of thread in her lap, the sentence, free of the crocheting

—Don’t bother him now

—
Where’s Spain?

not the same as the daytime Dona Helena because darkness changes people, makes them more important, more serious, even the sea, for example, even the creaking of furniture in the pine grove, lots and lots of chairs, couches, tables, the picture of Noémia

or my father

—I can’t go to Bico da Areia, Paulo

and the world in pieces, pieces of horses galloping in the woods, my mother with the owner of the café, with the electrician, with the pups

—I’d really like to go back with the two of you

turning to them, smiling at them, ordering me to go play in the yard

—Until I call you, Paulo

or just let me stay and wait, I’ve spent most of my life plunked down like a boob on a step or on the bench by the cedar waiting for you people, I’m fed up, my father looking around for some help

—Loosen your tie, father

you understand, don’t you, Dona Helena, and Dona Helena straightening out the topcoat, a month in Mérida in the theater, at least I’ll be able to put a little money together, there’ll be no more of my being behind on my rent, I’ll pay you for my son’s upkeep, Dona Helena lying, busy with the topcoat, we don’t need anything, Mr. Carlos, they hid money in a can, they kept accounts in pencil, Mr. Couceiro asked for more time to pay the electric bills

—Not for too long

they put a candle in a saucer and the living room began to tremble, our bodies went from fat to thin, in the morning a halo of soot on the ceiling, Mr. Couceiro would wrap up some enameled objects in a newspaper, leave with them, and after a few hours the light switches were working, my father was also lying

—I’ll pay for my son’s upkeep

if they’d only given him a mattress to rumple and smooth at least, Alcides was in the car waiting with bundles and suitcases, a month is only a minute, Paulo, everything’s so quick, isn’t that so, Dona Helena, just a minute ago summer was just beginning and now we’re already well into it

I was in the laundry room looking at the orange-colored top of the building

before you know it, I’ll be back with you again