My Tender Matador Page 14

  La Rana didn’t expect such an early visitor. She welcomed her at the door, half asleep and wrapped in a shawl. What’s going on, girl? And those packages? Don’t tell me, they threw you out of your house! Look, Ranita, I can’t explain anything right now, but I just wanted to ask you to keep my things; and this is some work I couldn’t finish, for you to do because you can always use a few extra pesos. I’m leaving you my radio so you can enjoy it, and anything else, use anything you want. But what’s up, girl? Come in and sit down at least so you can tell me what all this madness is about. Have you gone crazy, leaving such a beautiful house? The car horn interrupted their conversation. Don’t tell me: Is that man kidnapping you? No, dearie, nothing like that. Oh, if only that were it, she added, letting out a sigh. But then, what is going on? asked La Rana, taking her by the arm. I’m not going to let you go, you fag, unless you tell me why, at least. I have to go, girlfriend, it’s a matter of life and death. The horn blew again. I don’t get it, I can’t understand what this shit is you’ve gotten yourself into. It doesn’t matter, Ranita, it’s better this way, the Queen of the Corner answered, loosening her friend’s grip and giving her a big hug and kiss as she felt her dear friend’s heartbeat: Mama Rana, as she sometimes called her affectionately. The beautiful trannie matron stood in the doorframe and waved good-bye with cold cramped fingers, growing smaller as the Queen of the Corner drove away down the street. Is he a very good friend of yours? I hope you didn’t tell him anything, the woman sitting next to her said. And what if I did tell him? Don’t you think people like me can keep a secret? You think all maricones are traitors? the Queen of the Corner demanded, her cheeks burning with indignation. Don’t worry, I didn’t tell him anything, for his own protection. Don’t get angry, the Laura woman said, as she arranged a copper-colored wig the fool thought gave her a new identity. We’ve got a long trip together, because I’m going to take you where you need to go, so we may as well make it as pleasant as possible. She paid no attention to her; there was something about this girl who acted like a sergeant that she had never liked, and it wasn’t just jealousy or because she was young and beautiful. It was something else, maybe the effort she made to be so nice. The Queen was certain that if it wasn’t that they didn’t quite trust her, this Laura person would leave her somewhere along the road to Viña del Mar, because that’s the road they were on now; she had read the road signs. After settling more comfortably into her seat, she remarked casually, like a frivolous kitten: A little sea air will be good for my complexion, I’m so pale.

  As they approached the garden city of Viña del Mar, the moist seafood-scented breeze tousled her few clumps of hair. Could you please close the window a bit? Laura did as she was asked but didn’t look at her; in fact, neither she nor the young man who was driving had spoken during the whole trip. It had been a tense drive. At every toll stop Laura had lit a cigarette and then stubbed it out without smoking it.

  Viña del Mar appeared suddenly around a bend in the road with its Mediterranean-style mansions. The Queen of the Corner had never been to this resort for tourists and “beautiful people.” But at this time of year and at this hour of the morning one could see only domestic servants on their way to the shops, blond-haired students in their Catholic school uniforms, perhaps an old woman in a wheelchair getting some fresh air under a jasmine-entwined pergola in a small plaza. It looks like an old movie of the Côte d’Azur, she thought, remembering the miracle of the first time she saw the working-class sea in Cartegena, when her entire town boarded a train for free, thanks to Mario Palestro, the mayor of San Miguel, who arranged for everyone in his district to spend a day at the beach. That gentleman had been so good. It was sad that the military sent him into exile. Come to think of it, that politician, with his Mexican mustache and generous smile, looked a little like Carlos. Oh, by the way, when am I going to see Carlos? she said, pronouncing the question in a demanding and arrogant tone. Remember, that was the deal. The woman’s lips twisted into a smile as she looked at the driver. Don’t worry, we’ll take care of that. But—Just trust us, the girl interrupted firmly. And now, listen to me carefully, she continued, as if she were a teacher speaking to a little girl. We are going to drop you off at a café next to the beach. You will go in alone and sit down at the first table on the left. Order a coffee. I don’t drink coffee because it’s bad for my ulcer. It doesn’t matter; order something else. Don’t talk to anyone and don’t ask anybody anything. Just wait. For what, the coin to drop? Stay calm and do as I tell you, Laura insisted, touching her arm with a friendly gesture at the very moment the car stopped in front of the café. Thank you for everything, and please forgive me if at times I have been rude. These are very difficult times for all of us.

  For a second the girl’s voice quavered as if connecting to something inside herself, some genuine feeling that rose up by way of compensation. She gave the Queen a quick kiss on the cheek before the car disappeared down the coastal road. And there she was in front of a café with her few belongings. And what if all this has been some kind of big joke? What if these guerrillas had simply gotten rid of the maricón by moving him out of the city and that would be that, without giving him even one peso, because now as she looked through her pockets she realized that she didn’t have enough money even to make a blind man sing in this rich man’s beach town.

  Then she heard the waiter’s friendly voice inviting her to come inside. And she didn’t have any choice because he picked up her bags and almost herded her into the elegant café. Sir, would you like the first table on the left so you can see the ocean? he asked her, with an almost imperceptible wink of his shining eyes. And in fact, from there, the undulating sea silk extended its cobalt-blue cape all the way to the meridian of the sky, so blue, so beautifully blue that it seemed like a different country, a fairy-tale country where the atrocities that were being swept under the carpet every day had simply never occurred. What can I get for you, sir? the young waiter said in a melodic voice. I don’t have any money, she said, and blushed. No problem, it’s on the house. In that case, I’ll have a mineral water. Bubbly? Yes, please, thank you very much.

  Along the coastal road, traffic had come to a standstill while every vehicle was stopped and searched by naval infantrymen armed with machine guns who requested identification and arrested anybody suspicious. She didn’t have her identity card; she had never used an identity card, and if they came and asked her for one, she would say that movie stars don’t need such things. In spite of everything, she felt calm, so serene and open to the pleasure of the breeze that she jumped when a voice in her ear whispered, My tender matador. I’m going to sleep for three days straight when we get to Cerro Castillo; my nerves are in such a state I’ve got goose bumps on my tongue. Look at my skin. I’m so anxious, it looks like Egyptian papyrus. And the greasy creams they make these days don’t help at all. Look at me in this newspaper picture. Look at those bags under my eyes. Luckily the caption is beautiful: THE VIRGIN SAVED THE PRESIDENT. Why don’t you order a chapel to be built at the site of the attack? Why don’t you wear brown for six months like the little boys do after their confirmation? That gray uniform you all wear makes you look like you’re always being confirmed. Haven’t you ever realized, Augusto, that you could wear different-colored uniforms during different seasons? I know, you’re thinking to yourself how frivolous I am, but it’s not such a bad idea; the cadets in the military academies would look lovely in watermelon-colored jackets in the summer, honey yellow in the fall, and, if you really must, the same donkey gray in winter. You’ll probably say I’m crazy, but you can’t deny I’m always right. If you had listened to me, that attack would never have happened. It was obvious that the terrorists were able to follow every step you took with that battalion you had guarding you. Security these days has to be more discreet, without helicopters and sirens. Just three cars. Do you realize that nobody knows we’re in Viña? No journalists or photographers are following us around with their cameras. And if I wanted to, I could even
go have a refreshment somewhere, incognito, maybe in that darling little café down by the beach.

  As if by dint of some miracle, Carlos had appeared, flashing his delectable keyboard smile. My prince, she said breathlessly, you never cease to surprise me. It is my duty, your highness, for routine makes you sad. Not only routine, my prince, but your absence, and she lowered her eyes so the torment of love would not drown her. May I sit down and join you? I was waiting for you to ask, she said dramatically. I thought I’d never see you again, she added, changing the tone of the banter. Let’s not talk about that now, Carlos whispered, taking hold of her hand under the table. I was afraid, Carlos, that—Shit, don’t, let’s talk about something else. But—But nothing, we’ve got very little time and I have to give you certain information. I don’t care about any information, I am happy just to be with you. I am too, but let’s leave here now because this place is full of spies. With a small gesture, Carlos took leave of the waiter and, picking up the Queen’s bags, he hurriedly ushered her out the door.

  Outside, on the beach, the morning’s warm breath carried the flight of the seagulls, who seemed to be sketching possible escape routes on a map of air. Farther away, infantrymen continued checking the cars waiting in a long line of traffic.

  Let’s get out of here, Carlos said nervously as he hailed a taxi. Head straight for Valparaíso, we’re going to Laguna Verde. But the road is blocked. So go up and around. It will take a lot longer. It doesn’t matter, we’re in no hurry. Not a word was spoken along the way, and every time she started to say something, Carlos silenced her with a finger to his lips. But what did it matter to talk or not at this moment, she had him next to her, with his swarthy profile, his high-strung youth showing in the subtle tremor of his face so near, so close that she could see a cloudy drop of worry tumbling down his temples. When they reached the port, the taxi stopped for a red light in front of the monumental new Parliament building. What an ugly monstrosity, it looks like a hospital for politics, she whispered to Carlos, who tried not to laugh and repeated his gesture for her to keep silent.

  The small presidential motorcade was ascending Cerro Castillo. Look, Augusto, from here you can see the Parliament of Valparaíso. It seems like some kind of joke that you had them build such a beautiful building for all those politicians who hate you so much. Why don’t you forget that idea and turn it into a five-star hotel? Because you aren’t really thinking of calling elections. Just think what would happen if we lost, Chileans are such ungrateful wretches. Just imagine if those Marxists won and occupied that gorgeous building.

  Far away, from the squalor of the shantytowns in the ravines of the port, the high towers of the new Parliament building rose in a flamboyant display of modern architecture. That pharaonic edifice was his great pride, as was the Carretera Austral in the south. He would be remembered by posterity for these colossal works, like Ramses II. But perhaps his wife was right that the reds could win an election and with one kick in the ass he would be thrown out of the government. The only thing she didn’t know was that an article in the new constitution designated him as a senator for life until the end of time. He breathed more freely now, seeing the majestic towers outlined against the sky, and then he remembered that, just a short time ago, his wife had insisted that he personally oversee the construction. Curse the day he listened to her, because when the presidential party arrived, when he got out of the presidential car surrounded by bodyguards, photographers, and journalists, he heard shouting from the top of the main body of the building, and he thought naively that the workers were acclaiming him from the scaffolding, so he responded by saluting, but when he listened more carefully, he heard their words: Pinocho! Old bastard! Murderer and criminal. His rage set his face on fire and made him lose his wits, and rolling up the sleeves of his shirt, he shouted back, challenging them: Get down from there you chicken-shit sons of bitches, if you dare. Come here, if you’re so brave, you filthy, ungrateful bastards. It was an embarrassment, a scandal that unfortunately was caught by cameras and aired on television throughout the entire country. And those fools from security, they couldn’t find even one of those bastards; they disappeared in the rubble of the enormous building site, just like those terrorists who attacked him. Probably they were hanging out somewhere or had left Chile through one of the mountain passes. Get out, we’re here, he heard his wife say, from the enormous grassy meadow of Cerro Castillo.

  The sea mist brushed their faces with its chilled breath. They had passed through downtown Valparaíso a while ago, and the taxi now snaked along the garbage-filled ravines on the back side of the port city. What a horrible place, it looks like something out of Wuthering Heights, the Queen commented, horrified, shrinking down into her seat. Wait until we get there, it’s really beautiful. I hope so, dear, because so far it has been nothing but sinister. After a few more curves, Laguna Verde, the eye of the oceanic jungle, appeared below. It took her breath away. Carlos, this place is gorgeous, it doesn’t even look like Chile! You see, I told you, it’s just that we Chileans don’t even know our own country. You’re right there, my friend, added the taxi driver enthusiastically, as he drove down the hill to that paradise beach. The tide had left tufts of light, lacy foam along the line of the retreating surf. The arc of sand held that tiny gulf as if it were a teaspoon of transparent turquoise paint. A small village with four houses was the only sign of human life on this stretch of coast, but not a single soul broke the magical ecstasy of the scene.

  Can you pick us up at five o’clock? Carlos asked the driver as he handed him some bills to pay for the trip. Of course. The man smiled as he took a gulp of the salty air. Should I pick you up right here? Please, added the young man. He unloaded the Queen’s bags while she looked at the oceanic tulle draped by the breeze. Suddenly, upon seeing the sprays of white foam spread out on the beach, she took off running like a little girl. In her hurried dash she threw off her shoes and took out the pretend clips that held back her imaginary hair. She wanted this landscape to wrap her up, embrace her, fill her to overflowing, cool off the burning flames of her troubled soul. And Carlos followed her, imitating her, joining irresponsibly in this loving flow. He reached her just as a miniature wave wet her feet, and the embrace was returned. The splashes of water drizzling down on their fall were multiplied, because they fell, wound up in each other, laughing, struggling, and rolling around in the sand like two little boys who had finally found each other, two children wrestling in order to disguise in their brusque caresses the urgent need to touch, to span the distance across that masculine chasm of sand and ocean. They lay there alongside each other, panting, their expired bodies like two scribbles on that deserted beach. And if the wretched eyes of the seagulls circling overhead had been a movie camera, their bird’s-eye wide-angle view would have offered up an entire world. If only I could die before I awoke, she said, panting through each word as if she were reading from a script. If so, your highness, I would live forever in a dream, Carlos whispered at her side, the lens of the sky piercing his eyes. You will always reside in my dreams, and in the foliage of my lashes you will hide so that I can discover you, painfully haunting every fluctuation of my eternal sleep. How can you know the future of my pain, princess? said Carlos, feeling how his steamy breath was writing out this dialogue on the backdrop of the firmament. Because you, my prince, are the chosen one who will close the curtain on my final illusion. That is a great honor, your highness, but it is very sad. So what? No other color can I wear from head to toe on this good-bye afternoon … love, she concluded, allowing that final word to place a ring around the echo of her voice. Then, shaking off the sand, she stood up and changed the subject. I’m hungry, Carlos. Where are we going to eat? There’s nothing around here, but look, there’s a little store where we can buy a few things. You go alone, while I set the table. And Carlos ran off down the beach, leaving his footprints sculpted in the sand. Why did I have to meet you? the Queen asked herself as she watched him disappear. We could have never crossed paths,
she continued to herself, as she walked over to where Carlos had left her bags. And with a nervous gesture, she undid one of them, looking for something hurriedly, saying excitedly, Where the hell did I put that? And then she found it, unfurling the white flag of the tablecloth embroidered with birds and cherubim. In the blinking of an eye, Carlos returned carrying packages. He stood there in awe, looking at the tablecloth, the napkins, and the bouquet of wildflowers the Queen’s hands had arranged in some seashells.

  How elegant! The young man sighed with admiration. You, my princess, can create a kingdom out of nothing. One must have dignity in order to live, Mr. Chauffeur. What did you bring for us to dine upon? I only found some bread rolls, Swiss cheese, and a good Chilean wine to toast to the two of us. How cheeky of you, don’t you know that I am not allowed to drink with the servants? Try it, my lady, said Carlos, as he uncorked the bottle, and you will see that this revolutionary brew makes you forget the difference between social classes. A-ha, you wish to make me drunk so as to take advantage of me, Mr. Chauffeur? she exclaimed, taking a sip. You see, now we are equals, my princess friend. And if we are equals, why don’t I feel the caress of your love sweeping over the moment? Don’t blame love, my princess friend, and give me another sip so we can share the disappointment. She smiled, drawing her lips up into a teasing expression. I’m afraid mine doesn’t even qualify as a disappointment, my dear friend. Nothing more than the realization that a Queen crazed with love will always be willing to be hoodwinked … and used. She allowed her voice to drop down a staircase of words, and on the last step it broke into a quaver. Whenever you play at the game of love, you always run the risk of making a mistake, she kept reciting, almost in a trance, especially when many don’t even know how to play, and she finished the sentence by directing at Carlos an accusatory stare. What did I say that upset you? Nothing, cutie, don’t worry; for a moment I allowed myself to be swept up into this stupid story. Let’s change the subject. Tell me, how did you escape after the attack? Don’t say attack, because it wasn’t that. So what should I call it? Ambush, Carlos confirmed, his brow knitted. You will have to forgive me, but I am not accustomed to using these cowboy words, the Queen added, making the scene even more tense with her sarcastic tone. Call it whatever you want, but remember that you were also involved in it. Oh, really? I can’t believe you people. When it’s convenient for you, you remember me, and when it’s not, you don’t, you just toss me aside like an old rag. That’s not what’s going on, don’t misinterpret the situation, Carlos said, with a heretofore unknown seriousness. We’re protecting you. Isn’t it more like you’re protecting yourselves, because you never really trusted me? That may also be true, I’m not going to deny it. Great! Finally you admit it! Don’t put words in my mouth, I didn’t mean it in that way, just that we are grateful for your cooperation. What’s more, in the name of the Front, I am to give you this money for lodging and expenses for a few months at least, until everything settles down and you can return to Santiago. And why are you choosing this moment to pay me for my services? Don’t be silly, it’s not payment, it’s money you’re going to need. I guess I’m just a foolish faggot who got everything all mixed up, she said, a little girl swaddling her infinite pain. Don’t be like that, it’s not such a big deal. You know I’ll never forget you. Carlos was also seized by sadness, and without knowing what else to do, he took her faded birdlike hands and kissed them with the burning coals of his dark lips. How could I repay you for all that you have done for us, and especially for me? With just three words. What words? he said with a touch of embarrassment in his macho Marxist eyes. My tender matador. What else?