Nancy, p.8
Nancy, page 8
× × × × Two days later papá got into the car, fled the miniature town without me, and didn’t come back × × × × × I’d gone to the bathroom and by the time I came out he’d vanished into thin air.
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× × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × At the end of the day, when I realized I was on my own, I went over to one of the technicians and asked them what to do. She replied that I could easily take the bus, like I’d sometimes done before with papá perdido, my lost father. But then what? I decided to swallow my shame and get on the bus as though it was perfectly normal to do so by myself. I leaned against the window in the back row and squeezed my knees together, waiting for my anxiety to pass × × × × × When I got home the car was parked outside × × × But there was no sign of papá ×
× That night I couldn’t sleep. I wrapped both arms and legs around a long pillow. Waited in the dark, sleepless. Not sure if my eyes were open or closed: an uneasy calm × × × × × × × I decided not to go back to the film set. I preferred to go hungry in Ch and be in the house, to get home from school, dump my backpack, shower, and go walking on the beach, instead of spending all day mixed up in the traffic of people rehearsing × The heat there was unbearable. Everyone’s faces, except the guru’s, swelled up with the days, the clipped instructions, the dead time. At least in the house it was quiet, peaceful. I shivered on the floor, my back freezing against the tiles, thinking about papá perdido × Whiled away the hours to the sound of the TV: I imagined Jesulé looking at the scene like a boy looks at a cage of monkeys. Hands in his own pockets, mind on other people’s × Because although there was good money to be had, plenty of it, you really had to want it × And for the guru coins were just flies to be slapped away: another problem to avoid, like his assistants or technicians × × × × × × × × × It was interesting to watch him on those eternal days filming a single scene. His gestures. He stood with one hand covering his mouth, his eyes bright, unblinking, and his reaction was as arbitrary as it was awful: he’d look at the assistants and wait for their opinion in order to laugh in their faces. Sometimes he’d shout Cut! before the actors had even appeared, and he used to walk around in circles, indignant, ignoring the murmured advice of his lackeys ××× Tim would tell me, a while later, that the two film crews had met one day because the guru was interested in using some panoramic shots they’d taken of the countryside. So there they were, the two crews, eating their ceviche, glaring stiffly at each other. Naturally the guru didn’t eat anything. He neither ate nor drank. Sometimes he didn’t even breathe. He’d watch suspiciously and intervene with some comment calculated to make everyone uncomfortable. Thank God there was a lot of wine, Tim told me, and before the situation got out of hand his team was drunk enough to quietly retreat. The lead actor, who they all feared would cause some scandal, didn’t get worked up at all × × × × × × × He raised toast after toast and then left, as agreed, with the rest of the crew, without causing any trouble × × × × × × × × × × But the guru didn’t matter anymore, nor did papá perdido ××× I felt like I had to worry about myself × × × I only went one more time to the miniature town, a week later × × × × × × I spotted Jesulé as soon as I arrived × × × × I went over, not taking my eyes off him, and said in a quiet voice: Buy the car off me × He nodded × × Told me I should go home as soon as the buses started leaving and he’d be along in a little while × × × × × Night came ×× He arrived in a pickup with three other paisanos. I invited them in, they drank some water, and put five hundred lucas down on the table × I took it and gave them the keys × × × × × × × × × And the Pastor? the Romany asked me at some point × × × The Pastor’s lost in the mountains and his sheep have nowhere to graze, I answered × × × × He threw me an Ah, held out his hand, then left × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×
× × As soon as it landed on the table all I could think about was the wad of notes × × About what I was going to spend it on × × × I went out at once for chicken and fries and a Coke × × × × × Fell asleep on the table, my fingers smeared with grease, breathing heavily, laughing to myself, looking at the chicken bones scattered on the tray × ×
× × × × × The next day I ate two italianos and a chacarero. In the afternoon I bought a new phone, pearl earrings, jeans, and shoes × Walked through Ch swinging the bags × × Feeling their weight × Happy × × × × ×
×× In the evening I found myself behind the Brothers again. Practically the same place as before × × I followed them to the same vacant lot × × × × This time I managed to film them on my phone × × × × × × × × × × The next day I woke up very early, ran to the town square, and waited till they showed up × × × × They walked quietly, still half asleep, necks exposed to the sun × × × × × × This time there was no furtive kiss. Rather, they went to the bus station. We waited there forty minutes, them sitting reading or talking, drinking bottled water, while I hid cramped behind a kiosk × Then a bright pink-and-black bus appeared × × × × × × × × × I waited for the Brothers to board, then asked one of the old parking guys where the bus was going and when the next one would be × Cajón Colgado, he said, and you’ll have to wait till tomorrow, there’s only one a day × × ×
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I went back the next morning and waited for the scene to repeat itself × I jumped on board just as the bus was about to leave. They were sitting at the back, and didn’t notice me × × × × × As I looked out at the landscape I thought about papá perdido × × × × Imagined him by his old man’s grave, watering the cans of plastic flowers, doodling in the dirt, feeling his way along the walls, chasing echoes × × × × × I thought the journey would be a lot quicker × It was almost midday before we were stopped by a police car × The bus driver looked back and said: Anyone going further is gonna have to walk, this is as far as I can take you × × × × I covered my face with my jacket and waited till everyone else had gotten off. The driver’s hand on my knee alerted me × × The other passengers were already on their way, scattered. Some with luggage, others with children × × × ×
× × × The cops explained that they’d stopped the traffic because of the festival. I walked slowly, hoping nothing would make the Brothers turn around ×
× The cops didn’t say so but it was common knowledge that during the festival of the virgin everyone in LL would get wasted half-secretly and then go out into the streets and knock each other around × Every once in a while somebody actually died × × In any case, the whole thing went on for three days and, what with so much apparent lawlessness, the police were out in force, waiting quietly on the road five kilometers from the church.
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Sometimes, out of boredom, they’d have a drink or two themselves, despite the supposed dry law
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Virgencita of Good Death, a collective epiphany in LL [And the virgin, doctor? Can you see the virgin?]
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Never have you refused help to those in need; they have found peace and joy in your loving embrace: the wrongdoer turns to you in hours of fear: show us, merciful Mother, the kindness of your love
IX, Prayer to Our Lady of the Good Death
And how did they choose their carnival queen? asks Isidora when I tell her about anything to do with those northern towns × × × × Not all of them have carnivals, I reply × × × And obviously none of them come close to the one in the big port × × That festival in LL was in devotion to the local virgencita, that’s all × × People give offerings × × Make the long yearly pilgrimage to a spot in the middle of nowhere and say to her: Here I am again ×
× × × × × × × × × Before the time I followed the Brothers all I knew about LL was hearsay × × It was only a little festival but it involved a couple of bands you used to find doing the rounds in the north that time of year, ones that used to pass through Ch as well × × It’s not that they didn’t have a queen, I explained to Isidora, who was visibly unsettled by the idea, rather that the queen is the Virgin × × She looked at me suspiciously and muttered: Well what’s the point of the carnival then? No alliances, no competition, no new candidates × × × × × It’s about devotion, I insisted ×
× × I arrived on the second day, so the official processions had already passed through. Most people had left, and there didn’t seem to be any commotion coming from the first adobe houses that emerged in the distance × × × × I waited for the Brothers to disappear into the village, sitting by a couple of pickups carrying the last few festival-goers. Some of them, the more pious ones perhaps, had brought saint’s cards, prayers for safe travel, calendars, plaster statues of the Virgin in different sizes. The rest also brought mobile phones, toys, American clothes, deodorant, underwear × × × ×
× × × × When the sun started to set and the road was empty, I walked × × × × × In the square a handful of old men and women surrounded a bigger handful of musicians, dressed up to the nines in red and white. Among the crowds, calm, solid faces flashed and vanished in the light from the bonfires × × × × The trumpets hanging, the tubas crouching, the bass drums lying down × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × I was breathless, still, as the others were still × × × × × and I entered into the silence × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×
First, there was a low murmur in the square, drawn out and sustained by the sun that was plunging toward the horizon. Then a boy who was struggling to reach around a bass drum gave the signal. He lifted his arm and the band sliced through the pampa with their grand finale × × I felt like I’d just had my ears cleaned × × × Something whipped across my back and suddenly I was the only one who wasn’t moving × The stampedes of elephants descending from the skirts of la virgencita resounded inside our heads. Andean trunks swaying frenetically × × × Dust rising as though the sheer strength of people’s faith might transform it into a hurricane, with me in its eye, in its center. And just like that, like a claw emerging from a wall of wind and earth, within five minutes they were squeezing my collarbone × Behind me, Bryan and Josías, smiling, rosy like pigs, drenched in sweat ×
The three of us, serene, looked at each other ×
Everyone else vibrated, and there we stood.
× What are you doing here, Sister Nancy, shouted Josías × I smiled and shrugged. I was bored, I answered, glad to be able to shout back × ×× People’s silhouettes grew longer, and suddenly I couldn’t even really see the Brothers × × As the drums sounded my knees buckled ×
× And I fell ×
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I woke up on a sofa in a white room. Sitting next to a window, her elbow on the table, an indigenous Mormon woman was reading quietly × × × × I tried to sit up, asking after Bryan and Josías × She raised her head, gave me a smile that reached her eyes, and said: We’d better head to the dining room, Sister, so you don’t faint on us again × × × In the next room fifteen uniformed Saints were eating, all of them young. The place was narrow and white: bare walls, two doors, plastic chairs and tablecloths × × × They smiled at me but I felt cold. I decided to concentrate on the bread and broth. Not even the woman who’d been looking after me met my eyes again. The windows shivered with the noise coming from the plaza × × × Where were the lovebirds? × × God only knows what they were up to × × × × × × ×
A wave of tiredness was washing over me and the soup was never-ending
And the steam blurring my vision
And my nose starting to run ×
× They were already starting to laugh at my nodding head when a car horn sounded over all the trumpeting × I thought no one had heard it. I was the only one who turned to look × × × × Through one of the doors Bryan was gesturing at me to hurry × × × × We got into a van and set off back to Ch × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × ×
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We’re worried about you, Sister Nancy: you can’t just go through life all by yourself, the Saints told me outside my house. Elder Jaime waited at the wheel with the engine running. He hadn’t spoken the whole way back to Ch, his brow severe and lips a thin line. The lights in the living room and upstairs were still off. Ashamed of not knowing where papá santo was, I knew I had to keep them talking till they decided to go × × I leaned closer to the Brothers and said quietly: Tomorrow you’re going to take me back to LL, and keep quiet about it, because if you don’t I’ll show the video to Brother Jaime × × × × They looked at each other × Looked back at me × × What video? × × × × The one I took of you down Syria Passage on my phone, course × × × × × × They had their backs to Brother Jaime and I could see all three of their faces. On the first two, sheer panic. Behind them the face of a saint × × Before turning around I said, not bothering to keep my voice down: See you tomorrow then, half past eight at the bus station × × × × ×
And there they were × × Arms crossed, fidgeting × × × They offered me a coffee, we chatted to the driver as he ate an italiano, then we left × × × × On the bus I turned around, buried my chin in the back of the seat, and asked them what they were really planning to do in LL × I added, softly: Make out among the guanacos? Frolic in the hills? × × × × We’re here to visit the last few young people left in this town, Sister, replied Josías. The elderly are being left alone, just like everywhere else, and the people you ate with last night look after them, among other things × × × × × Don’t they care that the old people are committing idolatry, right there in the church? × That’s exactly why we’re here: we’re going to lift them up, all of them, above that plaster statue of the virgin, answered Bryan. It’s only a matter of time before they remember the Father × But they might’ve been led astray a long time ago, I replied × There’s no swallow that won’t take to the wing and head north when the cold sets in, Sister × I reminded them: It is profitable for thee that one of thy members should perish, and not that thy whole body should be cast into hell × Bryan counterattacked: Sometimes you’ve got to put your neck on the line, sometimes even your soul. Like a lamb that learns to howl in order to survive the winter × I raised my eyebrows, turned around, and tried to sleep for a while. I wasn’t in the mood for arguing × × ×
× When I opened my eyes the bus was parked in LL by a roadside shrine, next to a half-built brick wall × × The Saints were watching me worriedly, one beside the other. I wondered how long they’d been trying to figure out where my phone was × × × × Don’t bother, I told them, it’s right here, where you’d never dare look × Hold your tongue and tell us what you’re planning to do, said Josías. Bryan breathed hard through his nose, his jaw like a fist × Let’s make a deal, I said: We’ll spend however long you need here converting all the old people, and in return you’ll come with me to Fray Santiago, to the old machine warehouse, to look for my old man × × They glanced at each other again and asked what papá santo was doing there × That’s exactly what I want to know, I replied sadly. It’s been ages now since he took off and I don’t know what to do × × × Actually, I don’t even know if that’s where he is × × × I wanted someone to hug me, but the Brothers, although moved, were still nervous about the video × They held out their hands to me: It’s a deal ×
× × × × We were crossing the square toward the Saints’ temple when a procession of old women surrounding a priest and a pair of altar boys came out of the church × × The father, dizzy from the heat and the constant pestering, nodded his head all over the place without knowing whom he was agreeing with × × The old women, wearing ribbons and badges to mark their status, leaned in so close when they spoke that they blessed him with their saliva × When the moment came, the altar boys were single-minded: they wrestled their way out to the pickup truck and scattered × × × Until next year × × × The women would dream, cry, dance alone in their houses, waiting for the procession × × At that moment, in the square, as they were saying goodbye to the priest, he met the Brothers’ gaze × I imagined an exchange of obscene gestures between the altar boys and Bryan. The sun was high and you had to walk quickly between patches of shade × × × × × ×
During the day I helped the Saints wash the streets of LL and visit the old people × × × I quickly got the hang of the rhythm and dived right into whatever chores needed doing × We ate a proper lunch and dinner, thanking the Lord in dining rooms full of trembling beings about to give in to their yawns and disperse × × × × We all, obviously, avoided the houses that belonged to the remaining Catholics × Some of the Saints even avoided stepping on the church’s shadow × × You didn’t need to ask anyone anything to understand that the Mormons wanted to settle in LL for good, to arrange things differently, with fewer Saints’ cards and more community gatherings: more games of momias, their eyes shut and arms linked, praying to the Father and the Son for the grandchildren they never got to know, for their children down south, for the health of their dogs × Brothers Bryan and Josías wandered around, directing prayers, flushed with excitement, their necks black with dirt × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × × Occasionally I’d half open an eye and see them in a trance × × × They were the kind of people who actually believe in what they do.
