Monstrilio, p.21
Monstrilio, page 21
I’m going to lift your shirt, she says.
She presses different parts of my back. I tell her the spot that hurts the most. Toward the bottom of my ribs. She touches my stump.
Wait, I say.
What?
I felt it.
What?
My stump.
She sits back down. Pushes my hair back with both hands.
I think you’ll live, but I’d much rather take you to the hospital.
Eme? Mami asks. What’s going on?
She rushes to me. Doesn’t believe me when I tell her I’m fine. She makes us tea. Lena drinks coffee. I repeat the story. Mami agrees with Lena about taking me to the hospital. But says we have to come up with a different story.
Robbery! You were knocked down and couldn’t see anything. It was horrible but quick, and there’s no need for the police to get involved.
And if the man tells on me?
He won’t. He attacked you.
I attacked him.
You technically didn’t, Lena says. Biting him was something he wanted you to do.
I was going to eat him.
Because he attacked you! Mami says.
Mami and Lena wait with me in the ER. Lena talks to busy nurses and doctors. They tell her I’ll be looked after. Then disappear. Lena paces. Mami says Lena isn’t used to not being in control. A nurse takes me into a screened area, tells me to strip down to my underwear, put on a gown, and sit on the bed. The nurse cleans my face with cotton gauze. He’s gentle. Tells me it’ll be just a minute.
I wait.
Voices. Voices. The voice in the speakers pages this and that doctor. The nurse shows up again. Takes me to radiology. I bite down on a plastic guard for face X-rays. I try not to bite it off. I lie on my stomach for my back X-ray. The nurse returns me to my little enclosure and gives me a pill. I sit on the bed.
I wait.
Back hurts. Head hurts. But less now. Maybe the pill makes me care less. Lena appears and asks what they’ve said, what they’ve done. X-rays, I tell her. She goes away. After a few minutes, she reappears with Mami. Lena holds my X-rays up to the light. Mami peers too, as if she knows what she’s looking at. I find my stump on the X-ray. Only darkness. Gooey darkness.
Nothing’s broken, Lena says. I would love an MRI, though.
I tell her I want to go home.
Lena drives us to Cobble Hill. Uncle Luke doesn’t ask what happened.
He writes: I’ll take it from here.
Mami hesitates. Tells us to call if anything feels wrong. Even slightly. Lena says to rest. I nod. I’m tired. They leave. Uncle Luke walks me to bed. I ask him to loosen the bandages around my torso. He unwraps me. Spooling the gauze in his hands. He grunts. Runs his fingers down my back.
Is it bad?
He grunts a yes.
He wraps me again, looser this time.
Can I have a hot dog? I ask.
Uncle Luke grunts and brings up four. I eat them almost without chewing. Uncle Luke tucks me into bed but watches me from the armchair in my room.
Go back to your room, I tell him.
He lifts a finger to his mouth. Turns off the lamp next to him and pretends to sleep.
Papi wakes me up the next morning. Draws my curtains open. Sunshine. He sits on my bed and inspects my face. Peter’s in the room too.
How awful! he says. I can’t believe they would do all this just to get what? Your phone?
I have my phone, I say.
Peter turns even more bewildered. What on earth did they want then?
Papi stares at me. Opens his eyes wide.
My wallet, I say. And my watch.
The only watch I own is a calculator one. Santiago’s. It’s in Berlin. Or Mexico. I don’t remember. Peter paces the room.
Could you fetch M some water? Papi asks. Please, Peter?
Peter goes out. I get ready to retell the story a third time, but Mami has already told Papi. He takes my hand. Rubs my nails with his thumb.
Want me to do them?
I stretch to my bedside table. Hand him a jar of blue nail polish.
You didn’t eat him, Papi says. I’m proud of you.
I would’ve.
But you didn’t.
Papi paints my left pinky.
I could argue. The truth is I would’ve eaten him. If it were not for the bat. But Papi looks so happy. He thinks I’m getting better. Less hungry. More capable of being human. He says our family is back together. All of us. Plus Peter. He takes my other hand. Very precise in his brushstrokes.
Done, he says.
My nails are pretty in blue. I take his hand and paint his next.
WHOA, KILLER, Romy says at the bookstore.
I still have purple around my eye. Some cuts. But I look less swollen than a few days ago. I debate which story to tell her. Robbery or biting. I decide on biting. Without the monster parts. She holds a pile of novels under her elbow. Doesn’t seem to want to part with them.
Why do you like biting so much? she asks.
Feels like something I have to do.
Huh.
She slides the next novel in place. I walk away and stand outside the bookstore. Tap a cigarette out. My first self-bought cigarettes. I suck smoke in, but it doesn’t taste the same alone. Romy comes out.
You smoke?
Want one?
Nah.
I puff out smoke.
You’re so hairy, she says.
She stares at the patch of fur on my forehead. It shouldn’t be noticeable. I shaved in the morning. But the stubble has already grown in. Romy touches it.
Soft, she says.
PAPI MADE ME PROMISE no more dates. For a while. But I open the app as I finish my cigarette to see if Sam has written. The same four text bubbles show on-screen.
Hello? I write.
Sam’s not online. Maybe tomorrow.
MAMI SITS ON THE ONLY CHAIR at the bookstore. Old leather. Comfy. Keith’s chair. I arrange the Fantasy & Sci-Fi section. It didn’t need arranging, but Mami is talking and seems reluctant to follow me around. She tells me she suggested Firgesan for Papi and Peter’s wedding. Papi was opposed. Peter excited. But they convinced Papi together. The house needs a fresh start. Joy, she explains. She crosses her legs and leans toward me.
Eme, she says. A Spanish arts organization has asked me to perform at a festival in Valencia. I can’t say no. And I need to get back to work.
You’re leaving?
I’ve been thinking about it. I can’t figure out what else to do in New York but tag along with your father. Or visit you. Lena is too busy at the hospital. She’s made a life without me. Would you come with me, if I went back?
The book cover I’m holding shows a woman holding a gun made of two baubles stuck together. She is facing head-on. A gargantuan robot looms behind her. Square head. Metal jaws. Panel of lights on its chest. A sole purple shrub grows on their planet. I can’t tell if the robot is about to attack her. Or if it is her guardian.
I tell Mami I won’t go and ask her to stay instead.
She uncoils her legs. Says she’ll think about it.
I WALK BACK HOME FROM WORK. It’s dusk. Many colors in the sky. A boy and his mother walk on the sidewalk. His mother holds his hand. The boy stops and cries. He won’t walk anymore. The mother tugs. Tells the boy she will leave him. He keeps crying. The mother lets go of his hand. Steps a few feet away. Just enough that if he needs her, she can jump back to him. The boy slurps his snot and sees me standing behind him.
Hello, I say.
He runs back to his mother and grabs her hand. They go on walking.
THE HOUSE IS DARK WHEN I ENTER. It’s getting darker earlier. I scratch my stump.
Uncle Luke?
No answer.
Uncle Luke? I say louder.
All over my body my hair stands up. Scared. Electric.
Uncle Luke?
I unhinge my jaw and walk to the kitchen. I kick the door open for the element of surprise.
Uncle Luke stands on the other side. In front of him, on the table, is a bloody carcass. He grunts. Extends his arms. Surprise, he means. The table is covered in plastic.
What’s this? I ask.
Uncle Luke lifts up an index card. Half cow, it reads, all for you.
I whiff. Meat. Dead for a while. Still yum. I strip down to my underwear. Like I don’t want to get my clothes dirty. But really, a feast calls to be enjoyed flesh to flesh.
My jaw is already unhinged. I only have to stretch my mouth back. Let my fangs out. I wish I had claws. Something to fork the half cow in place while I bite. I use my knee instead. Gnaw and rip with my mouth. It tastes good. Not great. The taste of fear has gone. Also, it tastes like cow. Nothing wrong with cow. But a cow doesn’t dream. Not really. And if it does, it dreams of grass. Maybe open skies. A human dreams crazy dreams. Horrible dreams. Great dreams. Like flying. Or teeth falling. Or people long forgotten who pop up as if they never left. They dream of what they were and what they could become. And the dreams seep into their meat. Like a delicious marinade.
Good? Uncle Luke writes.
I’m halfway done. My chest is wet with blood and drool. I give him a thumbs-up. Cow may not be human, but it’s still a whole lot of meat.
When only bones are left, Uncle Luke asks if I’m satisfied.
Yes.
My stump itches. I scratch. Uncle Luke wets a rag. Cleans my stump of the dried cow blood. Rubs. Wets the rag and rubs some more. My stump stays red.
Normal? Uncle Luke writes.
No.
Hurts?
Itches.
Uncle Luke takes me to his bedroom. Hands me a green tube of ointment.
For itchy skin, he writes.
Over the next few days, I’m back to pork chops, hot dogs, and lunch kebabs. Uncle Luke can’t buy me half a cow every day.
MAMI SHOWS UP AT THE BOOKSTORE. She’s leaving for Valencia.
I’ll be back for your father’s wedding.
To stay? I ask.
I don’t know.
We hug goodbye. Her body is just my size. We fit.
I go down to the basement. Basement-rat walks over to me to smell my kebab. I give it a piece. It eats the kebab. I eat the rat.
LATER THAT NIGHT, Sam writes back, Will you eat me?
Papi is upset.
She left, again! he says.
She’s coming back, Peter says.
He rubs Papi’s shoulder. Lena tops off everyone’s wine glasses.
More pasta, anyone? Peter asks.
Uncle Luke grunts and lifts his plate. Peter scoops shrimp fettuccine onto it. Papi also cooked garlic toast and salad with walnuts. It’s family dinner at their place. Minus Mami.
Is she coming back? Papi asks Lena.
She shrugs.
Did you fight?
No.
I thought you were together.
We tried. I don’t think it can work.
Why not?
Why am I responsible for making her stay, Joseph?
You’re not. It’s just … we were all here. The rest of us are still here. What is she leaving for? We’re her family.
Uncle Luke grunts.
________
MAMI WATCHED ME TRANSFORM. I was awkward. Couldn’t figure out how to use my legs. Arms. Hands. My eyes couldn’t focus. Everything was too dark. Muted. I tripped all the time. I slept a whole lot. Mami moved me into Santiago’s old room. Gave me a new bed. Clothes. She talked to me even when I wasn’t great at conversation. Got me tutors. Some days she left me with Grandma Lucía and Jackie, who taught me to shave and gave me dentures. They made me a boy. They called me Santiago. They tried. And I tried.
I became less awkward. I followed Mami around like Santiago used to do. She painted my nails. Something else to make me hers. We were alone. Only Mami and I. Papi had moved to New York. Lena too.
Then Mami found her performances.
She wrote a lot in her journal. Ideas, she told me. Things to remember. I practiced writing too. A skill half remembered, half newly learned. Sometimes Mami stopped writing and stared. She stared for thirty, forty minutes. I tried to puzzle it out, but there was nothing to stare at. Mexico City hummed outside. Cars and birds. Inside nothing made a sound. If I asked her what she was staring at, my words never reached her. Like she was too far away. I never found out what she was looking at.
PETER ASKS IF I will give a toast.
Am I supposed to?
It would be nice.
You don’t have to, Papi says.
Romy says wedding toasts are supposed to tell the couple how much you love them. Wish them happiness.
Some people tell stories, she says and rolls her eyes.
Stories are not good? I ask.
You’d have to tell a good one.
I have a good one. But I can’t tell it.
I’m ready. Please come over, Sam writes.
Is tonight okay?
Now. Please.
I can’t.
It’s Saturday afternoon, and I’m going suit shopping with Papi. For the wedding.
I don’t know if I’ll be here again.
SAM’S PLACE IS GREEN. Green walls. Green couch. Green rug. Green table. Green plants. Everything old. Cared for. He dresses in loose white pants. Loose white shirt. His hair sticks out in different directions. Dry. Like he once washed it too much. He bows when he meets me. I bow too. Not sure what else to do.
Master, he says.
I turn around to see who he’s talking to. There’s no one there.
This way, Master.
He’s talking to me. I ask for water. Sam grabs a green glass. Fills it from the tap. The water is fresh.
Thank you, I say.
Master, he whispers. He’s barely taller than me. May I?
He extends his arm. Touches my cheek. Men do this. Sometimes. Before they kiss. He doesn’t kiss but lifts my upper lip. Caresses my fangs.
Beautiful, he says.
I unhinge and smile wide. Show off. He makes a sound like chuckling. His eyes become red. Tears form. Like happiness. I smile wider. Open my mouth fully. Let my face split in half. He gasps. And bows. Like he wants to touch his toes. He shows me to a bedroom. The walls are green here too. Carpet as well. There’s no furniture except a mattress draped in a white sheet. Unlit candles surround it.
Is this good? he asks.
Yes.
I don’t care where, as long as I can eat a chunk of him. I ask if he has bandages. Something to cure himself with after I eat.
I won’t need it, he says. Like he knows what he’s doing.
He lights the candles. One by one. Sunlight shines through gauzy green curtains. Too strong for the candles to produce an effect. He doesn’t seem to mind. He undresses. Folds his clothes. Puts them at the top of the bed. Lies on his back. Faceup. Head on his clothes, like a pillow.
I will bite your thigh, I say. Okay?
Yes, Master.
It will hurt.
I know.
No need to attack me or anything.
I won’t.
I undress too and leave my clothes outside his room. I step over the candles. I lick. Leg hairs tickle my tongue. No hint of soap. I like this man. I prick him with my fangs. Let him know the pain is coming. He tenses. I bite. Determined. Fast. He screams. Like a high-pitched roar. He stifles it, biting his clothes. I chew. Exquisite. His neck is red. Tears run down the sides of his face. I’ve bitten more than I intended. He tries not to squirm. To ease his face.
Okay? I ask. Mouth full.
He attempts a nod. More tears flow. He wipes them. I swallow.
You are very delicious.
Thank you, he squeaks.
May I bite again?
He doesn’t answer. I wait.
May I?
He wipes tears. Like he shouldn’t be crying. But he cries more. Not loud. Ghostlike. Heavy. Like his pain isn’t only from the bite. Like it’s deeper. Marrow deep.
Eat, he squeaks.
I bite his same leg on the other side of his thigh. His stifled scream screeches louder. More piercing. He weeps. Bubbles form in his mouth. Spit and tear bubbles. Snot. I chew his flesh. My eyes dilate. My mouth waters. My stomach growls. I don’t want to swallow. Not yet. The bed is red. Sam grabs the sheets. Pounds his fists. Writhes. I swallow. Try to keep his taste. This is it. End of meal. I can’t ask for more. But it feels like I’ve just started. Maybe I can just lick him. I steady his leg. Lick. He flinches.
Wait, he says. Please.
I pull myself away. Stand up. His smell prevents me from fully walking away. He mumbles. Can’t make his voice work. He mumbles again.
I’ll go, I say.
Give me a minute, he says.
He calms himself by panting. Like some rite.
Eat.
I lick my fangs. Rediscover his taste.
I eat.
The suit store in Greenpoint is old. Smells of fabric, chalk, and cologne.
What kept you? Papi asks.
Nothing, I say.
Papi doesn’t press. The tailor has a suit ready for me to try on. A gray simple cut. I set my backpack down inside the dressing room. Undress. I spot blood on my shin. I cleaned up at Sam’s place. Must’ve missed this part. I wet my finger with saliva and rub away the blood. It smears but doesn’t come off. I hike up my socks.
I try the suit on. Jacket is too wide. Pants too long. I step out and stand in front of the three mirrors. The tailor pulls the bottom of my pants up.
Not too high, I say.
The tailor pins the fabric and drops the pant leg.
Jacket is too big, no? Papi says.
The tailor measures shoulder to shoulder.
Let me check, he says and leaves.
He measured you before, Papi says. Why is everything so big?
Maybe I’m shrinking, I say.
The tailor comes back. Says he’ll need to take it in. Papi says I look handsome. Regardless.
Papi asks if I want something to eat. I say I’m not hungry. Not hungry? He smiles. Like victory. Papi buys himself ice cream. We walk to McCarren Park. People stroll. Families play. Dogs. Picnics. Music. Like a nice day is all that matters.
Autumn skies you can drown in, Papi says. Peter said that this morning. Who knows where he stole it from.
You like Peter.
I do.
Papi’s hair reaches his shoulders. A sun-yellow curtain. It shimmers.
