They will dream in the g.., p.3
They Will Dream in the Garden, page 3
Hours later, when Verónica turned the corner onto her street, she found the gates open and the buildings apparently empty. There was no light. She parked the car quickly and climbed the two stories in a blink. On the landing was a blanket piled up along with other objects. She opened the door to her house, which was still dark and cold. She called Fénix over and over. Not a trace of the damn animal, that’s typical, she thought. She looked for him under the seats, the refrigerator, above the cupboards, in her wardrobe.
There he was. He had climbed behind the coats until one fell to rest on top of him in the very back. He had his ears back, and his eyes were black, tail bristled like that of a squirrel. Verónica couldn’t hold back a chuckle. She remembered when the girls from the animal shelter brought Fénix home, he had the exact same expression as now. Since she first saw this animal with thin, messed-up fur the color of ash, who had lived an entire month without his mother inside of a dumpster, she felt a deep sympathy for him. The reddish veins that reached over his face and paws looked to Verónica like the glimmers of a flame, a fire that persists in the rain.
She took him from the closet and put him on the floor. He gave a few meows of distress, melodramatic and grave, very different from the sharp, spoiled voice that demanded his breakfast. The cat’s legs buckled like a newborn goat, and Verónica laughed more at the tragic spirit of Fénix. She spoke to him gently, petted his head. The cat half-closed his eyes and got into the cage without putting up too much resistance.
Verónica, feeling in higher spirits, wanted to gather a few things to bring to her family (candles, matches, canned foods), hoping at the same time that she didn’t need them, that the situation were different over there, but she had barely managed to put some of her things in with Fénix before she heard louder, more intense voices. She stopped and only moved again after a moment when she no longer heard anything and it seemed opportune to leave.
What else should she take? She took a glance at the living room. Now she noticed it: there were so many things in her house. So many of them were precious to her. They left quickly and unstealthily. A group of people blocked her path and jumped on the car. Though she was scared, she didn’t stop. She almost didn’t at all until she reached the inspection point on the road.
It had already started to get dark when the interminable line to the exit moved forward, stopping and starting. She started to panic: they were discriminating with criteria that surely she didn’t meet, she who never carried her complete papers, who had never been eligible for a loan. People pulled over until it was impossible to ignore the officials that threatened them with their guns if they didn’t stop. There were more of that group than there were people who were allowed to leave, free, on the highway. Fénix let out an opera-style meow every now and then, when the cold, cyclical blizzard approached. But now he was very serious, standing straight up in his cage.
“Residents only,” the officer spat when her turn came.
“Yes, I’m a resident.”
“You have to prove it.”
She rummaged nervously through the glove box and found, mercifully, a card she used to enter the housing complex where her parents lived. It had the correct address and her license plates in big numbers and letters.
The man examined it without much interest and asked for her identification. Fénix watched his every movement from the cage with a very formal cat expression. The man looked at him for a second, too. He raised his pen and pointed out an improvised road that ran parallel to the freeway. Verónica couldn’t believe it.
“That way. Don’t turn your lights off at any point.”
The road was full of ruts and boulders that didn’t let her move quickly. A solitary line of cars left their red trails in front of Verónica and Fénix, who had become hysterical with the turbulence of the car. He meowed bump after bump, and though Verónica tried to calm him down, the cat raised his voice even more. Fed up, she opened the cage and let him out. Fénix sat in the passenger’s seat, leaned out of the window a few times, then lay down. Curled up in a little ball, he slept without another sound.
After a few hours, the road diverged from the freeway. The cars that preceded her had disappeared a while ago, incorporating themselves onto the freeway, onto other detours, or into the woods. She couldn’t tell where they were. Night had fallen, and only a glow, maybe from the moon, lit the way. She resolved to stop for a moment and try to locate herself using the guide in the trunk. She looked through the things she had thrown back there years ago. She was surprised to find a pair of shoes that she never took to get the heels replaced and let out a laugh when she recognized, between an umbrella and a bag filled with spare parts, a picture frame with the photo of her grandmother she thought was lost. She picked it up along with the guide. When she was about to get back into the car, she saw the puny figure of Fénix, his eyes crusty from sleep, squinting in the glare of the headlights.
“Fénix!”
The cat kept still until Verónica tried to grab him. Then he opened his eyes wide and leapt into the trees. She ran after him until she realized that she would never find him without light. She got the car as close to the forest as possible, turning on the high beams, cursing the entire time.
“Stupid cat. Stupid cat …”
She walked between the trunks and grass that the rays of light defined against the black horizon. She shouted for Fénix several times and then made those little noises that people use to attract cats (mostly without success) so as to not attract the attention of anyone passing by. Little by little, the milky light of the car was losing its range. Verónica, in the dark, shrunk into the heart of a forest vaster than she had imagined.
What if she didn’t find Fénix ever? Would it be better for him?
The light of the car was only an echo of a gleam. She grasped the cage with her cold fingers. She would make him come back with the smell of the food and trap him there the entire trip until she got home, which would serve him right, she thought. She distinguished the thin trunks of the trees and the smell of night mixed with a perfume of firewood. The silence reigning there seemed indifferent to what was happening. Verónica felt like a witness to a serene conversation between the elements of this place, only interrupted by her own breathing, visible in the air like a silky vapor ascending to the highest fronds. The illuminated path became fragmented in tiny echoes of light until she could no longer see anything. She called Fénix again and again, paralyzed by the darkness and the growing fear of having lost him. She felt the back pocket of her pants and let out a sigh of relief when she felt her phone, which she immediately used as a flashlight. It occurred to her to shine the light on the high parts of the trees in case the cat had taken to climbing. She was able to see several tails and pairs of eyes that hid themselves speedily from the blue light she aimed at them, but none of them belonged to Fénix. She felt the violent urge to cry.
The forest was getting steeper. After walking uphill for a while, Verónica discerned a pronounced slope crowned by an orange halo. She got closer and saw, in the middle of a clearing, a house, well-lit despite its ruinous appearance, flanked by what she guessed were a corral and a pigsty.
Only when she was already very close did she see the horde of dogs of all colors and sizes rushing toward her, some wagging their tails amiably, others barking with distrust. A woman emerged from the door of the house. Against the light only her hair, very short, and her silhouette, small but strong, sturdy, were visible.
“Who is it?!” she demanded in a firm, slightly shrill voice.
Verónica didn’t know how to answer. In this moment, she was nobody. Not somebody, at least, whose circumstances were easy to explain. Greeting her was the only thing she could think to do. She walked faster, trying to ignore the affectionate leaps or startled grumbles of the dogs. She wanted to explain herself face to face instead of shouting.
The woman was wearing a T-shirt and a skirt, and her thick, short legs were bare. Only her feet were covered with something that looked warm: some shoes made of velvety black cloth with a colorful flower embroidered on the upper.
“Balón! Negra! Satanás! Come here!”
The dogs switched gears instantly. They folded their ears back, lowered the unstoppable pendulums of their tails, and returned to her with resigned devotion.
“I’m sorry for the fuss. I got lost looking for my cat. He jumped out of the car, and I lost him …” Verónica was embarrassed to speak in a voice so full of self-pity, tears falling against her will. But the woman, older than her, had understanding eyes that softened her wrinkled and severe face.
The wind picked up in violent swells. The turkeys got worked up and provoked bleating from the sheep. The woman looked at the sky for a moment and went inside.
“Come on in.”
The kitchen took up almost all of the house. Pots and ladles hung from the walls, two or three meals bubbled on the stove. A cat dozed on the table, its tail coming and going over a stack of embroidered napkins. The woman spat some reprimand along with a heavy smack, and the cat went flying, getting lost behind a pink curtain patterned with blue flowers.
“It doesn’t work,” said the woman, repeatedly pushing the buttons of an alarm clock. “The radio. My son went to get his. Do you have a radio?”
Verónica said no, as if admitting to the old woman that she was going to be useless, even though she obviously would be a burden. She didn’t know where she was, she was hungry and in a hurry to get out. The woman shrugged her shoulders.
“The radio said there was a global crisis, but it wouldn’t get to Mexico. Earthquakes and hurricanes all over. God protect us, I said to my son. But he said that the best thing is to stay home because the weather is what’s going to be affected. That’s what my son said, but I know it’s a lie. I heard when they said it would get dark, that there was a hole through the sky, and that the big buildings were lifting off the ground out there in China or Australia. I see the sky acting strangely. And the lambs have been scared for days seeing the wind come like it is right now. The animals know better. My dogs go and hide under my skirts … but you saw, these goddamned cats don’t care …”
The woman let out a refreshing laugh made of water. Verónica noted that every wrinkle in her face had been caused just by her laughter. They traced on her face the kind map of her humor. She rose and began serving the contents of the pots on a plate and in a cup.
“You lost your cat, you said?”
Verónica felt a hole in her stomach. The moment that the woman’s laugh had created collapsed with no remedy. She explained that they came from the city and that the blockades made them take the road through the forest, but when she wanted to find her way with the guide, the cat had run off and she couldn’t catch him.
“You’re not too far. You’d have to take the exit up ahead, and it’s not too long after that,” she encouraged.
Verónica ate slowly. She longed for food, but the absence of Fénix chased away her appetite on every other bite. But knowing that it wouldn’t be much longer before she could see her family lightened her mood a bit.
The thundering of fireworks came from outside. But, judging by the woman’s face, it might have been the echo of a gunshot. The dogs barked vehemently and trotted solemnly to the edge of the clearing to investigate the situation.
The woman stood up. Walking like a duck, she went through the curtain and returned, putting on a sweater of woven wool with patterns that Verónica thought were beautiful. She noted that the woman was very strong, but in certain movements it was clear that she was much older than she seemed, with that hair so black and her energetic arms. She examined the sky. The lambs bleated more calmly. To Verónica, it felt like they were calling to the woman like they had seen her leave. Her brow was furrowed, and she pet the dogs distractedly. A couple of kittens also came out to see her and rubbed against her legs. The old woman emerged from her meditation and took them by the neck. Smiling, she entered the house, and said with a cheerful smile, “My cat will bring him to you. You’ll see. Come on, look.”
Verónica followed her to the room hidden by the curtain. On the corner of a large, soft bed covered in cushions embroidered with colorful thread lay an enormous cat, very well-groomed, surrounded by kittens. The woman spoke to her in a mellifluous, soft tone until she opened her eyes. She looked Verónica up and down with her blue Siamese eyes and sniffed her while she listened to the old woman’s explanation, moving her ears toward her voice like two triangular antennae.
“What’s his name?”
“Fénix.”
“That’s quite a name, honey.” She pet the cat’s back with tough tenderness while she spoke. “Go get Fénix, Chula, okay? Bring him back to his friend, who loves him like I love you.”
The cat brought her little snout close to the old woman’s face and shut her eyes. The dogs started barking again. Chula opened her eyes wide, leapt gracefully from the bed to the floor, and ran to the door.
“That must be my son because the dogs got so happy.”
They followed her. The turkeys made such a commotion that they unsettled the pigs in turn. The dogs alternated their gazes between the outside and the two women in frank confusion. Chula passed through them and meowed capriciously at a figure moving low to the ground. A pair of scared, fluorescent eyes stared at her from the shadows.
It was Fénix.
The fiercest dogs continued barking, but the cat summoned his courage and crossed the barrier when he heard Verónica’s affectionate voice. With his tail extremely fluffed he jumped to the table to let her pet him and immediately searched for the door of his taxi with his snout.
The old woman laughed and laughed and, presuming the episode was finished, hurried back to her chores. She collected the dishes from the table, went out to converse with the pigs, and filled two buckets with water from the basin.
Suddenly, Verónica felt she wanted to stay in this place that seemed untouched by the horrors of the world. But she still felt something was missing, some absence that seemed to be right under her nose. Fénix looked at her from the cushy interior of the cage. She scratched behind his ears, fastened the bolt, and went to help the woman, even though she seemed to have no trouble carrying one pail after another on her own. Verónica shredded pieces of tortilla for the pigs and accompanied the woman in her rounds through the corral. The hens napped, fluffy and defenseless, in the darkness.
“I have my chickens, my turkeys, my water … Aren’t we rich, Balón?” she said to the fat, short-legged dog who followed her everywhere. “Once my son gets here, I’ll have everything,” she said with a cheerful gravity that she maintained when addressing Verónica. “You have to go looking for your parents. They must be worried sick.”
Verónica agreed, immersed in the woman’s liquid gaze, which looked back at her. Mother. Father. Sister. Son. That was what they were saying when they looked at each other. It wasn’t one of those distracted gestures where the two people look at themselves, at their insides, while their eyes are hovering on the other’s face: it was the tacit communication of orphanhood, the communion of a fact. A shared confrontation. They were missing someone, someone was missing them. The wind remarked sorrowfully on their absences.
Folding pieces of bread into a cloth napkin, the old woman explained to Verónica how it would be better for her to return with the help of the rope that they had strung through the trees to get to the road on a more comfortable path. Fénix drank a lot of water before they left the clearing, surrounded by the rhythmic barking of the dogs.
By now it was completely dark. The silence had also darkened in its way. They got to the edge of the road. She guessed the car was a few meters farther to the right. They advanced along the tree line, but there was no trace of the light that Verónica left as a kind of ostentatious trail of breadcrumbs. She thought she recognized the curb where she had pulled over, but there was nothing there. She was hit with the certainty that someone had taken the car, even though she had the keys. She went back into the forest, hoping that she had parked even farther in and that the battery had already died. At least she would have shelter. Fénix watched her, alert, from the grate of the cage, his pupils expanded in the lack of light. He meowed impatiently, letting her see his tiny animal canines.
She walked hurriedly toward the confirmation of her circumstances, forcing herself to look ahead. She stumbled over something and rolled, covering herself with the cold earth. The cage flew through the air, crashing to the ground a few meters ahead. When she could stand, she examined the bundle that had made her fall: a man with his head tilted, legs twisted at painful angles, arms inert at his sides. A mirror of black liquid shone beneath his abdomen and then grouped together in a broken ribbon, a long track climbing up to the road. Tire tracks.
The wet smell of earth mixed with the metallic scent of blood, making her want to vomit. She went toward the cage, where Fénix remained stunned, his head drooping. “My baby,” she said. “Cat. Everything will be okay.” She took him in her arms, petting his back. The animal, contrary to his usual behavior, let her do it. Once in a while, he turned his head and sniffed at her tears. When Verónica sobbed, the cat pushed his ears back and stared at her.
Every now and then, that tide-like wind picked up. But when it stopped and the atmosphere was calm, miniscule glimmers sprouted from the trees. Fireflies. Fénix opened his eyes wide, stepped forward a bit, retreated, aimed some tremulous warning growls. And then he simply enjoyed them.
“My mom calls fireflies ‘cocuyos,’ Fénix.”
When the last one vanished, Fénix stretched with enthusiasm. He walked a bit farther and turned to see if Verónica was following. An impatient meow seemed to pressure her, as if at the mention of her mother, the cat decided that they should continue trying to get home. She rearranged Fénix and the little bit of food in the cage and got ready to walk, but the handle was broken. She wrapped what she could in her clothes and warned Fénix that he could let her carry him or walk with her without running off. The animal trotted ahead of her without talking back. Verónica noticed that she didn’t feel the anguish of losing him again. She was certain, she knew it wouldn’t happen. She accepted the idea that the end would sneak up on them as they walked in their noble attempt to get home. But before that, she left on the body of the stranger a little branch of velvety leaves she couldn’t identify (she regretted not knowing the names of so many trees, so many plants). She did it because she remembered being taught in her history classes that humans became humans when they started to bury their dead with flowers and shrouds.
