January, p.3
January, page 3
It’s almost noon when she goes out. There’s hardly any shade on the road. She unhitches the horse, places the bag atop the sheepskin, and jumps up.
This can’t be real…It can’t be happening…I have to go…but where? To…Yes. I have to go to…
She coaxes the horse into a gallop and passes, without noticing, a group of boys playing ball in the walled court, their shouts and whacks echoing after her.
The leaves of the trees and the wind pumps are motionless in the dense summer air; a muddy dog lying by the ditch looks up at her. The door to the chapel is closed.
Tomorrow…the mission…confession…Her heart clenches in fear. Someone who isn’t her thinks inside of her: I have this afternoon to do it and I’m going to go…I don’t know how…I have to wash the clothes and hang them out…I don’t know how…but I’m going to go…
3
Nefer hears the creak of the bed as her mother falls onto it with a sigh and she pictures Don Pedro’s small body rocked by the movement. She looks at Alcira sleeping unbuttoned and barefoot with an arm slung over her damp forehead; then she puts on her espadrilles and ties a kerchief under her chin. Blinded by the light outside, she squints and crosses the blazing patio.
She’d left the horse tied up on a long lead so he could graze in the shade of the trees, where almost all the birds are silent; the water she’d splashed onto his back is almost dry. Before mounting she gives him a pat.
“Poor old horse,” she murmurs. “Poor old guy! You’re really being put to work today, aren’t you?”
She takes down the halter and bridles him, standing on tiptoe, but the horse draws his head back, tired of these monotonous motions.
She mounts and sets off at a walk, ducking and dodging the thorny branches of the hackberries. As they emerge from the trees the heat instantly envelops her, vibrating through the siesta hour and the wide yellow fields.
“Must be around two o’clock…I could be there by three…”
She kicks and takes off at a gallop, steering toward the thick grass that will absorb the footfalls. She doesn’t want to think about the end of her journey, about the old lady she’s never seen but with whom all her hope now lies. Her eyes pick out objects one at a time, attributing an exaggerated importance to each. Thistle, she thinks, thistle, partridge, dung, anthill, heat; and then she hears – one, two, three, four, one, two, three, four – as the hooves hit the ground. Slowly, sweat begins to appear behind the horse’s ears and runs in dark strands down his neck where the reins chafe against his coat, churning up dirty foam. Little voices, little voices speak to Nefer, but she continues her journey, indifferent to them. Cow, she thinks, a Holstein, and another and another. That one’s overheated. Lapwings. Two lapwings and their chick. Those piercing shrieks!
The road is a long dry tongue. Nefer watches her shadow galloping alongside her, she straightens up, shifts her arm, turns her head to see the changes in her silhouette. The sweat runs in stripes along the horse’s haunches and down his legs; Nefer looks at the palm of her hand, dark dirt folded along each crease.
“Dapple horse,” she says in a small voice, “you won’t have to work tomorrow, okay? I’ll sneak you some corn without them knowing. How does that sound? Tomorrow you can rest…Tomorrow the mission starts and…” She sharply redirects her thoughts, but the bitter taste lingers in her soul.
After walking through pastures and passing train tracks, meeting no other soul for more than an hour, the grass grows sparse on the ashy ground and the horse is blue with sweat. Nefer sees the little house appear in that translucent furnace of a day. Her heart shrinks.
Farther away, where the trees form a dark eyebrow, Don Pedro’s sister lives with her family. But right now she isn’t thinking about them, she’s too preoccupied with this low house crammed up against the gigantic dried-out eucalyptus in the still air.
“Why did I come here?” She’s overcome by an immense yearning for home. She’s startled at the number of notions she’s stored in her memory about the people she’s going to see, this family with uncertain crisscrossing surnames, with an uncle who used to practice black magic and a witch doctor for a grandmother. Nefer tightens her grip on the damp reins and runs her tongue over her lips. Then she extinguishes her soul and continues along the road, which curves before reaching the house.
A buggy advances toward her, dark in the distance. Maybe they’re going into town and the old lady will be there alone. That would make it easier. But what if it’s the old lady in the cart? When she looks up, the buggy is in front of her and her heart skips a beat: her aunt and uncle pull on the reins and stop beside her.
“Nefer,” says a voice that fills the air, “what are you doing in these parts?”
“You’ve come for a visit…? And just when we were leaving…”
“What a shame…but, why did you come all this way in this heat? Or has something happened?”
Nefer looks at the wheels of the cart and from somewhere inside she hears herself answer: “No…nothing has happened, nothing’s wrong…”
“But, in this heat! Just look at the state your horse is in!”
Her aunt peers at her with two eyes that glimmer like ponds in her face. Her small frame is barely visible beside her husband’s, which takes up almost the entire cart.
“And Pedro? How is he? Is he doing all right? And María? And the girls?”
“They’re good, Auntie, everyone’s fine, thanks.”
Centuries of guile converge in Nefer and flow out to defend her words as the horse pants against her legs. Her uncle observes her from the shade of his hat and his teeth gleam beneath his mustache when he smiles.
“Fancy you coming all this way in this heat…Why didn’t you wait for it to cool down?…Out here at siesta hour like some gringo. Or did you come to bring us some news?”
“No, Uncle, but I had work to do this morning and then if I’d have waited it would’ve been too late to get back. The patrona sent me to make sure everyone knew about the mission. It starts tomorrow.”
“Uh-huh, we know, the patrona came herself to tell us the other day. What are you going to do now?”
“Well…I’ll head on to the Borges house to give them the news, and then cool off a little before heading back.”
Her aunt looks down at her hands, then says: “They know already. It’s not worth your trouble to go over there.”
“Well, that doesn’t matter. I’ll stop by and tell them anyway…I got my horse all tired out.” She smiles.
“If you need to rest your horse you can go on up to the house, it’s open.”
“I’d better do my job, if not the patrona will be angry with me.”
“How strange that she sent you even though she came herself. Do as you like, but don’t dally. You know those people are no good.”
“I know, I won’t stay long. Bye.”
“Bye.”
She continues on her way and as she nears the house her horse’s hooves thump against the parched ground. A dog comes out to bark, but the house appears to be sleeping with the roof pulled over its eyes. The dog barks and barks and finally decides to cautiously sniff the horse’s legs. Nefer hesitates, then she claps her hands to let them know she’s there but immediately regrets it and looks nervously around the dry yard smelling of scorched earth. Why did I come? She wipes sweat from her chin and leans down to look at her legs, which swing alongside the horse’s belly.
Just then she turns her head and notices someone watching her from a distance. She sees a shirt, a beret, an arm resting on a fencepost, and a sense of unease slowly creeps up on her because she’s recognized one of Old Lady Borges’ grandsons. There are two of them and she’s seen them many times, with their awkward posture, taking turns spitting words in high, catlike voices that make her feel uneasy. As though he were right in front of her, she can see his pale elfin face, his shifty eyes, and his hands fluttering like algae in a pond.
As she approaches the boy – she can’t tell which one it is – she feels a great longing for the coolness of her room. She remembers one afternoon as a young girl when she and Alcira came to visit their aunt and uncle. There were the two Borges boys, crouched down, hugging their knees to their gaping mouths, and staring at them nonstop for an hour. Every once in a while, they whispered to each other or uttered a ripe swear word.
Trying to avoid his gaze, she greets him: “Afternoon…”
“Afternoon…What do you want?”
As he speaks he leans forward, slips some wire around a post, pulls it taut, and ties it with a skillful twist of his pliers, his colorless neck contorting beneath his bandana. Nefer’s heart flip-flops as she notices his gaze fixed on her and not on his work. Pointing vaguely to the house, she stutters:
“Is anyone there?”
He turns back to his work and Nefer hears the snap of the wire. She sees hairs sticking out on his damp cheek and her heart pounds desperately. The silence drags on and he looks back at her with a wry smile. He says, his voice like a lapwing’s: “Why? Are you looking for someone?” and his green eyes linger on her, full of pale, mocking glee.
The countryside staggers around Nefer, who grips the sheepskin in her hand and asks, trying to buy herself some time: “What…?”
He leans over again laughing, then says: “You shouldn’t be riding around on a horse, then…should you?”
Nefer’s eyes see only a white sun spinning around and around filled with that voice, and barely breathing she mumbles: “What…?” And she pretends to scratch her nose until the world settles.
“But actually,” he says, “I guess you should be riding around on a horse, then…You need to gallop hard…right?”
With a high-pitched cackle he goes back to the wire, in his excitement his hands have gotten tangled up in it. Nefer can’t think of an excuse to leave so she murmurs again: “Is anyone in there?”
“Anyone, anyone, who did you come to see? What anyone? If you came to see Granny, then say so. The witch is inside! If you came to see the other one, that one’s over there, he’s dying. If you care to know, if you want to see him. Ha! He’s in the barn, with his feet in the air. Yeah! He’s here too, if you want to see him. Or someone else? Just say it, say who!”
He takes a step back and trips over the spool of wire. Nefer watches him fall. Suddenly he’s overcome with rage and beats at the ground with his fists, convulsing, then takes out his knife to stab the dirt one, two, three times before breaking into a yowl, his whole body shuddering.
A voice shouts from the house:
“Who’s there?” And a woman in an apron appears in the doorway.
Nefer quickly pulls on the reins and moves toward the house, retreating from the shrieks that dissolve into a broken cackle, the voice repeating over and over:
“Gotta ride on horseback when you’re a whore, when you’re a whore, when you’re a whore and a slut, on horseback, yeah.”
The woman is large and her lurching voice is shrill as a clarion call.
“How are you, Nefer?” she greets her. “Hop down.”
She dismounts, wondering how this lady can bear to live with sons like that, and when she ties up her horse in the shade she’s filled with a sense of relief.
“How are things? Come on in.”
“Goodandyou?”
The kitchen is small and dark. Nefer sees an old woman removing kernels of corn at the far end of the room.
“Good afternoon,” Nefer mumbles.
“How are you? Have a seat.”
“Okay.”
She sits on a bench and the old lady continues her task using a method unknown to Nefer, scraping the corncobs against an iron rod placed across a box, producing a sawlike sound. The younger woman bends down and, trying not to wake the cat, picks up some twigs from under the stove and throws them onto the fire; she puts the kettle on and waits with her arms crossed. Nefer’s eyes flash back to the pale face twisting and falling and the fists pounding in the dirt. A word she heard a long time ago forms on her lips: Cursed. He was born cursed. And the other one too.
Suddenly she remembers the story of a man whose roof was pelted with rocks day and night until he sent a message to the Borges uncle to say that if he kept on with his black magic he’d pay dearly for it. With that the stones stopped.
Startled, she notices the younger woman is standing in front of her.
“Would you like some?”
She accepts the mate and takes a sip as the two women talk to each other.
“Did he fall asleep?” the old lady whispers.
“Mmmm…I think so…At least he seems to have calmed down, I think.”
“Who knows…”
Who’s dying? Who’s dying? Nefer wonders. She hands the mate back and answers their questions about her family, telling herself that if she doesn’t speak up soon all will be lost. Anguish weighs upon her once again.
The younger woman goes to the door as if she’s heard something. Nefer sees the lady’s husband emerge from another part of the house with his hair sticking up, and out in the yard he puts his head under the stream of the water pump. Long siesta, she deduces.
Suddenly her blood freezes at the howling voice she had heard in the field, now very near but coming from the opposite direction to where the boy had stood. The women look at each other and the younger one rushes out.
The old lady murmurs:
“You see? He wasn’t sleeping, poor thing…”
In the yard, the man has finished washing up and he looks toward the barn with wet hair dripping down his face. The voice whines: “No. No.” Then it laughs hoarsely. Or cries, Nefer thinks. She hears the younger lady outside speaking in soothing tones.
Nefer watches closely as the old lady shakes her head: her arms and legs are scrawny and her deformed hands carelessly drop grains of corn. Shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come. Shouldn’t have come.
The large woman returns to the kitchen and the old lady asks: “How is he?”
“Says he doesn’t want a compress, doesn’t want anything. I don’t know…His neck is all black…”
“We’ll see…” She shakes her head gravely.
Cries that sound like the yelps of a dog filter in from outside. Someone asks Nefer a question, and she finds herself once again sharing the news about the mission. They’re cursed. The brother tried to hang himself. That’s what happened.
A log falls from the stove and breaks into glowing coals. Nefer tucks her feet back and the younger woman sweeps up the ashes. I’m going to get up and leave. After this mate. I’m going to get up and say goodbye.
She repeats this over and over in her mind until she suddenly finds herself standing and saying: “I’d better be getting back already.”
“You’re leaving…? Now, in this heat…?”
But they don’t make much effort to stop her. She says goodbye to the old lady while the younger one walks her back outside into the daylight, which has become somewhat less oppressive. Far off, she sees the white shirt of the boy who’s still repairing the wire fence gleaming in the sun.
When she reaches her horse someone calls out her name, and turning around, she sees the old lady in the kitchen doorway. She’s taller than she’d looked and her dress hangs loosely from her straight shoulders.
“She’s calling you,” says the younger woman.
Nefer retraces her steps, walking back to the old lady, who has sparkling eyes and the teeth of a girl set into her muddy, waxen face.
“Ma’am?” she murmurs trembling.
The old lady’s eyes are the only reality. Lowering her voice, she asks: “Is there anything else you want…?”
Nefer clutches the fabric of her dress to keep from fainting into those eyes.
“What…?” she asks.
“You don’t want anything from me? You don’t need anything?…Something…”
The entire world is concentrated in that face: the world with all its roads, trails, fields, furrows, rivers, and clouds.
“I…”
A current races through Nefer and before she can think how to answer she says: “Me, ma’am?…No…thank you…But no.”
The old lady responds by looking off into the wide countryside: “Have it your way, then…Goodbye.” And she goes inside.
Once Nefer is back on her horse, she almost feels like she’s home.
4
Maybe it would be better to sit up, kick off the covers, lean against the rough wall, run her hand across her forehead, her damp hair, and close her eyes. The sounds mingling with the darkness are too intrusive: the heavy tick-tock of the alarm clock, Alcira’s breathing, her parents snoring in the next room, the restless dogs in the night, the near and far-off roosters, her own heart pumping, rising to her throat, suffocating her. And on top of all this, time pacing ceaselessly past her bedroom door, tromping through the night, the world, carrying with it all things that will come to pass, things that will come to pass and cannot be stopped.
Nefer buries her face in her hands and it’s as if she were peering into her nightmares. Her sister turns over in her sleep and the squeak of the cot startles Nefer; murmuring sounds percolate in her ears, throb in her head, converge in her heart to kick at her ribs.
She sits on the edge of the bed and her feet graze the rough bricks in search of her espadrilles. Outside, a dog lies heavily against the door, making it rattle. What time is it? She pulls a blanket from the bed, covers her shoulders, and walks toward the door with one arm outstretched.
It’s not easy to get lost in this room with nothing more than an iron bed, a cot, and a table, but tonight fog swirls around her body and invades her mind. Her senses turn inward, refusing to guide her steps, which wander off. Nefer feels along the adobe wall but can’t find the door. It has to be here, right here, four steps from the bed. Where is it? What room are we in? Isn’t that Alcira breathing? Aren’t those their alternating snores next door?
