Blood-drenched Beard : A Novel (9781101635612) (13 page)

Some mornings he forgets any modest ambition he may have and doesn't know how he ended up there. He thinks that deep down there is nothing to uncover or understand no matter what. Mornings like the cloudy one when he sits for a while outside the window with the dog beside him and watches a furious northeasterly whip up the water, which is somewhere between blue and green, with no shine, as if seen through a polarizing filter. The waves explode on the rocks in fans of meringue-white spray, and the thick drops wet his feet and give off a perfume of salt and sulfur. Then the wind turns without warning. Its invisible force reconfigures the entire landscape in moments. Blowing from the south, it stretches the ocean's agitated surface toward the horizon as if smoothing a crumpled sheet over a bed. The silence contains something of the tension of the previous moment. The water becomes smooth and glossy, and the waves form long, gentle rows that break near the beach, lifting up crests of vapor against the sunlight that has just appeared out of nowhere. The filmlike surface slides over the waves in the opposite direction. The ocean recedes, the exposed strip of beach grows and the temperature drops a little. The sun comes out and encourages a group of kids to go swimming in front of the rock. The four boys, wearing shorts and no T-shirts, quickly dive into the water. They jump off the wharf and swim near the rocks, swearing at one another. The two girls are about twelve or thirteen and walk over the rocks with ease. One is wearing a bikini, and the other, in a white dress with a triangular-shaped hem, has an upturned nose and high forehead. They take red lollipops out of a bag and sit on the rock. The one in the white dress turns her head and briefly looks at him for the first and last time with honest disinterest, emanating at once a precocious sexuality and the profound boredom that prevents her from using it. The boys splash water on them and try to pull them in. They tolerate it as if it were no more than a fleeting interruption and quickly return to their lollipops and monosyllabic conversation. Then the girl in the dress stands and climbs down to a larger rock at the water's edge. The tame waves wash over her feet. She stares at the sea and the boys playing in the water as if joining them were an inevitability, an implicit obligation of her female existence. The white dress is removed with resignation, folded, and carefully placed on a rock. She turns and looks at her friend. In agreement, the two of them go to meet their destiny. They enter the water at the same time in lookalike black bikinis and are immediately surrounded by the boys. They get water splashed in their faces and are grabbed and dunked mercilessly. The boys fall about laughing, and the girls resist but end up laughing too, the same way that adults laugh when they feel like children. From where he is, he can see the eyes of the girl who was wearing the white dress lit by the reflected sunlight and notices that they are exactly the same color as the ocean that day, the same coppery green and the same translucence that, in the case of the sea, allows him to see pieces of seaweed and little clouds of sand hovering at the bottom. In her case he can't tell. They are big eyes. He can see them well in spite of the fact that she never looks at him, just as horses and birds watch you without ever looking at you.

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T
he Mailer Circus arrives
in town in the third week of May. A car drives around town endlessly announcing its presence from a loudspeaker, and posters appear on lampposts and supermarket bulletin boards. Dália has been complaining that she hasn't seen much of him and that he no longer answers her messages, so to show that he is making an effort, he offers to take her and Pablito to the Saturday-night show. There is also an element of personal curiosity in it. As a child and teenager, he was taken by his mother to see a few plays and dance productions, and his father took him to the Expointer cattle shows, to see the depressed Simba Safári animals and the noisy stock-car races at the Tarumã Speedway, and once or twice a year he'd watch Van Damme or
The Lion King
at the movies, but he never went to the circus. He stops off at Delvina's grocery store on Saturday afternoon to pick up three bonus vouchers that reduce the price of adult tickets to five
reais
and children's ones to three. The piece of porous paper in black and magenta with the face of a clown in the center promises The Brother Show, Flying Trapeze Artists, Beautiful Girls, Clowns, Jugglers, Aerial Silk, Contortionists, Los Bacaras (International Attraction), Globe of Death with 3 Motorbikes, Spiderman Live, and Crazy Taxi. The moon is shining in the cool night sky, and the popcorn stands trail the aromas of caramel and butter through the air. He meets Dália and Pablito in the main square, in front of the post office. Dália has the night off work and is smiling, beside herself with excitement. She gazes at everything with unbridled fascination. She appears to have suddenly forgotten that she was feeling ignored by him but scolds him nevertheless for not having accepted her friendship request on Facebook, a sign of disrespect. He hasn't logged on to Facebook for three months. People are converging toward the large, circular blue and yellow big top that has gone up on the block of land behind the municipal health clinic. Pablito wants to see the lion. The circus doesn't have a lion, but he answers mysteriously so as not to dash the boy's hopes. Do you really think there'll be a lion? Yes, Mama said so! cries Pablo, jumping up and down. And a bullet-man! We'll see, we'll see, he says. Dália tells him not to worry because the kid'll love it all, he likes everything and couldn't care less about promises, maybe it's even a problem, she thinks he might have ADD, do you think he's got ADD? They say you've got to treat it from a young age. Her hand brushes his arm as they walk, and he doesn't know if he should hold her hand in front of other people, in front of her son. He is afraid of violating the local codes of social conduct. He is the Goggles Guy. Dália is wearing high heels and shorts. Her calves glisten with moisturizer. He has never seen her so made up. He feels like kissing her but stifles the urge. The back of a pink truck has been converted into a ticket booth, and a splendid young woman with glitter on her cheeks, glossy lips, and a blue butterfly mask painted around her eyes takes his bonus vouchers and money and hands him tickets through the little window. She must be one of the Beautiful Girls. Two boys of about sixteen dressed up as clowns are planted at the entrance not doing anything, in neutral, watching the audience arrive. They pass through a corridor of stalls selling candy apples, cotton candy, hot dogs, popcorn, and churros and arrive in an open space with chemical toilets, trailers, and old cars in a dreadful state. There is a first-generation Chevrolet Opala, a VW Beetle, a good old Ford Belina, a
Chevrolet
Caravan, and an incredible beaten-up red
Volkswagen
Passat from the seventies, proud to still exist. The ropes holding up the food tent have been tied to the chassis of an old brick-colored Scania 110 truck that itself looks like an exotic animal with rounded, elephantine contours. Dália wants a candy apple, and Pablito wants cotton candy. He orders a churro for himself. A short time later, beneath circus tents, a huge white horse and three llamas looking rather tense about all the activity chew on things and contribute to the omnipresent stench of manure and quadrupeds. It is almost time for the show, and they hurry into the main tent. They choose a place amid hundreds of plastic chairs arranged in a semicircle around the ring, which has a bulky purple and silver curtain. Dália takes off her jacket, sways her shoulders, left bare by a strapless blouse, and hums the chorus of the romantic country song playing over the loudspeaker. Families are attending the show all together: adults with grandparents and rows of children all holding hands in tow, young mothers with babies. The family groups are counterbalanced by gangs of hyper adolescents messing with anything that moves. Boys with gel-sculpted quiffs, jeans with zippers all over them, and watches borrowed from their dads strut around girls with wet hair, daring little dresses, and six-inch platform clogs. A recording says: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the fabulous Mailer Circus. The opening song has been taken from some American film studio's jingle. The curtains open. The spectacle begins with the International Attraction: Los Bacaras. The three trapeze artists in gold-sequined costumes scale a mast performing choreography to the simultaneous narration of a ringmaster who treats the performers as nonhuman, if not slightly subhuman. They greet the audience . . . like this! he cries as the three artists stretch out their bodies parallel to the ground, which isn't at all easy to do from a muscular point of view but doesn't get a rise from the crowd. But right after this three clowns come in wearing suspenders and enormous colorful shoes, giant blazers with buttons the size of compact discs, and skull masks from a popular TV show. In a matter of seconds the audience has been won over by the stylized violence of old cartoons and the lewd jokes of Saturday-night television. When the house gets messy, you can call a cleaner, when a girl gets married, she thinks about the wiener! The children's laughter is constant and explodes with each new joke. Some laugh so hard they cry. The ringmaster announces the jugglers. A man comes in throwing batons into the air while a dancer gyrates around him. The soundtrack of the number is a fast Eurodance song, and Dália closes her eyes, raises her arms, and starts dancing in her seat. Fuuuuuck, this is awesome? she shouts, and only now does he realize that she is high. What are you on? Acid, she says with an ecstatic smile. Then she goes serious and opens her eyes wide as if trying to sober up. He is irritated but doesn't say anything now. He is overcome by the conviction that he needs to end the relationship without delay, preferably tonight. He won't be able to take an interest in her life. He won't be able to be patient with her. He doesn't think he'll truly be able to love her, or at least not for very long. He admires her tenacity and finds comfort in her beauty, but they don't have much else to offer each other beyond what they already have. He doesn't like this fascination with parties, drugs. Any day now, and it won't be long, he'll end up hating himself. He grabs her hair from behind, from the roots, like he did at the party the night they met. Dália likes it. She raises her head and purrs, half-smiling, spaced out. Pablito is glued to the show. Five batons . . . Perfect! says the ringmaster just as the juggler drops one. The man picks up the baton and tries again. He looks bored rather than focused. It's the artist seeking perfection! says the ringmaster. The audience grows tense, in total silence, and breaks into applause when the juggler succeeds. Pablito claps slowly and looks at him. Do you really think it's a good idea to take acid when you go out with your kid? She shrugs it off. It's okay, she says, looking at him as if it is obvious, as if everyone alive has already taken acid and knows it's no problem, for Christ's sake. The juggler makes another mistake, this time with the balls. Oh no! It's very difficult, almost impossible! But he seeks perfection! Then on comes Jardel, the Bird Man, who leaps and twirls from elastic ropes hanging from the roof, to the sound of New Age music. A human whirlwind! It is every man's dream to fly through the sky! Stéfany, the Aerial Silk specialist, appears in a tight red vinyl bodysuit with gold detailing. She shakes her bleached ponytail and winds and unwinds herself in the silk several feet above the ground, simulating falls that make the audience gasp. The clowns come back on and announce the NASA Special Attraction, a Secret Super Machine! A tiny car made from the front and back of a Fiat 147 welded together is the centerpiece of several misadventures and gives the audience a number of frights involving bangs, smoke, and a radiator that squirts water. In the interval Pablito asks to see the animals again. Dália goes to the bathroom, and he takes the boy to the animal tents. There they find a weary ostrich and a camel that at first looks like an odd-shaped lump in the half-light but suddenly clambers up, when they approach the fence, and gives them an expectant stare, perhaps thinking it is about to be fed. Pablito is transfixed by the large creature with two mounds wobbling on its back and a curved, jowly neck. Stinky, isn't it? he says to Pablito, holding his nose. Do you know what those things on its back are called? Humps. It stores water in them so it can survive in the desert. An old drunk also walks over and stands there staring at the camel, who grows bored with the humans and goes for a walk around the pen, its hooves squelching percussively in the soft earth. For some reason the camel starts sniffing the tail of the horse that is minding its own business in the neighboring pen, and the horse quickly bucks, just missing the camel's face and hitting the aluminum bars between them with a loud clang. Pablito doubles over with laughter. Crazy animal, says the old drunk, shaking his head and leaving. Dália appears and takes her excited son up very close to the camel. He notices a difference in her behavior. She is trying hard not to seem high. As they go to buy Pablito a soda she says, So that's it, is it? Aren't you going to talk to me anymore today? Then she says she's sorry and that he is right, that it was irresponsible of her. She kisses him and takes his hand in front of Pablito. He glances around. He isn't sure if they are being watched, and to be honest, he isn't sure why he is worried about it. What's wrong? Do you hate me? Or are you anxious because you don't recognize anyone? He says it's nothing. The show continues after the interval. Dália notices that the stagehands who set up and take down the set for almost all the numbers are Los Bacaras. She suspects that they are all from the same family. Raíza performs her act on the hoops, and as soon as she has left the stage, the camel comes in and stands in the middle of the ring for almost a minute, fouling up the air with the pungent smell of wet wool and tobacco, until it is introduced as The Dromedary. It is accompanied by two trainers and a tiny pony that immediately starts galloping around the ring, jumping obstacles as if it has been lobotomized and chemically stimulated for the mission. The camel does nothing, it's just there to be looked at. The clowns come back on and ask people in the audience to pretend to toss something into the air. They pretend to catch the object in a bucket with a metallic clang. One of the clowns points at Pablo, and Dália encourages him to collaborate. He pretends to throw something, and the clown starts backing away to catch the imaginary projectile and trips over his colleague, who has slyly bent down for this purpose. It all works. The audience loves the clowns. When they exit at the next interval, he pulls Dália to him and whispers in her ear. Remember the guy with dyed-blond hair from the Pico do Surf? What about him? Did he have a shark tattoo on his leg? What kind of question is that? she says, looking at him, offended. Nothing, it's just that I think I saw him giving me a dirty look the other day, but I wasn't sure if it was him. I need to know if he's got a tattoo. I think so, says Dália. A shark on his shin, right? I think he does. The African Show starts. Two strongmen and four beautiful women come on in stereotypical African tribal costumes with tiger and leopard prints. Only one of the performers is black. Don't mess with that guy, says Dália. You hear? It's not worth it. One of the girls has a blue butterfly painted around her eyes, and he figures that she is the girl from the ticket booth. She is half naked in her skimpy costume. He fantasizes he is screwing her on the hood of the red Passat. I won't, I just want to know when he's around. Another three men enter the ring, all white. The ringmaster says that the act won a competition on a popular Sunday variety show. The group dances and performs complex acrobatics that wow the audience. At some point the tribal music gives way to a Caribbean rhythm. The teenagers next to them think the human pyramid is funny and tell one another that the performers are all sitting on each other's dicks. When the African Show ends, the long setup for the Globe of Death begins. The clowns invite the children into the ring, and it is quickly invaded by a swarm of little people, jumping about and shouting as if possessed, not knowing where to direct their energy. Pablito goes too and stands there waiting for the clown to ask him his name over the microphone. Dália gets a little nervous because Los Bacaras are positioning the large metal globe in the ring while the clowns are interacting with the children, and it looks dangerous. But everything goes smoothly. The children are removed from the ring, and ten-year-old Jonatan, a precocious talent, appears and does his first few turns inside the globe on his miniature motorbike to the sound of “Sweet Child o' Mine.” The lights in the tent are dimmed for the last number. The motorbike engines blast people's eardrums while sparks and spotlights provide a pyrotechnical show. The ringmaster warns of the risks of the performance in a rumbling voice. Exhaust pipes backfire, all the lights suddenly go out, and the girls in the audience squeal. One by one the motorbikes enter the Globe of Death and ride around with what seems like impossible daring, avoiding crashes by inches. The audience is spellbound by the action as if it were high on the smell of burned fuel. The whole thing really does evoke death as a concrete threat. No one thinks about anything else until the show is over.