Ghosts (10 page)

Then they told the children to finish their milk while they went down
to look at the apartments. But they could have saved their breath: the four of
them guzzled down what was left so they could come along. They began the descent
chatting brightly. They guessed at the layout of the rooms from what they could
see. The upper floors were more finished. Patri was quite amazed by their
suppositions, which would never have occurred to her. She knew that those rooms
would be bedrooms, dining rooms, bathrooms, or kitchens, but she had never
wondered which would be which. The other two were even doing imaginary swaps: I
wouldn’t put the living room here; I’d make this my bedroom. Other aspects of
the apartments made them laugh. They’ll have to put up huge drapes, said one,
and the other replied: Except they don’t have neighbors looking in, that’s the
advantage. They went down from the sixth floor to the fifth, and from the fifth
to the fourth, talking all the way. They ranked the floors according to
preference. Look at the way these rich people live, said Inés Viñas. And they’re
going to splash around up there too? Elisa looked up at the ceiling, bewildered
for a moment, until she remembered the swimming pool. How do you like that, she
remarked, a pool on the rooftop terrace! I couldn’t
believe
it, until I saw it with my own
eyes, or rather till I saw they were building it. It’s just incredible, said
Inés. Isn’t it? said Patri, who was taking a very small part in the
conversation. Some things are unbelievable, said the visitor, but when you see
them with your own eyes, you have to bow to the evidence. Yes, said Patri.

As they visited the apartments methodically, from one end to the
other, the question of evidence led to two topics that were, not unreasonably,
dear to their hearts: medicine and marriage. Inés Viñas swore by homeopathy and
warmly recommended it at every opportunity. She saw her little old homeopath as
a kind of shaman whose precise and parsimonious doses could cure anything. Her
sister-in-law Elisa, while not a supporter of allopathy (it
didn’t deserve supporters, she admitted, since it was just a business) favored
conventional medicine, because she had a problem with belief. There are people
who just can’t believe, she said, and I’m one of them. But you could make an
effort! said Inés. If it was only a matter of making an effort, I would have
done it already, if only to please you, replied Elisa. Well
don’t
make an effort, then, just
believe! Elisa: The thing is, you
have
to make an effort. And not believing is simply not being able
to do that. Elisa dear, I really can’t follow you, although I’m trying, I swear.
Come on, what if you gave it a go? This whole conversation was abstract, in a
manner of speaking, because neither of them was ill or thought she was. Which
probably explains why they could reason about it. Look, Inés, homeopathy, or any
other kind of magical medicine, only works for those who believe. That’s where
you’re wrong, Elisa! Lots of people who didn’t believe have been cured. Is that
so? But didn’t they believe afterward? Of course, why wouldn’t they? That’s what
I mean: you have to believe, either before or after. But it’s not the same
thing! It doesn’t matter: I’d only be convinced by someone who didn’t believe at
all, someone who had been cured, and went on not believing. But that’s
impossible! Exactly, you see what I mean?

While talking about medicine they were also talking about marriage. If
there was any disagreement on that topic, it was subtler. Because all women, or
nearly (all the ones they knew, anyway) got married, sooner or later. It was a
kind of universal homeopathy, which sent belief leaping wildly, all over the
place, with nothing to guide it. Patri, whose part in the conversation was
limited to an odd monosyllable or chuckle, was listening carefully. Inés Viñas
sensed this attention, and looked thoughtfully at the girl.

When they had seen enough of that layered, multi-family
mansion, and there was nothing left to criticize in their
good-natured, skeptical way, they started going back upstairs, without
so much as a moment’s pause in their chatter. Which, come to think of it, was,
in itself, something to be marveled at, a challenge to belief: how is it that
conversation topics keep coming up, one after another, inexhaustibly, as if they
weren’t tied to objects, which are finite, as if they were pure form? It went to
show that life had hidden recesses. When they reached the top of the building,
the heat, which had not eased off in spite of the late hour, reminded the
hostess of something they still hadn’t bought, because they were leaving it till
the last minute: ice. She asked Patri if she would do her a favor and fetch it.
Patri went to get the bag, and her mother told her to take some money from her
purse. Patri was thinking: Where does all the money come from? We’re always
spending it, but there’s always some left. Her mother had a reputation in the
family as a good housekeeper. And she was in fact fairly good, but the
reputation was based on a misunderstanding: seeing the whole family dressed in
faded clothes, the relatives supposed that Elisa Vicuña was extremely thrifty
and economical. To tell the truth, they couldn’t understand how clothes that
were so faded, almost white, and therefore, they supposed, very old (when in
fact they might have been bought the week before) remained in one piece: it
could only be explained by infinite care and vigilance. When Patri came back
with the bag and the money, Inés Viñas, who was at the edge of the empty
swimming pool, admiring that huge absurdity, offered to go with her. No, there’s
no need; it’s not far, just round the corner. We’ll get two bags then, to make
the drinks extra cold, replied Inés, laughing. Don’t worry, don’t worry, said
mother and daughter, but she insisted. Since she had come to bother them so
early, she might as well help with something.

Inés and Patri went downstairs and out into the street, which was
coming back to life. Inés asked if she had friends in the neighborhood. No,
replied Patri, I hardly ever go down. This is the first time I’ve been down in
two days. Inés was amazed. She couldn’t imagine it. And how are you going to
find a boyfriend like that, my girl? Patri laughed in reply, and Inés joined
in.

Hey, don’t laugh, I’m serious. Didn’t you hear what we were saying,
your mom and me? Yes, but I still don’t know who I’m going to marry. Inés took a
few steps in silence, wondering what to say. Never say you don’t know. Why not?
Because. Patri chose to respond with a chuckle. Tell me, said Inés, You’re not a
virgin, are you? No, not any more. Uhuh, but weren’t you worried about getting
pregnant? This time it was Patri’s turn to ponder her reply. Eventually she came
out with: More or less. What a funny answer! said Inés and burst out laughing.
But you’re a funny girl all round, aren’t you, Patricita! Hearing her laugh made
Patri laugh too. They went into the store that sold ice, made their purchase,
and, when they came out again, started talking about love. It’s the most
important thing, the only thing there is in the world. Yes, yes, of course, said
Patri. Why do you say you don’t know who you’re going to marry? Because it’s
true. Even so.... They walked a while in silence. The trees in
the street were as still as plaster statues. It’s so hot, said the younger of
the two. It’s a heat wave, really, said the other, then added:
You
know what that means, don’t you? There’ll
be a big, long storm afterward
and then it’ll be cold. Are you
sure? It’s hard to believe. That’s
how it is. That’s what always happens in Buenos Aires. The weather does one
thing, then the other. I think it does that everywhere, said Patri with a
certain irony.
Yes, but here, said Inés, it’s more pronounced and
it happens every time. What does? The downpour. Ah, said Patri, looking at the
spotless blue sky. No, not now, but you’ll see. Changing the subject abruptly,
Inés remarked: There are some really good-looking men. Yes, there are
some I find very attractive. There are some I find
extremely
attractive. Well, me too, if
we’re going to extremes. But, you know, they can turn out to be bastards. Yeah,
of course; that’s always happening on TV. But that’s fake. Didn’t you just
say.... ? No, what I’m saying is they
can
be bastards. Like they can be
anything, Inés added. Oh, OK, all right. But the really important thing, in
love, is to find a real man. Not the real men again! exclaimed Patri. That’s
what mom’s always telling me. Well she knows what she’s talking about, I promise
you. How does she know? Inés shrugged her shoulders. They went around the corner
and glanced at the building, which didn’t look like anything special from the
outside.

At that moment, a typical Argentinean beauty walked past: broad
weight-lifter’s shoulders, pumped-up breasts, narrow hips
(viewed from the front, because side-on she was markedly
steatopygous), dark skin, almost like an African, indigenous features with
certain oriental characteristics, thick protuberant lips, black hair dyed a
reddish color, a very short denim skirt showing off her long, strong, lustrous
legs, sandals, which she was dragging along languorously, and a
key-ring dangling from her hand. Inés and Patri, petite and delicate,
slipped past her like two ants beside an elephant. The Argentinean woman didn’t
even look at them; her big, dark Japanese eyes were half closed, and she wore an
expression of disdain. That’s what they’re like, said Inés Viñas when they were
certain distance away. What do they do if they can’t get a real man, smack his
head off or something? Patri didn’t reply, but the image of a real man without a
head remained with her for a few steps. Inés added: We don’t have that athletic
determination.... and, besides, we can’t dress like that, there
aren’t any clothes that suit us that well. Then Patri said softly: It’s because
we’re different. We’re Chilean.

Before going in, Inés pointed out an old red and white van covered
with mud, parked on the opposite pavement, a certain distance away. Isn’t that
Javier’s? she asked. Yes, it was. What a wreck! Then both of them thought:
They’ve arrived. A pretty straightforward deduction, really.

Any doubts they might have had disappeared when they went in: an
unusual racket of children’s voices was echoing down from the top floors. Not
that Javier and his wife Carmen had lots of children (they had two and were
expecting a third); it was because of the multiplying effect that children
produce when they get together. Right now, said Inés, I’d appreciate an
elevator. Each of them was carrying a bag of ice. Patri glanced at the electric
clock hanging from the beam on the ground floor: it was seven
twenty-five. Two ghosts were floating in the air, in line with each of
the clock’s hands: because of the time, they were both head down, like the
branches of a Christmas tree. Come on, or it’ll all melt, said Inés. What’s the
hurry? It’s going to melt anyway.

As they climbed the stairs, Patri, who had been thinking about what
they had said when the Argentinean woman went past, asked: Don’t you think
they’re more vulgar? Inés Viñas didn’t want to be categorical, although it was
perfectly obvious what Patri was thinking: Well, my girl, they’re different,
just like you said. To us they seem primitive, savage, like those
tribes.... For example, they have codes of appearance: you can
always tell at a glance whether an Argentinean woman is married or single; it’s
as if they put a bone through their nose when they got married, or shaved their
heads, or something like that. But with us.... we all seem
married, or all single, if you like. We’re always the same. Patri agreed as they
climbed the stairs.

The situation on the terrace had changed substantially. The assembly
of women had become a general meeting, buzzing with attention, tacit family
understandings, news, the roughness of men, and a good quantity of joy. For a
start, they had taken some chairs from the dining room to a part of the terrace
shaded by the neighboring building. It was even possible to imagine that a
cooler breeze was beginning to stir, but that was just the impression naturally
created by open air and altitude combined. Here’s the ice! cried Raúl Viñas.
Javier Viñas stood up to greet the women. He was thinner than his brother, and
taller too, although still short, more reserved, more
distinguished-looking, but he also smiled more and had a more
affectionate manner, although he was not so mysterious; perhaps, all in all, he
was more ordinary. He hugged his sister and then addressed an elaborate greeting
to Patri, with whom all the family were especially polite. Raúl Viñas had risen
to his feet to greet his sister and apologized for having been asleep when she
arrived. Carmen Larraín, Javier’s wife, also exchanged salutations with her
sister-in-law and Patri, while her children, Pablo and
Enrique, paragons of politeness, patiently waited their turn. What about
Roberto? Carmen asked Inés Viñas. He’ll be right along. They proceeded to talk
about him in his absence. Unlike the hosts, Carmen and Javier had met Roberto.
They lavished praise upon him, while the interested party expressed prudent
reservations. Roberto was a Chilean-Argentinean, a traveling salesman
for a small cigarette paper manufacturer. The engagement had been formalized
only a few weeks before; they were planning to get married at the end of the
coming year, which would begin in a few hours’ time. The Viñas brothers (Inés
was the youngest child, by a fair margin; Raúl and Javier were twins) were
observing the developments with interest. A man’s entry into the family was
apparently more important than a woman’s; they had each brought a woman in
already, and in Raúl’s case, a prior daughter as well: Patri, that enigmatic
supplement. In fact the opposite was true, but the apparent was more important
that the real. They considered the prospect at leisure, in a gentle,
affectionate, futile way, since it was one of those things that is only a matter
of time (which are the things that make time matter). With all the chatting it
got quite noisy up there, thirty yards above street level. The presence of the
men made a difference: it was more international, not as strictly Chilean as
when the women had been talking amongst themselves, less of an artificial
enclave, not so much a gathering of exiles, and yet at the same time more
Chilean too, in a certain way. Differences like that made the women feel that
the men were irreplaceable.