The Childhood of Jesus (23 page)

‘And El Rey is my friend.'

‘El Rey is your friend too.'

‘And señor Daga.'

‘Señor Daga is not your friend. Señor Daga is trying to lead you into temptation.'

‘What is temptation?'

‘He is trying to lure you away from your mother with Mickey Mouse and ice cream. Remember how sick you were from all the ice cream he fed you that day?'

‘He gave me firewater too.'

‘What do you mean, firewater?'

‘It made my throat burn. He says it is medicine for when you are feeling blue.'

‘Does señor Daga carry his medicine in a little silver flask in his pocket?'

‘Yes.'

‘Please never drink anything from señor Daga's flask again, David. It may be medicine for grown-up people, but it's not good for children.'

He does not report the firewater to Inés but he does tell Elena. ‘He is gaining a hold over the child,' he tells her. ‘I can't compete with him. He wears an earring, he carries a knife, he drinks firewater. He has a pretty girlfriend. He has Mickey Mouse at home in a box. I have no idea how to bring the boy to his senses. Inés is under the man's spell too.'

‘What else do you expect? Look at it from her point of view. She is at an age when a woman who has not had children—children of her own—begins to feel anxious. It is a matter of biology. She is in a receptive state, biologically speaking. I'm surprised you don't sense it.'

‘I don't think of Inés in that way—biologically.'

‘You think too much. This has nothing to do with thinking.'

‘I don't see why Inés should want another child, Elena. She has the boy. He came to her as a gift, out of the blue, a gift pure and simple. A gift like that ought to be enough for any woman.'

‘Yes, but he is not her natural child. She will never forget that. If you don't do something about it, young David is going to have señor Daga as his stepfather one of these days, and then a brood of little Daga stepbrothers and stepsisters. Or if not Daga then some other man.'

‘What do you mean, if I don't do something about it?'

‘If you don't give her a child yourself.'

‘I? I wouldn't dream of it. I am not the father type. I was made to be an uncle, not a father. Besides, Inés doesn't like men—at least, that is the impression I get. Doesn't like male loudness and rudeness and hairiness. I wouldn't be surprised if she tried to keep David from growing up a man.'

‘Being a father isn't a career, Simón. Nor is it some kind of metaphysical destiny. You don't have to like the woman, she doesn't have to like you. You have intercourse with her, and lo and behold, nine months later you are a father. It's simple enough. Any man can do it.'

‘Not so. Fatherhood is not only a matter of having intercourse with a woman, just as motherhood is not only a matter of providing a vessel for male seed.'

‘Well, what you describe counts as fatherhood and motherhood in the real world. You can't enter the real world unless you are sparked off by some man's seed and gestated in some woman's womb and come down that same woman's birth canal. You have to be born of man and woman. No exceptions. Excuse my plain speech. So ask yourself:
Is it going to be my friend señor Daga who
plants his seed in Inés, or is it going to be me?'

He shakes his head. ‘That's enough, Elena. Can we change the subject? David tells me that Fidel threw a stone at him the other day. What is going on?'

‘It wasn't a stone, it was a marble. It's what David must expect if his mother won't let him fraternize with other children, if she encourages him to think of himself as some kind of superior being. Other children will gang up on him. I spoke to Fidel, I scolded him, but it won't have any effect.'

‘They used to be best friends.'

‘They used to be best friends before you brought Inés into the picture, with her peculiar ideas about child-raising. That is another reason why you should reassert yourself in the household.'

He sighs.

‘Can we speak in private?' he says to Inés. ‘I have something to propose to you.'

‘Can it wait?'

‘What are you whispering about?' the boy calls from the next room.

‘No concern of yours.' And to Inés: ‘Please, can we step outside, just for a minute?'

‘Are you whispering about señor Daga?' calls the boy.

‘This has nothing to do with señor Daga. It is something private between your mother and myself.'

Inés dries her hands and takes off her apron. She and he leave the apartment, cross the playground into the parkland. Perched in the window, the boy keeps watch on them.

‘What I have to say concerns señor Daga.' He pauses, draws a breath. ‘I understand you wish to have another child. Is it true?'

‘Who told you that?'

‘David says you are going to give him a brother.'

‘I was telling him his bedtime story. It was something that came up in passing; it was just an idea.'

‘Well, ideas can become reality, just as seed can become flesh and blood. Inés, I don't want to embarrass you, so let me simply say, with the utmost respect, that if you are considering entering into relations with a man for the purpose of childbearing, you might consider me. I am prepared to play the part. To play the part and then absent myself, while continuing to be your protector, to provide for you and any children of yours. You can call me their godfather. Or, if you prefer, their uncle. I will forget whatever passed between us, between you and me. It will be washed from memory. It will be as if it had never happened.

‘There. I have said it. Please don't answer at once. Reflect.'

In silence, in the gathering dusk, they turn back to the apartment. Inés strides ahead. She is clearly cross, or upset: she will not so much as look at him. He blames Elena for putting him up to it, blames himself too. What a crude way of offering oneself! As if he were offering to fix the plumbing!

He catches up with her, takes her by the arm, turns her to face him. ‘That was unforgiveable,' he says. ‘I am sorry. Please forgive me.'

She does not speak. Like a thing carved in wood she stands, her arms at her sides, waiting for him to let go. He loosens his grip and she stumbles away.

From the window high above he hears the boy call: ‘Inés! Simón! Come! Señor Daga is here! Señor Daga is here!'

He curses under his breath. If she was expecting Daga, why did she not warn him? What does she see in the man anyhow, with his cocky swagger and his smell of pomade and his flat, nasal voice?

Señor Daga has not come alone. With him is his pretty girlfriend, wearing a white dress with flounces in startling red, and heavy earrings in the shape of chariot wheels that sway as she moves. Inés greets her with frosty reserve. As for Daga, he seems quite at home in the apartment, lounging on the bed, doing nothing to put the girl at ease.

‘Señor Daga wants us to go dancing,' announces the boy. ‘Can we go dancing?'

‘We are due at La Residencia tonight. You know that.'

‘I don't want to go to La Residencia! It's boring! I want to go dancing!'

‘You can't go dancing. You are too young.'

‘I can dance! I'm not too young! I'll show you.' And he whirls around the floor, stepping lightly and not without grace in his soft blue shoes. ‘There! Do you see?'

‘We are not going dancing,' says Inés firmly. ‘Diego is coming to fetch us, and we are going with him to La Residencia.'

‘Then señor Daga and Frannie must come too!'

‘Señor Daga has plans of his own. You can't expect him to abandon his plans and follow us.' She speaks as if Daga were not in the room. ‘Besides, as you know only too well, they don't allow visitors at La Residencia.'

‘I am a visitor,' objects the boy. ‘They allow me.'

‘Yes, but you are different. You are my child. You are the light of my life.'

The light of my life
. What a surprising thing to say in front of strangers!

Now Diego makes his appearance, and the other brother too, the one who never opens his mouth. Inés greets them with relief. ‘We are ready. David, fetch your things.'

‘No!' says the boy. ‘I don't want to go. I want to have a party. Can we have a party?'

‘There is no time for a party, and we don't have anything to offer our guests.'

‘That's not true! We've got wine! In the kitchen!' And in a trice he has clambered onto the kitchen dresser and is reaching for the top shelf. ‘See!' he shouts, displaying the bottle triumphantly. ‘We've got wine!'

Blushing scarlet, Inés tries to take the bottle from him—‘It's not wine, it's sherry,' she says—but he evades her. ‘Who wants wine? Who wants wine?' he chants.

‘Me!' says Diego; and ‘Me!' says the silent brother. They are laughing, both of them, at their sister's discomfiture. Señor Daga joins in. ‘And me!'

There are not enough drinking vessels for all six of them, so the boy goes around the circle with the bottle and a tumbler, pouring sherry for each of them and waiting solemnly for the tumbler to be drained.

He comes to Inés. With a frown she motions the glass away. ‘You must!' commands the boy. ‘I am the king tonight, and I order that you must!'

Inés takes a ladylike sip.

‘Now me,' announces the boy, and before anyone can stop him he raises the bottle to his lips and takes a hearty swig. For an instant he gazes triumphantly around the assembly. Then he chokes, coughs, splutters. ‘It's horrible!' he gasps. The bottle drops from his hand; deftly señor Daga rescues it.

Diego and his brother fall about laughing. ‘What ails thee, gentle King?' cries Diego. ‘Canst thou not hold thy liquor?'

The boy recovers his breath. ‘More!' he cries. ‘More wine!'

If Inés is not going to act, then it is time for him, Simón, to step in. ‘Enough of that!' he says. ‘It is late, David, time for our guests to leave.'

‘No!' says the boy. ‘It's not late! I want to play a game. I want to play Who Am I?'

‘Who Am I?' says Daga. ‘How do you play that?'

‘You have to pretend you are someone and then everyone has to guess who you are. Last time I pretended I was Bolívar and Diego guessed it at once, didn't you, Diego?'

‘And what is the penalty?' asks Daga. ‘What penalty do you pay if we guess right?'

The boy seems nonplussed.

‘The way we used to play in the old days,' says Daga, ‘is if we guess right you have to tell a secret, your most cherished secret.'

The boy is silent.

‘We have to leave, there is no more time for games,' says Inés feebly.

‘No!' says the boy. ‘I want to play another game. I want to play Truth or Consequences.'

‘That sounds better,' says Daga. ‘Tell us how you play Truth or Consequences.'

‘I ask a question and you have to answer and you can't lie, you have to tell the truth. If you don't tell the truth you have to pay a penalty. All right? I'll start. Diego, is your bum clean?'

Silence falls. The second brother grows red in the face, then explodes in a great snort of laughter. The boy laughs delightedly, and whirls around in a dance. ‘Come on!' he shouts. ‘Truth or Consequences!'

‘Just one round,' concedes Inés. ‘And no more rude questions.'

‘No rude questions,' agrees the boy. ‘It's my turn again. My question goes'—he looks around the room, from one face to another—‘my question goes to…Inés! Inés, who do you like most in the world?'

‘You. I like you most.'

‘No, not me! Which
man
do you like most in the world, to make a baby in your tummy?'

There is silence. Inés is tight-lipped.

‘Do you like him or him or him or him?' the boy asks, pointing in turn at the four men in the room.

He, Simón, the fourth man, intervenes. ‘No rude questions,' he says. ‘That was a rude question. A woman doesn't make a baby with her brother.'

‘Why not?'

‘She just doesn't. There is no why.'

‘There is a why! I can ask any question I like! It's in the game. Do you want Diego to make a baby inside you, Inés? Or do you want Stefano?'

For Inés's sake he intervenes again. ‘That's enough!'

Diego stands up. ‘Let's go,' he says.

‘No!' says the boy. ‘Truth or Consequences! Who do you like most, Inés?'

Diego turns to his sister. ‘Say something, say anything.'

Inés is silent.

‘Inés doesn't want to have anything to do with men,' says Diego. ‘There, you have your answer. She doesn't want any of us. She wants to be free. Now let's go.'

‘Is that true?' says the boy to Inés. ‘It's not true, is it? You promised I could have a brother.'

Once more he intervenes. ‘Only one question each, David. That is the rule. You asked your question, and you got your answer. As Diego says, Inés doesn't want any of us.'

‘But I want a brother! I don't want to be the only son! It's boring!'

‘If you really want a brother, go out and find one yourself. Start with Fidel. Take Fidel as your brother. Brothers don't all have to come out of the same womb. Start a brotherhood of your own.'

‘I don't know what a brotherhood is.'

‘I'm surprised to hear that. If two boys agree to call each other brother, they have started a brotherhood. It is as simple as that. They can round up more boys and make them brothers too. They can swear loyalty to one another and choose a name—the Brotherhood of the Seven Stars or the Brotherhood of the Cave or some such. Even the Brotherhood of David, if you like.'

‘Or it can be a secret brotherhood,' interjects Daga. His eyes glint, he wears a little smile. The boy, who has barely listened to him, Simón, now seems quite transfixed. ‘You can swear an oath of secrecy. No one need ever find out who your secret brothers are.'