What Can I Do When Everything's On Fire?: A Novel (31 page)

—Don’t bother me, shut up

Dália spinning around and spinning around in a little blue dress, she looks like an angel, she looks like a fairy queen, she looks like a princess, don’t you think

—Shut up

I said to Dália on the hill in Chelas

—Do you want your tricycle Dália?

and Dália, open-mouthed, shaking in her rags, what happened to your teeth Dália, what happened to your doctor’s wife’s teeth, did you know that the tricycle’s waiting for you with new wheels, Dália, did you know that your aunt

—Shut up, I didn’t hear you, be quiet

closing the curtain, the lock, the blinds

—Don’t bother me, shut up

Dália in Bico da Areia trying to remember

—Where did you know me from?

crouched at the entrance to the settlement, hoping for some coins, those cuts on her fingers, those faded nails, the wind from Trafaria could be felt along with some shreds of music hanging from your shoulders like your jacket, Dália, when the gentian flowers open up in May we’ll get engaged, would you like that, Dália and the spook

—Get rid of that spook for me, Judite

the spook waiting along with the silence, Gypsies, the mirror on the wardrobe empty, no light in the settlement, pulling the cork from the can of gasoline with his teeth, at the café ordering

—Open your mouth, baby

Dália with the help of the spook pushing the plunger into a vein in her tongue, both her arms and legs bloodless, she was searching under her clothes and the lines of her bones gnawed at her skin, Vânia got thin like that and the manager was studying the looseness of her blouse

—Could you be sick by any chance, Vânia?

if my grandmother ran her fingers over her face she’d understand, my grandmother in a grave that my father didn’t pat down, it was patted down by two characters in caps while the priest held his missal against his chest complaining about the cold

—Hurry up

no bell to toll for her, the girl with her finger on the book with us

no, a neighbor girl

no boxwood tree no tree of any kind, a rectangle at the start of the slope with a crucifix at the entrance

the Marrano cemetery, they said

cypresses in burlap to be planted later, willows, Judas trees, Vânia

—I never felt better

on one occasion we brought my grandmother to Bico da Areia, everything getting left behind through the window

that is, the memories I had were running through the train window as though they’d grown old in an instant, separating us from things that were ancient in the end, the house, the cat, the mimosas, my mother’s smile halted on her mouth

—
Open your mouth, spook

we brought my grandmother to the steps by the gate, the pigeons’ whispered lullabies and she was worried trying to hold onto us

—I don’t understand the sea Judite

in the small room to the rear where the basket with the sheets to be washed was, the almost empty box with the metal table settings that we were selling or turning in at the café where the gasoline now

the spook would turn them in at the café where the gasoline now, the owner would scratch a fork or spoon with the knife, heft them in his hand, look them up and down and half a pint of wine, my mother to my grandmother

—Come eat, mother and she was all huddling with fear

—I don’t understand the sea Judite

—
Is the café owner my father, mother? my mother silent or maybe

—
What do you want here, go away

and before I went away the spook, helping Dália with the vein in her tongue

or before the spook was all alone thinking if I could only help Dália with the vein in her tongue, the rest of the can of gasoline on the canopy, one of the pups trotted by right next to the last house and sank into the dune, if I’d only known Mr. Couceiro at that time, I would have asked him to speak to my grandmother and explain the sea in Latin, the city across the way, the ships’ lights, the spook bringing the lighter up to the newspaper and the newspaper to the gasoline, the café owner in the house just to the left of the settlement with a saint in a niche and bricks and cactuses, his wife in her apron knew for sure

—
Is he my father, mother?

and my mother on the bed with her eyes closed unable to stand looking at me

—
Get away from here

the customers knew for sure, the electrician, the neighbors, my other father, Soraia

—
A nephew Dona Amélia Dona Amélia picking out a piece of candy

—
Do you like candy, spook? such nonsense

—
Do you like candy, child?

my other father, Soraia, knew, my nephew, my cousin, my younger brother, call me Soraia, Paulo, don’t mess up my life, Dália with the spook

it isn’t the maid from the dining room that I love, it’s Dália, with me when I hear the rain fall in the room, if only Dália were with me, a butt friend, a coin for a cup of coffee friend, draw a family, the chess player telling himself to shut up

—Bastard

the doctor to Gabriela

—I’m sorry but you’ve got a Susana face, Susana

excuse me, the doctor tapping his pen on the desk, calmly, terribly

—You set fire to what, Vivaldo?

me spying on the hospital kitchen, a patient in pajamas pissing on a post, my father brought Micaela to visit me, the perfume of both of them wiped out the mimosa and my mother in the village

—Can’t you smell the mimosas, Paulo?

Mr. Vivaldo with mocking bows that flirty little hand, that rascally little hand

—Madames

Micaela enchanted, with a spiral of jewels

—How nice

that fool set fire to a settlement of poor people in Caparica or Fonte da Telha but the whole awning didn’t burn up, some Gypsies found him in the morning leaning on a bridge beam chatting with the gulls, calling them

—Dália

and trying to stick an empty syringe into his tongue, Mr. Couceiro’s cane was writing on the ground, Dona Helena holding back tears with her nose and trying to hug me

—Paulo

not in Caparica not in Fonte da Telha, near Trafaria, in Bico da Areia, one of those settlements with shacks along the Tagus, small plots with marigolds, pine groves that need thinning, among some gentians a woman whose age is hard to tell, not the one in the apron wiping a tabletop, the one fishing for something in a tub under the clothesline and the orderly, it’s his mother, doctor, the wife of the clown who visits him by the fence straightening her wigs with her fingertips, see her using the broom to threaten the pups barking at her from the beach, throwing pine cones against the window panes, I’m your friend Dona Judite I’ll pay, she’d open the door to them and they with an urge to run away, digging into their pockets

—I guess I was wrong, this is all I have, ma’am

not men, puppies, thirteen, fourteen years old at most, the wife taking the quilt off the bed

—Hurry up

and a desperate glance at the herons outside, noses holding back tears like Dona Helena, childish voices that withdraw, fade away

—Come to think of it, we don’t feel like it Dona Judite, let us go

—
I’ll take you in my arms if you want, do you want me to take you in my arms?

Mr. Couceiro never took me in his arms, the old lady was barely holding me around the waist

—
Take your daughter in your arms I’m not a girl, go take a shit for yourself, Dona Helena

if only I could have said something when I saw her crying, if only I could have managed

—
I’m sorry

pull the handkerchief out of her hands

—
I was only fooling don’t pay any attention to it resting my head on her shoulder, helping her, helping myself

the café owner who really wasn’t burning to give half a bottle of wine to his mother and the spook in the office at the hospital, proud of I don’t know what, showing us his hair held in an elastic band, his eyes red

—Cute, don’t you think?

the spook going up the steps by the gate with a can of gasoline repeating Dona Judite Dona Judite, a pup like the others, I’ll pay Dona Judite, don’t worry I’ll pay

the maid from the dining room rising up from the pillow

—
Paulo

and Paulo with his back to her listening to the rain

looking for bills and coins in his pocket and neither coins nor bills, the plunger of a syringe, a needle, a piece of newspaper, the spook not recognizing the wardrobe, what was once a car with wooden wheels smashed on the quilt, the woman at the kitchen table tipping the neck of a bottle

—What happened to my mother’s medallion?

the smell he caught of mimosas and, checking it better, of sludge in the Tagus, what mimosas for God’s sake, the things people invent, mimosas and graves and laurels and the conviction of having been happy when

it’s obvious

so unhappy, like today, poor devils, the clowns, Marlene, Micaela, Vânia, Sissi

—Speak to your mother don’t be bashful

the spook leaning against the refrigerator

no, the spook leaning against the plane tree at the hospital, a butt friend and Mr. Couceiro’s cookies on Sunday, he didn’t have the courage to speak to his mother, he balanced on the bridge beam, the café owner shouting from down below you set fire to my awning, didn’t you set fire to my awning, didn’t you, and he escaped to a higher crossbeam, slipping

—Dona Helena

as though the dead woman who’d brought him up could save him, the dead woman to whom the spook, to whom I said

—Don’t bother me leave me alone

I didn’t mean to say

—Don’t bother me leave me alone

I meant to say

—Dona Helena

I was sure of saying

—Dona Helena

saying

—You shouldn’t have died, understand?

and I said

—Don’t bother me leave me alone

horrified at having said

—Don’t bother me leave me alone

maybe you don’t believe me, but every so often it happened that I felt protected with you, watching you turn on the radio, crochet, cook, the café owner said you set fire to my awning didn’t you, on one occasion I changed the flowers in Noémia’s room, I made a cardboard mat in school, took away the dried petals, put fresh water in the vase, when I turned around Dona Helena was by the door, her jaw quivering

—Paulo

I didn’t mean to break the vase I swear, why would I break the vase, it was a surprise for you, my mother decided to break it, I was angry with my hand, I stood looking at the pieces of glass, the spilled water on the floor, the roses

I asked the woman at the store to sell them to me on credit, I told her

—Those white roses, the big ones

I’m sure she heard me

—It wasn’t me, Dona Helena

in spite of my silent mouth, just like Rui after selling my father’s rings

—It wasn’t me Soraia

in spite of his silent mouth, you could see

—It wasn’t me Soraia, quite healthy

I was silent while the café owner said you set fire to my awning, didn’t you, the gulls were so close, one of them, filthy with slime, set apart from the others but the same ferocious cruelty, the same hate, a pup

two pups climbed up onto the bridge, the café owner

—Let me get rid of that son-of-a-bitch, let me settle with him

they got up over the beam, hit me and I wasn’t hurt, what hurt was the

—Send this spook away for me, Judite

the vase hurt me, if the building in Anjos still existed, I’d run up three floors, ring the bell, and take my place in the living room, the doctor’s pen

—
You have my daughter’s name, how funny, how’d you like to have lunch with me, Susana?

insisting in the office