Commuter a novella

by Edward Wells II & Nicolas Diaz

Fiction Attic Press 2014

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copyright 2014

by Edward Wells II and Nicolas Diaz

published by Fiction Attic Press

No part of this book may be copied or distributed

in any way without the permission of the author.

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About the Authors

Edward Wells II studied Creative Writing: Fiction at Colorado State University. He is currently

finalizing details for divergent future paths. He is currently working on a new collection of

poetry & short fiction under the working title I Am Not Sam: Scribblings from American

Samoa while teaching English at Leone High School on Tutuila. His work can be found online at

Gone Lawn, Eunoia Review, and many other places. His most recent collection, CO (2013) was

released by The Pedestrian Press. You can contact him through his facebook artist page

https://www.facebook.com/EdwardWellsII.

Nicols Daz was the author of Trouble Every Day, a blog on pop culture for Milenio newspaper,

between 2007 and 2013. Previously he coedited Sonitus Noctis ezine. His personal blog is called

Murmuj.

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[1]

Stuff you can do in the commuter bus: fall asleep in your seat; pretend to fall asleep in

your seat so that you don't have to give it up; pretend to fall asleep in your seat to avoid

conversation; read in your seat; pretend to read so you don't have to give up your seat; pretend to

read to avoid conversation; listen to music through your headphones; pretend to listen to music

through your headphones to avoid conversation; make small talk with someone you know.

Stuff you can't do in the commuter bus: look strangers in the eye.

So, students and employees use headphones and magazines. Some play music, some

listen to it. Some look at their magazines, some read them. Those who don't want to carry on just

nod off to sleep or watch through the windows. Without moving, they are all going home. From

downtown to the old districts, to the not-so-old districts, to the industrial park, to the old

commuter town and the new commuter town. It takes an hour to go from downtown to the new

commuter town. The buses that do not take the industrial park road take an hour-and-a-half to get

to the commuter town.

As they were in the Middle Ages, old people are strange creatures here. They dwell on

their porches and sidewalks, in their armchairs, in their beds. They only move in twos, the way

girls do in elementary school. They ride the commuter bus in twos. They don't have headphones

or magazines, they talk to each other, or to whoever they want. Rules don't apply to old people.

"He doesn't understand, not until things happen to him."

"You know the saying, 'they cover the well once the child is drowned'."

Hands holding evening newspapers, gossip magazines. Eduardo is not wearing

headphones; he is not reading a magazine, and he's not old. So, he pretends to sleep with his head

against the window.

"They cover the well once the child is drowned."

Eduardo toys with ideas, imagining himself as an old man, or as a young kid watching

this present self of his.

"And he wants me to throw away all my stuff, he says it's all useless"

"Because it's not his stuff."

"It all will be his one day, when I'm gone."

5

Eduardo pretends, so well he actually falls asleep. Wakes up when the commuter bus

reaches his district, white houses. There is almost no one on the bus when he steps down the

stairs, only two elderly women talking.

6

(2)

[The End]

Joe rests on the edge of a well. He is leaning over with his ear turned to the well's center.

After a few minutes he reaches down and pulls a rusted 19th century iron from his hiking pack.

He holds it over the well's center and hesitates for a moment looking back down at his hiking

pack, nudging the contents with his foot. He bends down, putting the iron on the ground. He

rummages through the bag picking up several of the items, bouncing them in his hand, before

replacing them in the pack. He again stands with the iron and centers it above the well. He drops

it and leans over with his right ear turned to the well's center. He covers his left ear with his left

hand and waits.

No sound returns.

Erika turns to the clothes line hanging a sheet in front of the lemon tree in the far corner

and speaks to the woman sitting behind her. "You know that I won't take that ring from you--I

mean you know when I will take the ring, Mira."

Erika continues to hang sheets forming a curtain between the older woman and the

circular formation of stones which takes center place in the courtyard.

"I do not need to be dead to see you happy, child," the older responds flatly, then sighs

before beginning to slip away, as Erika struggles with a clothespin on the next sheet.

Lifting the empty basket from the compacted dirt floor, Erika swings around as the

curtain rises. "Now, what is this talk about visions of a boy--" She breaks off as she realizes she

is talking to the wind.

At home Eduardo drops his backpack and lays on the sofa without turning on the light.

Rummaging through his pockets, he makes sure parts of a newspaper are still there. He places

them quickly onto the short table that sits in front of the worn sofa. He looks around at the three

objects in the room: the sofa, the table, and a tall lamp. There is no well here or kids that could

fall inside a well.

He looks toward the kitchen and places a hand over his stomach. He pushes his shoes off

using his feet and straightens his legs on the sofa. In the dark room, it is sleep which ultimately

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holds his attention.

8

(3)

[Waking Happened.]

Joe walks along the line of objects leading away from the well and picks them up, placing

some of them into his hiking pack. He attempts to place his hiking pack into the passenger's seat

of his truck. It bumps against the dashboard. He turns it and tries again, but the top bumps into

the gear shift rising from the floor. He pulls it out and walks around to the back of the truck

where he slides it up into the the bed. A metal lemon juicer slides out of the top of the bag.

He returns to the well and collects two suitcases. These he slides into the bed of the truck

alongside the hiking pack.

The mirror is in front of Eduardo, and then the water is at his back. He looks down and

his toenails are longer than the last time he cut them. He is turning the knob.

He stands at the counter and eats from a bowl. The spoon rises, lowers, submerges, and

rises. He chews. The spoon; chewing. He stands looking at the sink. The bowl is on the dish

rack. He turns and walks toward the couch. He raises his bag and looks at the cuttings on the

small, short table. He picks up one and puts it in the left inside pocket of his jacket. He zips the

zipper of his jacket and slips the strap of the bag over his head. It crosses his heart and rests

where the slope of his shoulder meets the neck.

He stands holding a rail with his right arm. He looks around and sees a young woman

rising from her chair to leave. He sits. There is a pulsing sound. The bus softly rocks as a smooth

curve is navigated. He looks out the window to his left. His eyes follow the crest of the ridge of

the mountain. After the last summit, they follow the path down, below the mountains and the

hills, below the top of buildings and below the bottom of the window, down to his left outside

jacket pocket.

He pulls out his phone. He looks at the words. He types some words and sends them.

They become part of what once was called the ether. They pass through the glass and aluminum.

They are sent out en masse and without aim. They reach the first successful receiving device.

Cooperation begins and the signal is passed again and again without aim, until it reaches the

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intended ear: the device of the recipient, who sent the first message, the instigator or initiator.

The bus comes to a stop. It is now long after the message was received in the time of

technology. Someone looks up and eyes open then the lids settle gently to cover them again as

the head lowers.

Erika looks up from the floor and the mop. The red tiles with hexagonal patterns have

begun to crack in some places, and the open windows constantly allow the dust to collect on the

floor and mahogany wood furnishings in this street-side room, but she still cleans. "The visions

are not always right, Mira."

The old woman smiles, sitting on a chaise lounge. "I do not always read them well." She

chuckles slightly, leaning to the short table in front of her to re-center the doily a peasant figurine

rests on, and continues, "And you do not need to fear being happy, child."

Erika huffs and pushes the mop into the corner of the yellowish stucco walls beside a tall

wardrobe.

"That will not bring the dirt out of the corner." The old woman laughs and turns to leave

the room. "The vision says it will be soon now," floats in a trail as Erika bends to the corner.

10

(4)

[For]

A child walks among the shelves. The children's section is on the second floor, but no

one is accompanying her, no one to take her up there. Every time Eduardo looks at her, she looks

back and points out an object with her right hand while holding her left hand, open-palm, beside

her head. The first time, very early in the day, it was a globe the child pointed to.

"I look for books of volcanoes" says a gray-haired man.

Eduardo types "volcanoes." As they walk along, the grizzled man says he is looking for

information on submarine volcanoes specifically.

"The prebiotic chemistry suggests that life began there on this planet, in reactions that

occurred in underwater volcanoes." Eduardo listens while removing several books on volcanoes

for the gray-haired man but warns that perhaps the man should look in Chemistry, not volcanoes.

The man continues his explanation, "Do you realize? Today we can have this

conversation only because millions of years ago the Earth spewed lava beneath the seas."

Searching the index of a book he adds, more to himself than to be heard, "life is frighteningly

simple."

The child points to the abstract painting that hangs on a wall. It is a dusty, unkept piece

filling empty space.

While Eduardo was going on the expedition to the underwater volcanoes, another visitor

was waiting impatiently at his desk. The visitor requests to be taken to the map section. They do

not request one in particular, they simply want to see maps, "the world." The visitor looks at the

titles, compares the sizes of the books, not knowing where to start. He takes one at random and

browses. Without returning them to their place, takes another--turns the pages quickly.

"If you tell me what you are looking for I might be able to help." Eduardo says looking

on.

"I will show them. I'll find it in history," the man says aloud.

"What do you need?" Eduardo asks. "The continents. They are ... seven, they say there

are seven, not five. Almost none speak Spanish. The United States and Asia and, in general, most

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people in the world that do not speak Spanish. They say there are seven continents." The visitor

never looks away from the books.

There is a lack of maps of the seven continents. He begins to make do with books of

classical antiquity which mention islands swallowed by the sea. Civilizations and other things

that have also disappeared. There is writing about people who say they have ridden in submerged

continents in their previous lives.

Towards the end of the day, a woman picks up the child. As they are about to go through

the revolving door, the child turns. She bites her finger and then places it on her lips. Silence.

Heading home, along the Peripheral route, several passengers listen to the same program

in their headphones. They do not exchange glances or communicate, but smile slightly or frown

at the same time in response to comments in the program. The only ones who talk out loud are

the elderly who talk about wells and the child who falls into them.

At home, Eduardo starts reading a book lying on the sofa. The room is lit only by the

lamp now. He interrupts the reading to read the ads of the day:

Room for rent includes utilities. SHARED BATHROOM. BODEGAS PERSONAL

INCOME. Centric. HOUSE. THREE BEDROOMS, TWO BATHS. ROOM. 800 A WEEK.

A call from a friend interrupts the reading.

"Hey, I have this weekend off, come to the bazaar, going for a drink."

"Okay, but come with me to get some place in the center."

12

(5)

[In la maana]

"I have the milk!" Erika announces stepping toward the double doors of the entry.

"Mira is sitting somewhere with her tea. She tells me there is something out there for you.

But she would not tell me what." The gravelly voice stops Erika, and she turns to her right at the

older man rocking in his chair on the porch.

"Oh, Romero you cannot believe in these things. Do you?" She asks.

"Some think that experience strips away faith, Erika. But, for someone my age-- I wonder

how I am here when so many others are not-- if there is nothing more than this." He has looked

down at his arms and then moves to get up, falling back into the chair. "Will you give me a hug

before you put away the milk?" She does then moves toward the kitchen. "And be careful these

next few days, even unexpected blessings are cause for caution, Erika."

There is the slope again. From the peak of the ridge down below the window's bottom.

The curves and the rocking. The people. He looks at a young woman as she rises from her seat

and makes her way to the door. He grips the rail that runs above their head. He rocks his hand

back and forth on the space of the rail. He turns his head to watch an elderly woman take a seat

just inside the door. Then he looks behind himself, back down the corridor of the interior.

There is a loud radio in front of him. He turns his eyes in the direction and sees a young

male with sunglasses on. His hair is standing up and has bright colorings in it. His head is

moving quickly to the music.

Eduardo turns his head to face forward and then looks down at the floor.

He goes down the steps, through the bus doors, and steps out on to the sidewalk. He

walks two blocks and reaches a building.

He walks through the main door of the library. He gazes at the floor ahead of him and

walks to the room where he stores his coat and bag. He hangs the coat in his locker and pulls

down on it slightly after the coat is on the hook. He relaxes his neck and his head hangs in the

locker for a moment. He stands up and closes the locker. Eduardo turns and looks quickly at the

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image in the mirror. He adjusts the shirt where it is tucked into his pants above his right hip.

He walks out onto the floor and looks at the globe that rests on the central table. He walks

to his desk and begins to log into the computer. Books have been placed on a cart beside his

desk. The same motion each day: books flow in this way on carts; they're returned to shelves;

then with questions, they flow out with visitors.

Just two aisles to the right of his desk behind him two people talk. One is saying how

they used to drag race cars on the streets at night. The other laughs and says that you could not

do that so much now. There is a sigh and the first concedes that "yes, everything is finding a

place now, and they are being kept there." The second says, "yes, and now the streets are the

place for drugs and criminals." The first speaks more softly, "I once raced motorcycles too."

There is a silence and Eduardo continues to check through the books and prepare

everything for the next step in his morning.

An elderly woman walks up to him. She asks, "Can you show me where the churches

are?"

Eduardo smiles, "Do you mean the books on churches?"

"Yes, that is what I am saying." She looks around, then adds, "There really are so many

books here. It is quite wonderful."

"Yes, it is rather peaceful in its way, I suppose," replies Eduardo. He grabs a piece of

paper and a pencil, asking, "Do you want any churches in particular?"

"I suppose I want the ones that you can sit in," she sighs. She looks up at Eduardo's face

admitting, "I'm afraid I don't know what all sorts there are now." As she continues, she looks

toward his left shoulder, "I don't get out much. Really."

Eduardo enters something into the computer. Then he scribbles something onto the paper,

stating, "This way. We have a large section with many different churches."

She takes his arm and walks beside him. They reach the section, and he points to the

books. He looks back toward his desk, asking, "Do you need any more help?"

"No," she says, "this is very good. Is there a chair close by?"

"Yes," Eduardo replies and pulls a chair over close to the shelves. She sits down, and he

begins to walk back toward his desk.

He grabs hold of the push bar on the book cart, and looks ahead at the section he has

ordered the books to begin at. He pushes the cart and one wheel begins to flip out in a

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perpendicular orientation to the cart's body. Another wheel is squealing and screeching

intermittently. The cart is creating a cacophony of sounds as Eduardo attempts to reach the

section. He slows and the cart quiets, then he moves ahead and the sounds emit again. A man in a

suit looks over at Eduardo, who is lowering his head to look when the sound is emitted, and

raising it again when the sound subsides.

Eduardo speaks with a supervisor after reaching the section. A new cart is promised.

Today will be what it is. The sections are visited. Heads turn as the wheels turn. People enter and

some ask questions. Eduardo helps them as he can.

He rides home. He closes his eyes and listens to the sounds. The wheels turn and the grit

that comes into public places moves between the floor and the feet. People ask questions and

others answer. There is a sound of mingling musics and a smell.

Once home, Eduardo begins to collect the clippings that he is most interested in. He

prepares a small meal of rice with guacamole and salsa. It sits on the table beside the clippings

that he is considering. He selects the ones that interest him and slips them in the inside pocket of

his jacket. He finishes the meal and puts the dishes away.

He goes into his bedroom and turns down the sheets. He crawls into bed and turns out the

light. The room is darker than the living room. The clock is digital and only the hum of the

refrigerator in the kitchen is heard.

15

(6)

[Durmiendo a la extran]

The room is filled with daylight. No need to look at the clock, it is at least nine in the

morning. Eduardo opens his eyes a little to distinguish the numbers on the digital clock.

Checking the time, he opens his eyes much more, muscles tense. He leaps up, begins to take off

his shirt and stops in the middle of the action. He returns to lie on the white sheets in the white

bedroom filled with daylight. He covers his face with his pillow and stays there for another ten

minutes.

Once on the sidewalk, he discovers that he is not accustomed to this kind of light, he is

only used to going out before dawn and coming back in the night. He returns home to search for

sunglasses. Now with sunglasses, he is walking toward the corner where the transport is

expected. Almost nobody has bothered to paint their house, so the entire colonia is identical

white houses. There is an almost perfect silence, only sounds in the distance, from the speaker of

an elementary school. A voice, probably the school principal, says, commands or asks for

something. For each statement, order or request there is a murmur in the children. An assembly,

clean uniforms, voices in chorus, a flag raised. The sound seems to come from several sides at

once, it is the only sound, the streets are lonely.

On board the Peripheral route things look different too. It carries less people than

Eduardo usually sees, but those few talk among themselves. The driver has a good volume for

the music, a cumbia from thirty years ago. Eduardo is reclining in his seat, head turned upward,

still wearing sunglasses. Behind him a group of girls and boys wear school uniforms, laugh, get

too loud.

One of the girls goes to Eduardo. She asks, Are you asleep?

"Yes.

She and her friends laugh even more.

"Liar," the girl says.

"Well, of course I am not asleep, if I speak with you. Shouldn't you be in school?

"We're in school. We were there very early, and within hours we'll return.

I see. I did the same. Now I'm doing the same, actually, explains Eduardo.

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You ran away from school?

"From the job. I fell asleep. You at least went to school in the morning to hide.

Did you not hear your alarm?

"It's not that. I need to sleep on a sofa or chair, to sleep just enough. If I throw on a bed I

could sleep 12 hours.

And you stayed in bed?

"Yes.

One of the boys shouts that they should change routes. Everyone runs toward the rear

exit. Eduardo continues to look forward. He pulls himself up by the bar on the seat in front of

him. He pauses just above the seat, then relaxes back into the seat and sighs.

"I'm going to the bazaars. Is there anything special that you want me to look for?" Erika

asks, as the old man on the porch stares out toward the gate. Erika glances from the old man in

his loose khaki pants and promotional t-shirt past the intermingling of grass and dirt to the

rusted, waist- high, iron gate that separates the yard from the street and its sidewalk.

Pointing toward Erika, he smiles and says, "Mira told me what she saw coming for you."

He laughs softly and makes an effort to rise that turns quickly into an intent leaning. "Bring back

the truth of the day. That would impress me!"

She swings a hand, thin and gentle, and he slides far back into his chair setting it in

motion on the oval of bare-worn ground. She crosses the path and just before she pulls the gate

behind her his gravely voice calls, "You have always impressed me, Erika!"

17

(7)

[Other]

The city has streets that wind, and by sometimes turning left or another direction Eduardo

reaches a small corner shop. He goes inside. There is the smell of roasting coffee beans. There

are also many shelves of books. The books are turned in many directions. He looks at the shelf

and smiles. Some of the books are quite old. Others are newer and have bright colors in the

covers. Many of these books are in the library, but some are not. There are people sitting about.

He sits at a couch that is located in front of the tallest shelf of books. He looks along the

rows beginning at the bottom and sometimes pausing. Before he can reach the fourth row of

books a young lady approaches him.

"Would you like a caf?" He looks around and sees a man at the window sip from a cup.

"I'll have one of those, please," he replies. He looks back at the lady as she writes in her

notepad. After she has stopped writing he says, Thank you.

She turns and walks to the counter. He begins to look around the room.

Two middle-aged men in the corner talk of being gentlemen by act of Congress. One

suddenly reaches across the table and touches the hand of the other. There is a slight smile, and

Eduardo looks over to the window where the man was sipping from his cup.

The man is gone now, but a young girl has taken his place. She places the book on the

counter, holding it open with one hand as she lifts a sweet roll to her mouth with the other. The

cover reads Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. She pulls the roll away from her lips and

sticks out her tongue. She plays with a bit that is dangling loosely and then bites it off. She

replaces the roll on the counter and lifts the book.

Behind him the girl who took his order is returning. He turns to see her before she

arrives. I'm sorry, but we have no more of that. Would you like something else?

Eduardo's telephone rings. He reaches for it, Excuse me, he says lifting a finger.

Hello.

How are you? asks the voice coming through Eduardo's phone.

I went to bed last night and then slept late today. I've been wandering and settled in this

18

corner cafe. There are so many books here. They are on these shelves. They are turned different

ways. They are not in alphabetical order. The girl asked for my order, so I asked for what the

man at the window was having, but now he is gone and they have no more of what he was

having. Th-

The voice interrupts Eduardo, It sounds like an interesting day. It is not uncommon to

have interesting experiences when we step outside of our schedule.

Really? asks Eduardo.

Yes, there is a certain amount of research that supports the idea that mental stability is in

part due to our surroundings and not just ourselves. In fact, there are instances in which sane

people have been placed into situations that have literally driven them into schizophrenic states.

Once they are removed they displayed no further symptoms.

Really?

Yes, it is interesting that the situations that drive some people mad are different than

those that cause the reaction in others. But then some have been shown to have a high success

rate in all people, the voice assures Eduardo.

Does that sort of thing happen in the public, or only in research studies? Eduardo

prompts.

The barista looks toward the counter, but no one is looking in her direction.

Exactly; simply because it can occur does it mean that these combinations randomly

occur outside of controlled situations?

It might depend on what environmental conditions were most effective. Are those

conditions common?

You mean what were they being exposed to in the environment?

It couldn't have been chemical, could it? Eduardo pushes ahead.

Wouldn't tests show something?

What was going on? How consistent- like regular- like everyday would the exposure

have to be to produce those sorts of behaviors? And the way they thought was literally changed

while they were in the environment?

Schizophrenic behavior. I wonder if they knew.

What are we- what were they doing to them?

Be smart and come hang out at the bazaar, states the voice.

19

Eduardo turns back to the girl. No, I'll have nothing to drink right now. I'm leaving.

The girl nods and moves quickly behind the counter and begins to whisper to another barista.

20

(8)

[Othered]

The bazaar is also located in downtown, not far from the coffee shop. Eduardo arrives in

little time. The interior of the bazaar is cool and shady. Although there are several windows, only

low light enters, probably because the buildings on the sides of the bazaar are taller. Eduardo,

dazzled by the glare of the streets, is wearing his sunglasses, inside, with the addition of the

shadows, he is hardly able to distinguish anything. There are only outlines of furniture, some

mild, some sharp, and many small items on top and within the furniture. There is also a feminine

silhouette, considering clay figurines on top of a dresser. Everything looks old and distant, but

there is not a speck of dust. Eduardo moves the sunglasses up the front of his head and turns

toward the feminine silhouette.

"Hey, is Joe not here? I assumed he would be waiting," he says.

"I assumed that Joe would attend me, I've been waiting for someone to ring-up this

figurine for me. If I wanted to, I could have taken it without paying." She speaks without making

eye contact, her eyes settle above the silhouette that stands in the door on the contrasted white of

a shark's jaws.

"Sorry, I thought you were working with Joe."

"No, I am a customer, like you," she says stepping forward and leaning over a glass

cabinet full of the shine and sparkle of non-precious metals and stones.

"I am his friend. You look young, I'm surprised you're interested in the bazaar."

"Clearly you do not see anything in here as much. You thought it was just for the old?

The old come to sell, not buy. Why would they want to buy old things like them? And do not be

surprised," here she pauses thumbing the patina on a cameo necklace that hangs on a rack atop

the cabinet, "do not you know that it is bourgeois? --Surprised about something?"

"I've heard that before," Eduardo pauses. "No, I've read that before..."

Before he can say anything more the silhouette extends its right hand. "Also, to introduce

yourself is horribly bourgeois. And I am Erika Gmez Dans, trickster..."

The front door opens completely, letting in more light. Now Eduardo can distinguish

21

some of Erika's features. She is pale, slightly taller than he, despite her low shoes. She is also

wearing a dress like older women and a hoodie over the dress.

"Then you're a colleague of Joe. I'm Eduardo ..."

Joe enters, with the two suitcases. He looks around and spins to make room for the

suitcases as he steps through the doorway, looking from floor to ceiling. Then he whistles in the

direction of Eduardo and Erika.

"Hey, do not bother the lady, lazy." says Joe, laughing. He has almost no accent, but still

does not sound like the locals. "Want to buy it?"

"I think first I'll see what else is here," says Erika. With the door closed again, it is

difficult to see her expression. She moves quietly among the melange of cabinets and their

contents.

"Well, well, take your time. Eh, Eduardo, go down to the office, help me with a suitcase."

The "office" is the warehouse where the new objects are kept before Joe evaluates them

and puts them on sale. It is below street level, a small basement. The bags today seem a small

pile compared to the past. Eduardo takes a suitcase and goes below with Joe.

"The girl said that if she was not attended to she was going to take your clay figurines,"

says Eduardo.

"Do I have figurines of clay? How awful, I hope she will steal them." He laughs, seeing

Eduardo struggle to trace the steps, "Be careful, you are entering The Cave, not for normal

people. 'Esto es sinieeestro'," he adds singing.

"You should think about putting a light bulb in your cave of evil."

"Why? So visitors go schizophrenic faster? But do not worry, for when you leave you

will be normal again. Ha-ha-ha."

"Your laughter as a villain is worse than your little clay figurines."

"But this really is good," Joe lights a lamp that sits on a metal desk. He rummages in the

bag he has and puts something in the hands of Eduardo.

"Acid? Somehow I knew this cave worked with chemicals."

"Do not reject it. Think that, in this world, some children don't even have that."

Old cigarette and glitter ads, made of foil. Colorful posters of black and white films fill

various parts of the room. Records of bolero music.

Joe turns on a sound player. "Varita de nardo, cortada al amanecer, quisiera tus hojas, tu

22

suave perfume ..," the voice crackles from the speakers. The two friends sit in seats that once

belonged to a movie theater, they take acid. Joe fumbles inside the suitcase, the sound seems like

papers and books.

"Again, I did carry the objects" complains Eduardo. While searching the hiking pack, and

without turning to him, Joe is a broad smile.

"Yes, I carried the suitcase with the images. Do not complain, it is only part of the truck

bed that is full of more bags with things," chuckles Joe.

"Did you go away this time?"

"A five-state's distance. No, six-state's distance. A month on the road. The largest pieces

left in the bazaars of each region, with the people that I trust. I brought only what I wanted to sell

here."

"You mean what you want to have here for years as a garnish instead of selling?"

"There are things I want to keep."

"Then do not put up for sale," states Eduardo.

"No, they have to be visible, part of the site, and stay as long as they want."

"I think it is not the objects that decide."

"It's on both sides. Some are as foolish as their former owners, nobody would buy those.

Tomorrow I leave again, it's a short trip, among other things to go to one of these bazaars, I have

partners now. This is what I wanted you to see."

It is the contents of the suitcase. Hundreds of photographs and pencil sketches.

Thousands. Eduardo moves the notes slowly, arranging them so that the light of the lamp

provides an unobstructed view.

Some pictures seem to be coffee beans, corn, lentils, scattered all about sand, on wet

ground in other cases. A glass orange juicer, the lemon juicer made of metal. Oranges, lemons.

Magnets. A loom. Rockers. Swings in a park. A waterwheel. The inner courtyard of a hacienda,

photographed and drawn. Drawings of mermaids and fish. Drawings of pomegranates and figs,

whole sections. Abandoned houses, photographed inside and out.

"Pomegranates are the best. Although they soil your clothes and leave your mouth

sleepy."

Eduardo hears the comment. The record is still ringing.

"Tomorrow I leave early. Some help might be useful to me. What do you think, some

23

road, leaving the city for a while?"

"Years ago that I never leave. While I may fall, only this weekend, it could be," Eduardo

says.

Joe stands up and takes the bag, now empty.

"I have to take the van for review, to withstand the trip. You can stay here. If someone

comes to ask the price of something, invent a good high one. And if the acid makes you bad,

better close the premises. The shopkeeper will be here in the morning to open."

"Well..," replies Eduardo, and remains in the chair, calmly watching the rest of the photos

and drawings. A few minutes after, Joe leaves.

The basement door opens again. Erika is there with two coffees in paper cups.

"Your friend said it was okay," she says. She watches him put the photos and drawings to

the suitcase on the floor, then push the case under a table in front of them.

The skin between his eyebrows wrinkles as he looks up at her. "Did you find something

you like?"

"I really do not need anything. I wanted to spend the afternoon browsing, talking to

someone; I'd like a good conversation with someone."

He pulls his legs back to the chair as she bends to avoid the ceiling at the bottom of the

stairs. Straightening, she looks down at him and he pulls his arms in close to his hips, his palms

on his thighs.

Not expecting to be invited, she sits in the red, plastic chair formerly occupied by Joe and

gives one cup of coffee to Eduardo. The seat beside her is torn and the dried and aging stuffing is

beginning to show.

"And visiting shrinks is not my style," she begins. "Furthermore, I do not have enough to

pay them. Do you take sugar?"

24

(9)

[In la oscuridad]

The girl turns off every light she finds in the office, ending with the appearance of a cave.

She plays the music over and over again. She moves lightly through the place. Erika's

movements are slow, but not languid or weak. A force can be seen running through her veins that

is serene. Eduardo looks at her, starts to stretch. He mumbles a few lines of the song, making

mistakes.

"Do you like the song, or are you just pretending to be mature?" Erika asks Eduardo,

watching the needle of the record player slowly rise and then smoothly dip as the subtle warping

of the disc turns round the table.

"We did not know the song before finding the record, we liked it much later. We found it

in another bazaar, inside a box full of garbage," Eduardo replies.

"Did you have to pay much for it? I would have paid whatever it took, my grandmother

likes it." She is looking at him now. Her eyes trace the lines of the straight black hair that frames

the slight curves of his oval face.

He looks at the edge of the case beneath the table. "We would have paid less, Joe is good

for apparent disinterest. He asks for the price of things as if not interested. I messed up, I got

excited and started to talk about Joaqun Pardav, who wrote the song ..."

She places the needle at the starting groove of the song and turns to Eduardo. "I know

Pardav, I've seen his movies; the funny ones and the sad ones." She wanders to the box of

albums beside the portable turn-table and begins to finger through the varied sleeves and records.

"Something out of your time, don't you think?"

"Nobody has time to me, and perhaps nobody is better than Pardav and Arvizu," she

replies, pulling out several of the sleeves and inspecting the records inside.

"Well, the fact is that the old man in the store noticed my interest and raised the price,

more than the box said. Not much anyway though. And now every time I come to visit, it is one

of the treasures we share. For Joe it's stuff like this all the time, but for me it is still exceptional."

Erika places a few of those beneath the player in the open cabinet then moves to a sofa

25

against the adjacent wall. She moves several boxes that occupy the sofa and spreads her hoodie

unzipped and open on the stale fabric. She invites Eduardo to sit with her. Eduardo gets up

staring at the suitcase and crosses awkwardly, shuffling to the sofa. As soon as he sits beside her,

Erika hugs him and makes him lie on her shoulder. He contracts his muscles and shivers.

"Do you not hug often?" She whispers into the hair at the crown of his head.

"I guess not."

"It's something you never lose the taste for." She blows into his hair. The strands spread

and shake in her wind. "Each time it comes to pass, it feels good. With words it is not always

true, many are lacking, so a hug can function as a good explanation to tell better what you're

saying. Do you understand me better now?" She smiles revealing uneven rows of white teeth.

Eduardo is opening his mouth, but she continues talking.

"Although, I've not mastered this very well; maybe I've just scared you." She dips her

head and turns to look into his face. "Those who are not into embracing, it is better to take them

for walks."

He half-closes his eyes.

Erika continues, "Some open space to also give them the sun. The sun is good, not too

much sun, but some is good. In many enclosed spaces people can not speak. In a museum, never;

all the echoes around the room you occupy, at least your voice. There is another problem with

the voice. If you're willing I'll take you tomorrow to a park-- as people did before."

Eduardo interjects, "Not tomorrow, I am leaving town with Joe. I never get together with

him, and he invited me."

"No, you will not go. I'm not stopping you, I just do not think you will go. Do not ask me

why; just believe." She sighs and continues, "A belief is unquestionable. I do not know why

people fight so much for beliefs. It's not like you can do much with them. They are here and

now. And whatever we discuss is based on them, but does not recognize them. You smell good."

"What?" Eduardo straightens and looks directly at Erika.

"That smell is good. I don't know this shampoo, but it smells good".

They sit staring at each other. Erika smiles widely and slowly Eduardo's brow and face

relaxes.

They spend more time, Eduardo drops monosyllables while she does digressions.

Eduardo lowers his head again. Erika does not raise her voice and does not stop talking. She

26

squeezes a bit at times; she ruffles his hair.

"That feels good," says Eduardo.

"I think this time I'm not doing anything."

"That. Press the muscles around the shoulder; it feels good. They were sore."

"What are you doing?"

Eduardo raises his head and can see his hand close to his shoulder. He closes his eyes

tightly and buries his face against the neck of Erika, laughing.

"And I can not seem to quit."

"No, now I'm doing it."

27

(10)

[Durmiendo a la norm]

Eduardo wakes up lying on the floor. Turns in several directions. Voices come from

another room. There is little light, it is unclear what time of day it is. Squeezes his eyes, says two

names softly, then louder. They answer from the other room.

"Here we are! There is much to do, and you stayed. It is the voice of Joe, which is joined

by Erika's.

"Yes, to have a bazaar this man knows nothing of packing. The Sunday morning

sunlight illuminates these two and the things they have prepared while Eduardo was asleep. The

skin around Joe's hazel eyes wrinkles as they share a short laugh.

Eduardo goes to the place where the voices come from. There is a cluster of suitcases and

bags in the center of the place.

Is it daylight or sunset? Eduardo asks.

"Day- very early in the day," says Erika. You slept too much and Joe is already leaving.

She moves her eyes from Joe in his denim jacket, jeans and sneakers to Eduardo in the worn

clothes he has been in for the last 24 hours.

"You should have woke me!

"No, you didn't look very ready to travel. Right, Joe? She has her hands on her hips and

looks at him with a cockeyed expression.

No. You were sleeping like a log, you had hours of sleep Eduardo. When I came back,

you were in a knot on the floor and this woman, control freak, was arranging everything in the

cave. I should have stopped it, she wanted to use stickers and and put things in alphabetical

order, says Joe.

"If I had taken a couple of hours, it would have been enough," retorts Eduardo, dragging

two heavy brown chests with locked lids to the entrance.

Eduardo helps them collect the remaining stuff for the trip. Several baskets are empty.

Others have goods to sell or trade. The three working together move the things to the old truck

Joe parked at the entrance of the bazaar. Erika and Joe communicate in English and Spanish.

28

After hearing some phrases several times he tries to ask about them, but before the end of his

question the other two exchange glances and laugh a little. Erika's laugh is very tenuous. When

Eduardo asks if he and Erika will travel with Joe, Joe replies that Eduardo needs a bath and to

eat; he will travel at another time. "In addition, Erika will show you multiple sites."

"The bath does not sound bad. Maybe we can also visit some places that are for rent as

we walk," says Eduardo.

Joe approaches the truck and sounds the horn as a farewell. He takes the main road to the

road that will bring him to the next state several hours later. The other two remain and go into the

street for food.

Eduardo assures Erika that he knows of a place close-by that serves tamales all day. She

smiles as they walk down the street. After they turn two corners and walk half of the length of

the block Eduardo begins to look up and down both sides of the street.

I dont understand. I eat here each month. It is always here.

I should have known better than to trust the navigation to you, Erika says. Really

though, sometimes these places get lost, or maybe the shop owner has overslept and it is behind

this very door, she says gesturing toward the large roll-down metal door. Then she looks at

Eduardo and points down the street. Ill show you a good place to eat.

He nods and follows her.

Soon enough, they are sitting, and with great confidence, Erika sends Eduardo to the

bathroom, to wash his face. While he heads to the bathroom she orders for them both: "Two

breakfast bowls, please, with two cups of coffee, black as your conscience." The waitress, a

skinny teenager, twists her mouth to one side listening, but Erika naturally smiles back at her

while the waitress regains her original expression.

"Two breakfast bowls and two black coffees," repeats the girl while writing down the

order.

Eduardo wets, soaps, washes and rinses his entire head. From the end of the neck hairs to

the crown. Twists the tube up on the hand dryer and leans his entire head into the middle of the

stream of hot air. He leaves the bathroom with his hair stiff and projected backwards.

"Jesus in the Garden!" Erika says, concealing the amusement the image gives her, "rinse

29

it again, and do not dry this time. I do not want to be seen with an anime hero. "

"I'm sorry, I won't do it. I'm really hungry.

"With breakfast bowl there is no error. It is made with leftovers of everything, you can

eat what you like and leave the rest.

Are you used to throwing away food?

"I throw away things I do not like. All kinds of things.

Eat. She forces herself to eat the whole bowl, while gesturing every time she swallows

something disgusting. Exaggerating. Pay. On the street, she reviews the cuttings, the addresses of

places for rent. She consults her "mental map" (using that expression) and decides that the first

thing in their path will be one of those departamentos.

It is a departamento like many others. Erika insists on knowing if water services are

working, to which the landlord says, "yes."

They have not been inside more than two minutes, when Erika starts to complain about

the size of the place. "Don't you have something bigger? We have a lot of stuff." The landlord

tells her that there is a bigger place down the hall. While the man is not watching she first puts in

the hands of Eduardo a small bar of soap.

"Just give us a second, we'll be with you in a moment", she says to the man walking

down the hall. Now, pressing her mouth to Eduardo's ear, "Enter the bathroom and wash

completely, fix your hair and everything." Eduardo goes because it is more difficult to resist in

such conditions. Erika joins the landlord, and he continues to show her the quarters. She tells the

landlord that Eduardo could not remember whether he had locked the doors of the car and had to

return. Fifteen minutes later Erika and Eduardo are back on the street.

"I do not really like it, says Erika, walking ahead of him, taking big steps.

"You're not going to live there.

"I did not say I was going to live there. I just said that I did not like it. Do you still smell

like a beast of the forest? As she makes the question, she stretches her left foot a little more to

reach a blue tile.

No. No, I smell like motel soap, Eduardo replies.

"Perfect. In the following place say that we are newly married and we are looking for our

love nest. She lands in the next blue tile on her right foot.

He does not reject the idea, but asks to wait while he tries to stop laughing by saying, "As

30

soon as I stop, we will. If I get bored of the idea then I can do it."

Second departamento: honeymooners "looking for a love nest." She continues to use that

expression, even after declaring that she hates it. The attendant is a woman who cleans the

building; the owner is not there.

Do you have children? The attendant asks.

"No, and no plan to have any soon, Erika replies and watches as the attendant hides her

hands in her blue smock.

"That's fine. To get the departamento, I mean, but do not wait too many years. Restless

children with old parents are not a good combination, the attendant replies.

"No, we'll wait just two or three years. Do we look old? She looks back at Eduardo,

standing a few feet behind her. The natural light of the corridor shines on them, as he turns away

to play with the leaves of a palm tree.

"No, not really. I'm just telling you," says the attendant, pressing on. "And have you been

married long?

"Two weeks. Well, two weeks since the Church, last year we were married civilly. Lalo

is not very religious. He's kind of a communist. At this point Erika looks back smiling, Eduardo

stops playing with the palm tree, and she winks.

"You are making your husband feel uncomfortable, lady, look how he is red.

"Like I told you: a communist.

Eduardo laughs. They take a card with the number of the owner, but Eduardo explains

that he does not want to return to that place, ever: "I would feel completely ashamed If I ever

have to see that lady again.

They are crossing a park, and in a topiary garden inside the park, Erika justifies, "We did

not lie. What makes our story a lie? That we were not in a church two weeks ago; getting

married? Those are just a few elements and a few decisions. It is not very different, we would not

be very different if we had done it.

"We're not married, period. That makes it false.

"If being in front of her we are convinced of being married, then we are married. Some at

this point are considered truly married and only have the memory of getting married. Those

people would be the same whether or not they are married. Relying on the veracity of a memory

creates a very fragile balance.

31

"Not trusting in our memories of the world, creates a very fragile concept.

Have you ever confused a memory with a dream or a movie?

"I reserve my answer.

"So, it has happened to you.

"I said I reserved my reply, I have no past. Also, if it happened to me, it is a memory; and

you do not trust them.

"I trust you.

"That sounded somewhat corny.

"Sure, I'm lying. I love you too.

At this point what does that mean?

"That I love you.

Their conversation is interrupted by a message from Joe to Eduardo.

JOE: GAS STATION. HAVE YOU LEFT THE BAZAAR? EDUARDO: TAKING A

WALK. ERIKA SAYS MEMORIES DONT PROVE ANYTHING. JOE: SHES RIGHT. YOU

DONT KNOW THE WORLD APART FROM US IS REAL. EDUARDO: YOU ARE NOT

FUNNY. NOT NOW. JOE: SURE IM FUNNY. YOU JUST NEED MORE ACID. EDUARDO:

CALL ME.

The phone rings.

Let's see, now the two of you will be conspirators? Eduardo asks.

"No, we only have our eyes more open," says Joe into the speaker, We might well be the

only ones left, right?

If on the return there were no more bazaar as well, you'd take it as a joke?

"I suppose, the bazaar was not before and it is not now. It could come back later. By the

way, I've found several artifacts, I will need help to unload them. And even more to use them,

replies Joe.

"I think that we are not on the same channel.

"I told you, you need more acid.

"It does not grow on trees.

"Here, it does. Well, I'm not sure that they are trees. But something grows on them. I left

32

the acid to Erika, tell her share.

"Goodbye, have far to walk, concludes Eduardo.

Joe does not answer. Eduardo turns off the device. He asks Erika what is next on his

itinerary. She says she has accompanied him to several places and now he is her escort.

They walk for twenty minutes. Suddenly Erika says, "here it is!" She opens an unlocked

gate and takes Eduardo's hand to lead him to a porch with a rocking chair on it. They walk into a

building. Up stairs. Into a departamento on the second floor. An elderly woman opens a door,

thin and pale, with white hair and fine features. She wears glasses, but her eyes narrow when she

looks at the visitors.

Hello, beautiful! Come in, come in you both, she says smiling and reaching toward

Erika and Eduardo.

The room is a good size, but is practically empty. A chair and a table make up the room.

A doorway leads to other rooms. The three settle into chairs and the old woman says, to both or

none in particular, "Ahh, here we are."

Yes. I thought we would talk, says Erika.

Eduardo says, "I'm okay, you two can talk about anything you want...

Erika puts her hand on Eduardo's shoulder and whispers, "No, she is going to talk to you,

okay?"

The old woman turns toward Eduardo, but her eyes do not focus. She begins to speak.

"This place has a lot of time, and I have a lot of time in it. I built it. Well, my family built it,

made it this way, that it is now. They bought land where it was worthless, built and sold them

very well. My father never went to an office or clinic, or anything like that. He bought and sold.

But these areas were very dear to him, these, those of this block, were very dear to him. Here he

started his business. Then there were no large buildings, this was the only large building in many

miles ...

The old woman continues to chatter. Erika walks through the door. Eduardo is

comfortable to listen to what he should listen to. Although the old woman seems not to notice

anything but her own voice, she says to Erika, who has just left the room, without changing the

inflection of her voice, "You are going where the boxes are, right? Bring me the red one, and

only the red one, and she continues. "So then it was very important to live here, only important

people lived here. Or lived elsewhere with their formal partners, and they kept their lovers here.

33

'I'm going to see my girl in The Castaos', they said, as the building was then called The

Castaos. The name never changed, but the sign in the entrance fell, only a letter 'A' is still there,

maybe you saw it when you came in. This place is no longer important, but that's nice, not too

much noise, for my current mood it is perfect and nearly all of the rest of the building is in

ruins..."

What remains? Eduardo asks.

"It's a mess, no one has cleaned some of the spaces in years. And objects are not entirely

complete, I brought those in better condition up here.

"Excuse me, but this place is almost empty.

"That's what I mean, I brought here only those in better condition.

And you live by..?

"Of air, replies the elderly woman.

Eduardo opens his eyes wider.

"Of course not, silly. But I need very little. A place where it's cool and a couple of things

to eat daily.

"I am looking for a place, and do not need much. Maybe that's why Erika wanted me to

come here.

"It was not so. But it could be a residual benefit. If you find a room well protected from

the cold, you can take it.

"Oh, no, I could not...

"Nothing is free. I would send you hunting. What you do best, bow and arrow or

crossbow? Crossbow, I imagine, the boys prefer the crossbow. They do not know how to hold a

bow gracefully. I was good with the bow, even after this injury. The woman reveals her right

forearm, displaying an old laceration.

Erika returns with a red, foil-lined box tied with strings. They discuss methods of

hunting. How to entertain the mind for a long wait. Relatives, all dead. The old lady talks.

Eduardo speaks only in monosyllables, a full sentence if he is lucky. Erika plays with the box,

stroking it, then suddenly announces their withdrawal, "You sleep, you must be calm, Mira.

I get excited telling things," says the old woman.

The old lady insists on guiding them down. Under the letter "A" in front of the building

she gives a kiss on the forehead of each.

34

"The red box is for you," she says to Erika.

The rocking chair is no longer empty. There is a thick old man, probably sixty or older.

Erika greets him, and he waves back to Erika and Mira, who waves then closes the entrance.

"This is a nice patio." Eduardo says as the two step onto the patio.

"Don't you have a patio like this on your house?" Erika asks Eduardo, while looking at

the old transistor radio on the ground beside the rocking chair. Its single shiny antenna is

extended completely, except the last section.

"Oh no, I live out in a commuter town," he responds.

"Once this was the edge of the city," says the man in the rocking chair, "before they were

carried away. In downtown there were businesses and parks, this was the edge."

The man looks at the radio and reaches down to pick it up. He moves the antenna to

improve the sound. He turns the knob from one extreme to the other. The only station he's able

find on the dial plays boleros.

"He was here even then," Erika tells Eduardo. She leans toward the antenna and some of

static fades.

"I saw everything. I watched them go away, young people, who now are not. Here pure

shells were left, with old people inside. The old died, now there are shells. I have lived here a

long time and I will continue to do so," the man explains.

"You look strong and young, why such an attitude?" Erika prods. She moves toward

Eduardo and the bolero fades. The old man lifts the radio and shakes it a bit.

"I know that I'm worn out. I'll never leave; no way to. Nothing."

"He doesn't get out much," Erika offers to Eduardo stepping toward the radio. The music

becomes louder and more crisp.

"Only once a week I go out, buy stuff in the supermarket. I went this morning when most

were asleep. At another time you can not go there. Too many fools and long lines."

"I understand. I use most businesses at night, at dawn, at that time the fools are drunk, so

they have an excuse for being fools." Erika moves over to the old man and begins to adjust the

antenna. The music becomes vibrant and the static disappears. The old man looks up with wide

eyes, smiling. She holds the antenna there.

"Drunks in a supermarket?" Eduardo inquires.

"Everywhere; would not surprise me if the cashiers and saleswomen were not also

35

drunk," Erika acknowledges, continuing, "It is a good time, people have more unexpected

emergencies. Once a boy came to urgently seek a film of soldiers, about three in the morning."

"How can that be urgent? Except if the movie was very good; but no way," the old man

responds.

"He did not know. He had forgotten the name and had never seen it. He was sent to look

and had to try and make the salesperson help him remember the title. I heard more titles from

war movies that day than in all my life. He ended up taking three different movies, to ensure he

was lucky. I would have liked to know if any was what he had been sent for. I will die with that

question."

"And now I--and long before you," the old man adds and then asks, "Where are you

going? Why do you have this guy carrying a box?"

Eduardo raises his hand in greeting.

"The box is a gift," says Erika. The old man has begun to lean down with the radio. Erika

places it on the ground for him and steps back toward Eduardo.

"For me?" asks the man in the rocking chair.

"To us. On behalf of myself in the future." Erika smiles at Eduardo as she says this. He

returns her look and stiffens.

"Oh, sure, whatever you say." The old man rises with difficulty and approaches with a

large, wrinkled hand to Eduardo, who extends his right hand. "I'm Romero, pleased to meet you."

"My name is Eduardo."

Erika says, looking from Eduardo into the sky, "You and I must keep walking, it's getting

late."

"Well," says Romero from the old rocking chair, "go with God."

Erika takes the box from Eduardo and starts walking faster than usual, but still with a

natural rhythm.

"Pleased to meet you, Romero." Eduardo manages to shout as he catches up.

Out on the street, Erika battles to cut the cords of the red box.

Erika asks, Did you think her cute?

Yes, she's pretty.

Stupid?

"No way, assures Eduardo.

36

"That's nice," sighs Erika, ripping the last cord, "because that's me in forty years.

"I thought so too. There was something Erika-like in the woman. Perhaps the look of

crazy.

"She's my grandmother.

Eduardo laughs at first. Then, seeing that she is not laughing with him, the laughter stops.

He says, "Ah. So, really? This ... He looks into the box. There is some kind of dried fruit

wrapped in paper.

37

(11)

[Rooms]

Hours pass. Erika and Eduardo climb the stairs of an abandoned building. The site is at

least three stories high.

She speaks. What would you like more? To live here, or in the building of my

grandmother? She looks around the room, full of sunlight; it gets in through door frames

without doors, through window frames without windows, through holes in the ceiling and holes

in the walls. She sees pages of newspapers occupying the floor.

"I'm not sure I want to live with your grandmother. One day I may wake up with an arrow

piercing my chest. But at least the place is hers. I can not live here, shouldn't have even entered.

What do you mean we should not? It was open. Erika approaches the balcony.

"After the doors were kicked open.

They reach a balcony on the third floor. Erika sits on the edge, with her feet hanging out,

swinging her legs like a girl on a swing. Eduardo accompanies, with his legs pointing towards

the interior. They see the city from the balcony. Erika hums the song they had been listening to

in the bazaar.

Varita bonita, varita de nardo, cortada al amanecer, quisiera tus hojas tu suave perfume,

pa'perfumar mi querer.

She closes her eyes and raises her voice, singing to finish everything with all that her

lungs can give. Eduardo's voice makes his poor contribution. Erika's voice is full and rich; it is

serious and stupid. A woman who asks for coins in the corner below them sings as well, with a

strong, worn voice: Yo te voy, te voy a cortar, aunque sufras un cruel dolor, pues slo te quiero

varita de nardo, para perfumar mi amor.

Someone else, unseen, applauds when they finish the song. The lady in the corner

applauds the invisible choir too.

"Here two could live comfortably, even ten or fifteen people. But with the number of

abandoned houses around everyone could have their own. She looks around from the balcony,

at smaller and bigger buildings in their surroundings. Some are partially populated, some are

38

completely abandoned. The newest is crowned with rebar, pieces of the metal jut from each of

the four corners of its roof.

"I just need a couple of rooms. Legal rooms.

"It would not be necessary to keep the house. If you can get in and out of the houses, you

could take a different one each week. The others would do the same.

The others? Eduardo asks.

"The singer in the corner, for example. Let's go down, keep walking. You get to carry the

red box. She shoves the box into Eduardo's chest.

He grabs it quickly with both hands. The box gets squeezed. But I brought it up!

"That's why. You carry the red box," Erika states.

Erika leads him to "the Mary Celeste of the houses." That's how she calls it. The house is

tall and white, perfectly rectangular, with a porch. It has no gate and is overgrown with grass. In

the middle of the grass they see a car, a model from the seventies, completely rusty, but

otherwise intact. The windows in place reveal the empty interior. They cross the grass, which

reaches up above their knees, and sit on top of the car's radiator.

"The house is well laid," says Erika, "the furniture and everything is in its place. If there

was spoiled food, it must have disappeared more than fifteen years ago, cleaned by insects. A

house kept in place by the insects. If anyone entered other than me, they have not moved

anything, I did not. The room with a big bed is closed, but you can see it through the windows.

She points to one of the second floor windows with her chin.

Were kids left alone here after the death of their parents?

"Or someone was alone and decided to live in only part of the house, Erika counters.

"But the last tenant or tenants did not take their car. A child can not drive.

"I'm grown and I'm not sure I know how. I have not tried in a long time, Erika admits.

"I can not imagine how old you are.

"-enough to have forgotten how to drive. This house is ready to receive a whole family.

Parents, three or four children. It now belongs to the cats, but even they have disappeared.

Although it is not pleasant, family life. The singer or you would be better tenants.

Now you're our real estate agent? "Volatile real estate. Without roots. We will not go

into it, we must move on. She leads the walk again. As they walk their long shadows follow

them.

39

Hours pass. Eduardo is walking in step with her, and he turns a corner at the same time

she turns the corner. He simply nods without speaking when they reach the place where he

works, the municipal library.

"Here. You can enter it, you do it every day," Erika urges him toward the watch room

attached to the main entrance of the building.

He tries to wave off the idea and points around the corner. "And apparently I will now, on

a Sunday night when it is closed to the public," Eduardo shakes his head and plods ahead,

prodded by Erika.

Eduardo says good night to the watchman, who is vegetating in front of a tiny TV in the

watch room. They use the employee entrance. He explains that the main entrance, a revolving

door, has a huge padlock, for which he has no key.

"The watchman was not curious about the box. It could be a bomb," says Eduardo.

"If I have to answer that question, I will say it is dried fruit. How can he expect you to

answer all the questions of the day, if you do not eat your fruit?" She seizes the box and sniffs

over it.

They climb to the top floor to see the darkening city. From there they can see the entire

downtown, for several minutes they do not say a word. The last rays of the sun paint the white

buildings, which become golden and shiny. When the buildings regain their normal color

Eduardo says, "I have to work tomorrow. Within hours, really."

"I assure you, you should spend more time with me wandering," Erika says. She squats

and invites him to follow her. She opens the box.

"By the way, what exactly do you do?" asks Eduardo.

Erika does not answer. She reaches into the box and takes out the thing that looks like

dried fruit.

Erika puts some of it in his mouth. Eduardo wrinkles his face and clenches his eyelids,

then bends over with his head almost touching his belly.

She helps him to rest his back on the wall. "Ah, stings at first and then it is so sweet," she

says, pressing her open hand to his mouth.

"That's not the way I would describe it," Eduardo says with difficulty, "but it is

something like that."

40

(12)

[Un mundo]

Full-moon light is pouring through the windows; a single tube of electric light is on in the

interior above the desk, where Eduardo is supported and keeping his balance. Erika takes a block

of paper and a pen from the desk, then runs between the shelves, browsing the titles on the

books' backs. She takes one and runs and then takes another, back to his site. "I have been here

before," says Erika. She takes a book and goes very quickly through the pages. "I will return

soon." She takes another and cries some lines that are incomprehensible to Eduardo.

Eduardo tries to walk again, but his feet bump into things, so he has to rely on a glass

counter of good size. "I brought this one just a week ago, and now I could break it. Should I stop

Erika? She could break things as well," he says aloud.

Within the counter is a colorful world map, with pictures of mothers and children from

several countries placed above their countries. "Why would they want to be photographed by

strangers?" After a brief pause he adds, "Why do I think out loud now?"

The tip of his right index finger above the glass sweeps the world map. It stands over an

African woman with a long neck, dozens of gold rings separating her head from her shoulders.

He continues to drag the index finger above the map. Now, beneath his finger, the picture of a

young Mexican woman with a glow in her eyes that makes her look strange. "It could be the

flash of the camera, in a study of a famous photographer in London, whatnot. O the sun on the

cliffs, on ... San Juan del Ro." In that moment, a small object touches the back of his neck and

then falls to the ground.

He looks down and finds a wad of paper. By unrolling it, he reveals a quote in elegant

and ancient calligraphy penned by Erika. "The hardest thing to understand is that the world is

incomprehensible. Einstein." Together with this one there are two more balls of paper, which

probably had struck him, but he had not noticed. "The rational persists to adapt the world to

himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the irrational. Shaw." "Humbug!" he says, trying to

contact Erika, although he is unsure of where to find her. In another piece of paper "The problem

with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so sure of themselves, and wiser full of

41

doubts. Russell." "With this I agree. I think." Eduardo says, while turning his head. Erika is lying

in a circular space surrounded by shelves. The moonlight passing through an asymmetrical glass

roof; her eyes are only partially open and blank.

42

(13)

[Las palabras y las ideas]

Eduardo spreads the three pieces of paper with words written by Erika.

"I try to put these three statements in one paragraph, which form a single idea while still

expressing their original ideas. It's something stupid; they were not written to be together in the

same paragraph. Well, they lived not that long ago, they had a common history, it is not like

aligning the Enuma Elish with the text of a physicist of the twentieth century."

Without changing position, Erika, who is lying behind him, speaks. "The three met the

same civilization, or almost the same. I understand what you mean. It is not just a matter of

language and generations. Their lives were different, different intentions. You and I can say the

same sentence, something traditional, a saying, a proverb, and associate it with different things.

If I say 'They cover the well once the child is drowned', you may know what I'm talking about,

but what you associate with that phrase I do not. Nor do you know what I associate with that

phrase. We can talk about it, and even then the image could not convey the exact meaning that

we have in mind." She has her right hand over her eyes.

And when we do not even share the same civilization? Eduardo asks without turning

toward her.

"Then it's even more difficult. It is more difficult, but it is not worse, Erika laughs

haltingly at this point, after all, you and I do not understand at all and here we are talking. She

fans the floor with her legs.

"It's sad, right?

"It is not sad; it just is. Do not think I spend time with you because I like what I

understand about you. I do not know much about you, and I do not want to find out. Erika

becomes very still, her eyes still closed.

"Nor do I know much about you. And here we are. I have never been here at night, alone

or accompanied." At this point Eduardo notices that she is getting up.

"Never say it's sad, it is not something you lose sleep over. Surely once you've reached

the same conclusion and are not mortified. We talk now about this subject because we have it in

43

front of our noses. Erika approaches the pieces of paper. "Let's leave them there, to see if they

say something to someone, or simply are thrown away," she says. Her voice is even; she speaks

slowly. "It is arrogant to pretend to understand everybody, and doing it in order to live with

them, or love them-- well. If it depended on understanding, there would not be any communities,

or relationships. Worse, if you spend your life waiting to be understood or, something more

horrible, waiting for the others to be like you. Well, it is as useless, as always shouting the same

word until it means nothing else.

Eduardo lets out a long yawn. He goes to his desk where he works during the day and

collapses into the chair. He rests his head on the wood surface. Erika takes the books he has left

out and takes a place at the same desk, sitting in front of Eduardo.

You rest," she says, "I'll play to connect these things. I have little more to do.

"You said it made no sense.

"I did not say exactly that. And I didn't say that it wasn't fun to try."

Don't you ever sleep? These days I've been with you I've never seen you sleep.

Eduardo speaks without lifting his head.

"It's better this way. Rest.

The last thing Eduardo mutters is "fun, then."

Some hours later, when morning comes, the watchman comes to Erika, "Hey, get up, we

will open in twenty minutes."

Erika, without lifting her eyes from the book she is reading, surrounded by notes and

open books, replies "calm; do you not see that all is ready for work?" She gestures toward

Eduardo, and both look: his hair is wet, some of it is out of place and some stands up; he has a

name tag on his chest; and he is leaned against the back of the chair. "You will see, after a cup of

coffee, he will be bothering readers and telling everyone to shut up."

There is a loud boom as lightning cracks the atmosphere. Joe looks up from urinating on

a cactus and the small cliff just beyond the cactus. It is a large drop of rain that smacks him on

the cheek. He looks back in the direction of the truck, some twenty feet away on the side of the

road. He finishes and heads back. A gust of wind sweeps down throwing the lose dust into his

eyes. He stops and begins to rub them. The rain comes harder and he slips as he stumbles along

with his eyes closed. His head lands on a smooth rock. He pulls out his phone, sending Eduardo

44

a message without looking, then returning it to his pocket. He relaxes his neck and lays flat as the

ground beneath him quickly becomes mud. He tries once more to open his eyes, but now the

mud splattering up from around him and the force of the raindrops sting them. He covers his face

with his arms, and images begin to form behind his eyelids.

Soon there is a sequence to the images. Joe's father sits in front of the television. A film

on the t.v. is holding his attention. Joe watches his father more than the film. Sometimes Joe goes

to find a toy similar to an image in the film. Then he returns with it, holding it up to his father,

who continues to look at the black and white images on the screen. There is the face of a man in

the distance. Then other men. There is the face of the girl. It is Marilyn Monroe. The man is

Clark Gable. They are in the desert mountains--only dust beneath the rocks. They are chasing

wild horses; the horses move with violence. Joe looks away. It is easy. He simply turns his back

on the television, looks up to his father. Eventually the sound of the horses changes; the sounds

of the scene change. Joe looked back. The men have caught all the horses, but then the girl forces

their release. They had gone to the desert looking for horses, now they were returning without

them.

Water begins to drizzle into Joe's mouth. He sits up in the mud coughing. The downpour

is waning. He is able to open one eye, and he begins to crawl toward the truck. Sitting against the

wheel, he checks his phone. It is wet, and fails to turn on. He looks out into the desert. There are

no wild horses nor dust in the desert before him.

45

(14)

[El trabajo]

Eduardo sits staring ahead. His gaze is not fixed on any particular point in front of him.

From time to time though, the skin between his eyebrows wrinkles in thick parallel lines that run

from the bridge of his nose upward into the smooth surface of his forehead.

A visitor approaches him and speaks. "No one needs you, says the visitor. Eduardo

looks up with the wrinkles still present. He looks at the visitor.

"I don't know who it is by," states the visitor. But I would like to read it.

Eduardo's wrinkled skin spreads and stretches tighter against the bone beneath. He types

the title into the computer and writes something onto a scrap of paper. He hands it to the visitor.

You should find the book at that end of the library. The shelf is labeled with this. He points to

something he has scribbled on the paper.

The visitor smiles. Gracias, they say and then turn to walk away.

Eduardo leans forward over the keyboard and looks down at the desk. He begins to trace

the lines of the grain in the faux wood desktop. He follows it to the right until his view includes

the floor beyond the edge of the desk. Erika sits there with a closed book in her lap. She is sitting

upright on the floor with her legs crossed and her eyes closed, smiling.

"Resentment is an understatement"

Eduardo turns quickly without raising up. His eyes peer over the top of the computer's

monitor at an angle that does not reveal his full face to the visitor.

The skin between the visitor's eyebrows begins to collect in wrinkles. The visitor

continues somewhat softly and in gentle waves, I'm not certain of the author,.. but I doubt there

are many different books with that title.

Eduardo tilts his head down to look at the keyboard and types in the title. Yes, he

begins as he straightens up in the chair we have the book on display in the new releases shelf.

Just there on the wall. Eduardo points and waits a moment.

The visitor continues to face Eduardo with moist eyes and wrinkles.

Eduardo slowly starts turning his eyes to the left and then follows the same line turning

46

his neck until he faces the point where he is looking. The new release shelf stands against the

wall in his line of vision. It is filled with the bright covers of recent releases. There are books of

fantastic tales; there are also recountings of true stories; there are books for the youngest of

readers. Eduardo begins to slowly turn his eyes and head back to point where he left the visitor

standing. As he does this, the visitor begins to walk in the direction of the new release shelf.

From time to time he turns back to look at Eduardo, his skin still bunched at the center of

forehead above his nose. The first glance Eduardo notices. The second is little more than a

motion at the corner of his vision, as Eduardo continues to turn, to look over at Erika.

When he finally faces her directly she is sitting there with a book open and her eyes open

looking up at him. He gets up from his chair and begins to push the return and reshelve cart

down the first aisle he comes to. Erika stands up and begins walking down the other side of the

shelf on the next aisle.

"I can't believe that you are just sitting here," says Eduardo while he walks down the aisle

pushing the cart.

"It has only been three hours. I'm learning a lot watching you," she replies.

"Yeah? I got a text from Joe a couple of hours ago." Eduardo places a book on the shelf

and then looks back down at the cart.

"What did it say?" Erika asks. She looks at the side of his head and the shape of his

silhouette carving through the varied spines of books upon the shelf on the other side of him.

There at the cleft between his chin and lower lip the shelf hangs, and in the air there are smaller

books that compress more color into the space.

"He's blind or something. God hates him, and the government has abandoned him,"

Eduardo mumbles. He lowers his head further and pushes air firmly out of his lungs up through

the throat moving the shadow of his Adam's apple up through blue, black and into a lighter blue.

The air passes between his lips as they part and out of his nostrils as Erika watches them expand

slightly and then return against the relief of an orange copy of a book about Elizabethan England.

"Doesn't he think there is no God?" Erika responds beginning to step sideways as

Eduardo moves, pushing the cart again.

"He says that when the situation is fowl, like a sort of illustration- but you are correct that

he doesn't believe in God." Eduardo looks ahead as the cart rattles along in front of him.

"Blind huh? Should we worry?" She turns and walks forward, looking to the side to

47

watch Eduardo.

"Do you know the story of Pablo de Tarso?" He asks.

"We should worry," Erika states with a certain exaggeration in her diction.

They laugh through tight throats. The laughter soon becomes dry and evaporates into air

like the comfort of the moisture in their throats. Eduardo pushes the cart against the end of the

bookshelf. He turns and begins to walk back up the aisle slowly. Erika looks at the numerous

books that still rest on the cart then turns and follows him. She doesn't speak to him. She walks

approximately one step behind his and in the aisle to the right of his. She continues a step behind

his when he steps through the doorway and out on the street.

It is full of darkness. One cannot see far enough into it to discern whether it functions.

Maybe it did at one time, for someone out beyond downtown, beyond the commuter town. One

way of looking at it, is that maybe it is something of a question of the line between old and new.

The well looks into Joe. He drops the second rock and leans in far over the crumbling

edge. He listens.

Some time later, he turns his ear away and screams toward the center of it. "I'm right

here! Answer me!" Moments later many weaker versions of this begin to scream back at him.

"I'm right here! Answer me!" He begins to laugh and sits down on the ground with his back

against the stones. His arm comes to rest on a wooden bucket, dried, splitting. He looks at the

bucket, something cracks across his face, and he begins to work.

The two do not speak. Eduardo's head rocks without constant tempo from straight-ahead,

down to an angle that puts his vision ten feet in front of him, then back up. After a few blocks he

says, "Yellow." They walk on. After half a block more Erika says, "Wilted," and hops over a

one-foot deep hole in the sidewalk, closing the space between them. They walk on. Eduardo

turns left into a long corridor. Down the hall and off to the right, there is a room with high old

ceilings. They sit at a table. "Surgical," says Eduardo and looks ahead. "Opening," says Erika

and looks around the room that they are sitting in.

Then she looks at Eduardo, who says, "This is all I knew of the old world-- old ways."

Eduardo looks around. He throws his thumb up over his shoulder in the direction of a window in

the wall behind him. The window opens to a courtyard. "And this city is all I've known of the

48

world."

A woman walks out smiling and asks what they want. Eduardo says, "Yo quiero unos

tacos, por favor."

Erika says, "Agua fresca." The lady shuffles out.

"I have a taste for the world, Erika," Eduardo confides, his eyes moist.

"Deberas darte ese gusto", ella toma su mano izquierda. ~ "You should indulge that

appetite," she reaches toward his left hand.

"No, I already feel hurt when people talk of resentment and my life being enviable. How

can I take a life like that?" He pushes his hands together on the table and looks down at them.

"Not everyone would want it; you can have it, and it would be good if you had it," she

pulls her right hand back toward her and with the other strokes the ring finger of her left hand.

They sit, and he stares out into space. The food and drink arrive, and he looks at it.

Erika looks at him and states, "This food makes sense."

The bucket, bouncing and swinging, down into the simplicity of a well. The rope old and

frayed, dried by the sun, slides through Joe's hands. He chuckles as the skin reddens; he

continues to let the rope slide.