This isn’t a nosy neighborhood, and no one here can connect me with the girl Planetary Security is secretly looking for as the accomplice of the Colossaur “epidemic vector.” I’m growing up, I’ve changed my hairstyle… and in a couple of years, I won’t look anything like that skinny, four-foot-eleven Liya.
The platinum card pays all my bills. Though I avoid showing it whenever possible; people might start asking questions I wouldn’t want to answer. Not long ago, I started using an ordinary plastic card with just ten thousand credits on it. It attracts less attention around here.
I’ve picked a new name for myself: Ettuya… The reason why is obvious.
I’m always thinking about him, about Moy, about Jowe, about my mother… And it’s funny, but when I do so, I feel less alone.
Also, I live across the street from a fourteen-year-old boy who’s not bad at all. He’s studying to get into the Da Vinci Fine Arts School, and we’ve crossed paths a couple of times. He looks like the son of very rich parents…
One of these days I’m going to ask him out. Probably, no matter how rich his family is, he’ll be amazed to see I have a platinum card.
He’d be even more amazed if he heard the whole story. But I don’t plan to tell it to him, of course. Most likely they’d never believe a word of it, and I hate to be called a liar.
I’ll tell them I’m the daughter of a couple who died in an accident, and that their insurance paid for it… Or something like that. Anything that doesn’t sound as unbelievable as the truth.
The truth… Well, I hardly believe it myself, even now… From a girl in a Barrio 13 gang to the owner of a platinum card, by the work and grace of a xenoid! And without even going to bed with him.
And they say that reality can’t beat fantasy…
Acknowledgments
This book is indebted to many people. Some, because their lives served as its inspirations and raw material. Others, because their works or comments did the same. Though making their names public will not cancel out the debt owed them, I think it may help… a little.
To Yanet from San Miguel del Padrón and her two sisters. To Mayelín, Elda’s former sister-in-law. And to the other “social workers” of L Street between 23rd and 25th.
To the Arte Calle group. To Cuenca and the other artists of the ‘80s who left to live from their performance art under other skies.
To the Cuban volleyball teams, male and female. To Duke Hernández, Roberto Urrutia, and other members of “the champions.”
To my friends Adolfo and Ariel, ex-policemen, for explaining the rules of the game to me.
To the Biology majors of the Class 1991 (including me) who ended up in Aquaculture, Fishing Bureaus, and Spawning Stations. To those who stayed in the field of science. To those who left for some conference and never came back. To those who are driving old taxis or selling pizzas. To all the Cuban scientists who ever had to pass aptitude and attitude assessment tests.
To my friend Vlado, who rowed into the Escape Tunnel but returned to tell me the tale. To all the makeshift sailors of the summer of ‘94. Especially to those who never made it.
To Danilo Manera, foreigner, Italian, for trying to understand us. For becoming another victim of the disease called Cubanitis. And most of all, for giving me the platinum card of his friendship.
To Cuba and to all its people, because we still do believe in the future in spite of it all, because we have faith in ourselves.
To Domingo Santos, because his collection of short stories, Futuro imperfecto, gave me the idea for this book, years ago.
To Frederik Pohl, because his story “The Day the Icicle Works Closed” made me think of what a nightmare Body Spares would be.
To Plinio Apuleyo Mendoza, Carlos Alberto Montaner, and Alvaro Vargas Llosa, because it was thanks to their polemic in Guide to the Perfect Latin American Idiot that I decided to read Open Veins of Latin America to find out if they were right and it was so awful.
To Eduardo Galeano, for Open Veins of Latin America. Which turned out to be just the opposite.
To Roberto Urías, for his story “Infórmese, por favor,” to which “Aptitude Assessment” is an explicit tribute.
To Ronaldo Menéndez, because his story “Otro Lado” gave me the original idea for “Escape Tunnel,” and his story “Una ciudad, un pájaro, una guagua” was the inspiration for “Platinum Card.” And also for being, aside from all difference in theories and aesthetics, a terrific storyteller and a friend.
To Eduardo Heras León, “El Chino,” because his reading of “Performing Death” convinced me that science fiction could attract non-fans if it was well written and had something to say. Because his spirit was what turned this book from a project to a reality.
To Carlos, for his punctual and unsparing criticism. To Fabricio, for his measured, almost pedantic attitude as a connoisseur and friend. To Vlado for his wild enthusiasm and the liberties he took with my original. To Michel (Umbro), to Guillermo, to Ariel, to Roberto Estrada, to all the fans of science fiction who read my work and believed in me.
To Sandra, who read “Social Worker” and told me she’d had it up to here with jineteras and didn’t want to keep reading. I hope she’ll change her mind… some day.
To Yailín, who thought “Performing Death” was a horrible story and refused to illustrate it. For having the courage to express her opinion even though many of her friends disagreed with her.
To Milana, in the distance, for many things that cannot fit in a list of acknowledgments. Just because.
About the Author and Translator
Born José Miguel Sánchez Gómez, Yoss assumed his pen name in 1988, when he won the Premio David in the science fiction category for Timshel. Together with his peculiar pseudonym, the author’s rocker aesthetic has allowed him to stand out amongst his fellow Cuban writers. After earning a degree in biology in 1991, he went on to graduate from the first-ever course on narrative techniques at the Onelio Jorge Cardoso Center of Literary Training in 1999. Today, Yoss writes both realistic and science fiction works. Alongside these novels, the author produces essays, reviews, and compilations, and actively promotes the Cuban science fiction literary workshops, Espiral and Espacio Abierto.
When he isn’t translating, David Frye teaches Latin American culture and society at the University of Michigan. Translations include First New Chronicle and Good Government by Felipe Guaman Poma de Ayala (Peru, 1615); The Mangy Parrot by José Joaquín Fernandez de Lizardi (Mexico, 1816), for which he received a National Endowment for the Arts Fellowship; Writing across Cultures: Narrative Transculturation in Latin America by Ángel Rama (Uruguay, 1982), and several Cuban and Spanish novels and poems.
Colophon
Copyright © 2014 José Miguel Sánchez Gómez
Translation copyright © 2014 David Frye
Published in Spanish as Se alquila un planeta by Equipo Sirius, Madrid, 2001
Digital edition published by Restless Books, 2014