“You’ll be dinner for someone else,” he says. “Not me. Not this time.”
The dog lurches forward, barking.
“Fuck off,” he says. He pulls out his revolver and fires a shot. The blast hurls the dog backward, leaving a spray of blood on the wall.
4. Jose’s version
He can hear them whispering in the parlor below.
He can hear him telling her how long he’d been waiting, and how he was afraid it would rain. She silences him with a kiss. He can hear their mouths coming together, the soft moan that escapes from his throat as she presses her lips against his.
He climbs out of bed and lies flat on the floor. He presses his ear against the wooden floorboards. The ceiling fan whirring right beneath his ear muffles the sound a little, but he can still hear everything clearly. It feels like he’s right in the room with them.
She’s saying, No, not now, it still hurts.
But you want it to hurt.
Not like this. How would you feel if you were the one getting hurt?
Long silence. There’s the sound of a plastic bottle cap being opened, and something thick and liquid being squirted out. He can hear him moan again. He’s saying, Okay, show me.
Does it hurt now?
Yes, he says.
Stop?
No. You use this a lot?
Only when I’m lonely.
He presses his ear flat against the floorboards. Now he can hear even the slightest whisper. You want to know what it really feels like? her voice taunting and tender at the same time. I’ll push it all the way in.
He closes his eyes and presses his lips against the floor. He can taste dust and wax. They’re silent again. Then he can hear someone in the shower, the water a slow and steady trickle. He slips his hand in his shorts. He comes almost instantly. He feels a deep and comforting solace, like the first few moments after a typhoon. He feels grateful for this stillness. He wants to disappear in it.
Suddenly the door bursts open.
“Anak ng puta.” Lucila is standing at the door. She’s wearing lace panties and a matching bra. She walks straight in as he struggles to get up. “You’re going to get this floor waxed from now on,” she says. “I’m sick and tired of you messing on my floor.”
“I must have fallen asleep,” he says. “I must have fallen out of bed.”
“The fuck you did.” She sits down on the bed. “Who do you jack off to? I hope it’s me.”
“You know it’s you.”
“You don’t do it when Florante fucks me. Or Aniano. Just him.” She picks up the Marlboros on his desk and taps the bottom of the pack to push a stick out, which she removes with her lips. “Don’t look so surprised, Joey. I can hear every move you make.” Her lips are bloodred and there’s a streak of lipstick across her left cheek. “You miss your wife?”
“Not anymore.”
“You jack off to her too?”
“That’s the way he does it,” he snaps.
“What?”
“To get a smoke out of the pack. That’s the way everyone in school does it.” Then, after a few moments, “I’ve run out of matches.”
She puts the cigarette down. “How much do you hear when you’re lying down there?”
“Nothing.”
“You got come trickling down your leg,” she says. “That doesn’t happen for no reason.”
He reaches across her for a tissue and wipes himself dry.
“Another wasted moment,” she sighs.
“I’m not going to do it again.”
“Just clean up when you’re done, okay? You can’t help it. You’re as horny as your friend. Birds of a feather.”
“He’s not my friend. We just met in school.”
“Funny. Talks about you all the time.”
“What does he say?”
“I think he’s in love with you.”
“He’s in love with you. I’m not a homo.”
“Never said you were.” She’s struggling to keep a strap from falling off her shoulder. “How was the party?”
“There was no party.”
“You were here all night?”
“Correct.”
“Because you knew he’d be here.”
“I haven’t been feeling well—”
“How come he only sees me at night, that friend of yours? He a vampire?”
“No.”
“You a vampire?”
“No.”
“You want to suck my blood?”
“No, of course not.”
“Then what is it?”
“I think he’s afraid he’ll fall in love. If he sees you too often.”
She laughs. “Too late for that. He’s in love as a dog. Darling, you can count on me. He sings that to me when we fuck, you believe that? Till the sun dries up the sea.”
“He sings?”
“In my ear. Who says romance is dead? You know Don’s going to be a father soon, right?”
“His name isn’t Don.”
“Whatever. That’s what I like to call him. Don Everly. That’s the cute one, no? I can never tell one from the other. Maybe you can teach him a few lessons. How to be a nice daddy. Just like you. You a nice daddy?”
“He’s too young. Are you sure?”
“A woman knows, for heaven’s sake.”
“It could be someone else’s.”
“It’s certainly not yours.” Her bra finally unsnaps. Her left breast spills out. He can see a few cuts on it. “Puta,” she says. “Your friend bites too much. Look what he’s done.”
“I have a Band-Aid.”
“Always the perfect accessory.”
He rummages through a shelf above the sink. There’s a Nescafé glass and cutlery and a kitchen knife. “I can’t find it.” He looks back and sees her massaging her breast.
“You like it?”
“Lucila, don’t.”
“Because you’re bakla.”
“No.”
She hooks the strap back on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she says. “I got rid of it.”
“Of what?”
“Your friend’s baby. Washed it down the drain. You know what it looks like when it’s this early? Like you got a big-ass menstruation. Just a big dark blob of blood... Come here, Joey. I’m not going to steal your friend from you.”
“I can’t, Lucila.”
“Give me one good reason.”
“My friend’s still downstairs.”
“A threesome then. This is your lucky day.”
“What did you do with him?”
“What?”
“You were doing something — funny. What did you do?”
“I share my toys with everyone, Joey. I’m a nice girl.” And then she pauses, and it seems as if there’s a light twinkling in her eyes. “Oh my God,” she says. “You really are — he really is — oh, I get it now.”
He walks to her and realizes he’s still holding the knife in his hand and his hand is trembling and something warm is once again trickling down his leg. She notices it and sees the knife gleam and for some reason she finds it ridiculous and laughs that funny laugh again, throwing her head back. Her neck is long and white, and her laughter gurgles out warm and rippling like water, like she’s choking on her own laughter. He drops the knife. He inches closer to her, closer to the source of that mysterious sound. He reaches out for her breasts, barely brushing his fingers against them, then suddenly clenches her throat, firmly squeezing it as he blacks out.