“I’m quite steady, thank you, Madame — more so than you.”
After seven glasses, I saw a greenish aura around the empty bottle. “She is calling for her sister,” said the Tigress, and set down another full bottle. I was so drunk I had to hold on to my chair, but I continued to imbibe. She began to make a halting speech, finding it difficult to get from one concept to the next.
“I am what I want to be, that is my law. . When I first came here from my village, I felt defenseless before men. By luck, Diego Rivera had me model for his murals. . One afternoon, an Indian whom the painter knew well arrived from the mountains with a package. ‘Here you are, boss,’ he said. ‘Good fresh human meat. I guarantee that it was a Christian in good health. I killed him myself.’ Diego roasted the bloody meat on a spit, cut it into small pieces accompanied with chopped onions, coriander, and chili peppers, and made tacos, which he shared with me. . As I chewed this delicious meat, the beast that had been sleeping in me awoke. I could eat men. . I could make them fall to their knees before me. . In order to accomplish this, all I would have to do is transform my body into the body of their ape dreams. Big breasts? I’ll give them big breasts. Big buttocks? I got them with three hundred gelatin injections. Little by little, as my songs became hits, I saved up money for surgery on my cheeks, my chin, my full lips, my eyelids, hair implants, a thin waist. . Hell, creating your own body is just as impressive as creating a painting! I am the daughter of my own willpower. In my shadow, not even God calls the shots. . Besides, I’ve sent God to hell and chosen the devil. He’s a lot more useful. He buys your soul, he gives you power — and that’s everything in this world. . What do you think? Anyway, no matter what you say, you’re risking your life with me. My master is a jealous one. .”
In the dense alcoholic fog, struggling with my swollen tongue and my lust to possess this arrogant woman, I found myself reciting a koan: “What is the way?”
Quickly, the Tigress interrupted me, “I’m not a railroad track; don’t ask me. And you — do you know what the way is?”
This contemptuous retort made me aware of my mental confusion. The crow and the skull, life and death, good and evil, truth and lies — how to choose? In my all-consuming desire to master consciousness, I had lost the way. Tears came to my eyes as I quoted Master Haryo: “Because I was an open eye, I fell into the well.” The Tigress burst out laughing. She rocked so hard against the back of her chair that it fell over. Sprawled on the floor with open legs, showing me that dark mouth that all Mexicans desired to see, she said: “Good. Now, open your eyes and forget your bullshit way. Fall into my well — but I warn you, it has no bottom.”
Suddenly, all my reason vaporized. Heedless of the consequences, I leaped at this wild beast on the floor, lifting her up with great effort (her body seemed to weigh a ton). Then, half undressed, I had her straddle my back. She giggled like a girl. We both arose and staggered out of the dressing room. Laughing constantly, we stumbled on, ignoring the astonished stares of the stagehands, dancers, and striptease artists. We walked out of the theater toward the street exit. Gloria ran behind us, speaking with urgency: “Beware, my boy! Get her into the car very quickly so that the caliph doesn’t find out and make mincemeat out of you!”
A long, silver limousine with a chauffeur dressed like a Mexican cavalier pulled up in front of us. I got her inside and sat beside her. We began fondling and kissing each other with brutal, drunken lust. A small overhead lamp cast a dim light in the interior of the car.
“Turn it off, faggot!” she ordered the chauffeur.
“I can’t, boss; my orders are to have it lit at all times.”
“No one spies on me!” She smashed the lamp with her fist and wiped the blood from her knuckles on the seat of the car.
“And lower that fucking mirror — if you try to spy on us, I’ll tear out your eyes!” Obediently, the chauffeur lowered the rearview mirror, relying only on the side-view mirrors as he drove. Then, with no witnesses in sight, we attempted to make love in the shadows, but we both passed out.
When I awoke, I had lost all sense of time. The Tigress snored, her head on my lap. The car was gliding through quiet streets in a wealthy neighborhood. Only high walls could be seen, hiding the houses behind them. We pulled up before a vast edifice, an imitation medieval castle built out of cement. The front gate lowered like a drawbridge. The Tigress awoke abruptly and gave me a strange look. I thought she was going to bite me, but then she smiled and looked carefully out the window. “Get out with your head lowered, and go inside fast. Don’t let them get a photograph of your face. The caliph has spies in the house across the street.”
I did so and entered the anteroom of the castle. I was standing in front of the statue of an enormous devil with raised wings and a huge phallus. Offerings of flowers, marzipan fruits, and incense sticks were scattered at its feet. As in the Frou-Frou, everything was colored red and gold.
The Tigress waited for an old lady dressed in a Huichol Indian costume to turn the handle that raised the gate. She took me by the hand, saying, “The chauffeur will sleep in the limousine. When you leave, wake him up and tell him to take you to a taxi stand. Never let him take you to your house. I think he is also a spy. If they find out where you live, they could send guerillas there to castrate you. Now come with me!”
She led me through her castle. In the kitchen there was barely room for an enormous Chinese banquet table with twelve chairs decorated with monks and dragons. In the saloon I saw a magnificent 1950s phonograph and awnings decorated with photos of various Mexican presidents, especially Diaz Ordaz, with his big mouth and his tiny, fanatical iguana eyes.
We crossed a small cactus garden, arriving at her bedroom door. I drew back in surprise, seeing that a real, live tiger seemed to be lying there! She gave a cruel chuckle. “Whoever wants paradise must deserve it. Stroke his back. If he growls, it means he accepts you and you can go in. But if he doesn’t like you — well, I won’t say what will happen.”
Though I could now see that the cat was not so big, the hair on my neck was bristling and my body was trembling. Nevertheless, my pride made me not only stroke the beast but also massage its neck. Soon, not only did it growl, it turned over on its back with lazy sensuality and offered me its stomach to scratch. The Tigress now made fun of me: “Actually, it’s a harmless ocelot. I’ve had its teeth and claws removed.” And she pushed me into the room.
The bed was round with blood-red silk sheets and covers. At the head there was an enormous seashell ten feet high and about seven feet wide with a predictable gold color. On one side of the bed was a holster with a large revolver and extra ammunition.
“Now the tourist visit is over. Get undressed.”
Lighting a violet candle, she turned out the lights. I found myself stretched out next to the naked Tigress in the middle of the red circle. I tried to excite her by caressing her smooth, cold body with my humid hands. It felt as though it was not flesh I was touching. Her breasts, her legs, and her buttocks were as hard as marble. Also, she was totally passive, which caused my erotic passion to wither. In a few seconds, my phallus became a mere penis.
Seeing this, she demanded, without an ounce of sympathy: “You must do everything. I have no reason to do anything at all.”
“But. .” I stammered, “it’s impossible like this. After all that mezcal, fatigue, and danger, you won’t even participate. It’s too difficult. .”
“Shut up. I don’t want to hear your excuses. If you don’t get it up, I’ll tell the journalists and all Mexico will know that you’re impotent.”
It was a serious threat. She had important connections to the media. If I did not succeed, I would be humiliated by banner headlines in the newspapers.