Gustavo arched his eyebrows and opened his eyes wide but didn’t release the tank of smoke he’d sucked into his lungs. He held it a few more seconds and then, after exhaling, said: God’s will that was, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.
Why?
Had it coming, that’s why.
Gustavo took another big hit of his spliff and waited, making the Redeemer work for it.
What happened?
They aren’t two families is what happened, he replied: They’re one, or almost, his voice tight with smoke. The two fathers have the same father. That’s what happened.
And he expelled the smoke.
The Castros’ father married on the up-and-up, but one day he got the hots for this girl in the neighborhood, took off with her and started another family. All well and good so far, right? Just the way it is. But then the old fucker went and died, fifteen years or so after he and his second woman had been living together. And that’s when this all started up.
The girl came in with a beer for the Redeemer and Gustavo said Wait.
He stroked her ass and blew her a big smacking kiss. The girl remained motionless.
You’d never met my wife, had you? She’s a saint. Okay, mamacita, now run and make me one of those highballs you’re so good at.
The girl left.
Gustavo — this Gustavo — could never have existed in another age. For the first time in the history of humankind, legions of men his age could fuck like they were decades younger. The things they’ll never discover, these old men who can still get it up, thought the Redeemer. As if there’s nothing to be learned from defeat.
We live in extraordinary times, Gustavo said. People nowadays are aware of so much stuff going on in the world that they can handpick their memories. Didn’t used to be like that, people used to live in whatever world their parents had left them. Some still do, like this gang — holding on and holding on.
To what?
The body. The day of the wake, the other family — the first one — came out, just to pay their respects and say their goodbyes. The widows greeted each another, the boys ignored each other — each family had a teenager almost the same age, see — and that was it. But when the Castros found out they were going to bury him who-knows-where, well that was the fuckin end of good form. Turns out the Fonsecas belong to some sort of sect, call themselves Christians but don’t belong to the church.
It’s always the other guy’s religion that’s a sect, isn’t it? the Redeemer asked, unwisely, since he knew it was best to let people talk without rankling. Gustavo gave him a quick look like he’d had food thrown in his face, took another toke and continued.
After that, no surprises: widow number one asked them nicely not to bury him there, then demanded they not bury him there, but since the other one kept saying no no no, widow one said she wasn’t going to let them do that, she wasn’t the legitimate wife for nothing, they’d see. Off she went, lawyered up, and came back. The Fonseca widow said they better not think they were going to take the body, and the lawyers brought some cops along.
Did they get it?
Well sure — corpse was in their name. Son of the second family didn’t even get his dad’s last name, supposedly to avoid complications. Ha! So they kicked up a fuss, there was back-and-forthing, there were threats, but what I remember best is that kid, Dolphin. Back then he wasn’t called that. The way he clenched his fists and stared at the coffin as they carried it out, his eyes little slits full of rage.
Gustavo leaned forward to check if his drink was on the way but couldn’t see the kitchen from where he sat. The Redeemer could, tho, and saw the girl uncorking a bottle of brandy.
Thing is, he hadn’t left a will, Gustavo continued, And the house where he and his second lady lived was in both their names, but the house they were about to move to was only in his.
Las Pericas.
Right. And ever since then there’ve been legal proceedings to see who gets to keep it, tho I know Dolphin has a key and pokes his head in, time to time. Might just be a good thing it’s burning down. Nobody likes to share money, but it’s easier than sharing a fistful of ashes.
They’d had no Redeemer to lend them a hand, the Redeemer thought.
Well now there’s fewer to share them between, but more ashes to go around.
Eh?
Dolphin’s son died, and so did the Castros’ daughter. And each family has the other one’s corpse.
For a second Gustavo’s eyes popped out of their sockets.
Shoot-out?
Now the Redeemer was the one to enjoy letting the information steep a few seconds, as he took a sip of his beer.
Coincidence.
Gustavo narrowed his eyes.
Those things just don’t happen, he said.
He was tempted to smoke a joint but decided not to ask. It was time to go. He glanced toward the kitchen to say goodbye to the girl and saw her with one hand inside Gustavo’s glass, staring fixedly at the wall while she fingered the ice, as if cleaning it. The scene had the innocence of all unsettling things that take place in silence.
He bought more flowers on his way back and stopped to watch a madman who used to bounce around among the cars until one of them would whack him to the curb. Now, with no traffic, he was walking on the sidewalk.
What you doing? he asked. But the madman only stared as tho the question was idiotic.
He arranged with the Mennonite to make the trade on the corner closest to the Big House. With the way the city was, better to do it quick and out in the open than try to find some other spot. He called Dolphin, too, and told him it was time, that he should head over, but to let him do his job.
The Neeyanderthal had gone inside and was sitting in his apartment having coffee with Vicky, next to the bed where Baby Girl lay. The water must’ve come back on.
They’re on the way, he said. Look alive, Neeyan, and let me know when they get here.
The Neeyanderthal finished his coffee and left. The Redeemer took his seat.
I won’t mix you up in this shit again, he told Vicky.
At least this time it feels like it matters, she replied.
They said nothing more. Everything was so quiet you could hear Baby Girl’s silence, as tho she’d absorbed every sound in the room. It was hard and yet formless, that silence. How to describe what isn’t there? What name can you give to something that doesn’t exist yet exists for that reason precisely? Kings of the kingpins, those who had invented the zero, he thought, had given it a name and even slipped it into a line of numbers, as tho it could stay put, obedient. But once in a while, like at that moment, there before Baby Girl, zero rose up and swallowed everything.
They’re on the corner, the Neeyanderthal shouted from out front.
I’ll get Neeyan so he can help you carry Baby Girl, Vicky said.
No no no, that cat’s too rough, he might hurt her.
Vicky stood and stared, in astonishment or perplexity, or maybe even admiration.
In that case I’ll help.
They got close to the bed and he slid one arm under Baby Girl’s back and the other beneath her knees while Vicky cradled her head. He attempted to lift her but the pain in his ribs made him put the body back down. Fuckit, he said. He tried again and again doubled over, fuckit, and he didn’t know why but knew he was about to cry.
Squat down, Vicky said. Then stand up slowly and I’ll take her back too.
They did that, and as soon as he sensed that he held all her weight he stood as fast as he could.
Vicky placed Baby Girl’s arms carefully on top of her body and then positioned her head like she was curled up against the Redeemer’s chest.
Let’s go, he said.
Vicky opened one door then ran and opened the next, as he followed in a juddering stumble of painful steps; Motherfucker, he said to each bruise and then to his whole body, Fuck you fuckin motherfucker; and then to her body: Don’t you go and fall on me, Baby Girl, don’t you fuckin even think about falling.