It was dark out now, but in addition to that there was something different in the atmosphere, the temperature had dropped and the air had finally come unstuck; it wasn’t exactly windy but you could tell wind was on the cards. And the sky was clear and there was light coming from below.
You want me to help you? asked the Neeyanderthal, seeing him on the verge of collapse.
No.
Then carry her properly, this ain’t luggage you’re delivering.
I know that.
He saw Dolphin’s truck round one corner. He and the Unruly were alone. They got out and the Neeyanderthal approached to check for gats or shanks or other instruments of slaughter.
The Redeemer straightened up tall and strode to the other corner, where the towering silhouette of the Mennonite, the fidgety shapes of the Castro kids and the tip of the father’s cigarette could be discerned. Behind them a black hearse. Romeo’s mother wasn’t coming. Sometimes mothers come out to collect their children, other times they stay home no matter what, to make sure their children have a place prepared for them when they get back.
The Mennonite took a few steps forward then stopped and stood before the Redeemer. He looked Baby Girl over carefully.
Any need to inspect her?
None at all. I trust you’re delivering Romeo exactly as he was yesterday?
Every inch untouched.
The Mennonite turned and walked back to the corner, circled the hearse and came back, boy in arms. The Neeyanderthal received him, and almost simultaneously the Redeemer delivered Baby Girl to her brothers. Up until that moment the families had been silent, but when the Neeyanderthal got close with Romeo, the Unruly stepped back and started sobbing disconsolately, shrieking with her mouth covered, hands choking back her cries. Trembling, it took her several small steps to make it to her brother tho she wasn’t far at all, and then finally she embraced him and cried on his chest. On the other side, the Castro brothers were placing Baby Girl into the hearse and weeping but not allowing themselves to sob. Their father shook his head slowly side to side; then, suddenly, he took a decisive step toward Dolphin, and the Mennonite took another in case he tried anything, but all the man did was point at the hearse, glowing ember at the end of his hand, and open his mouth without finding any words, until finally he said They told me she got sick, that you didn’t kill her, and I believe them, but what call was there to go and fuck us over like this? All for what? Fighting over ashes.
They were my ashes, Dolphin said. And when he said it he sounded as if he possessed a strength he no longer did, said it without wheezing, with that lung he’d been missing for years.
The other man waited a few seconds before replying. You’re right. But Baby Girl’s not to blame for that.
Dolphin had nothing more to say. The other man turned back to the hearse and opened the door to get in.
She never liked being called that, the Unruly shouted after him, and he turned to look. I have a name, that’s what she said the day I took her home with me, don’t call me Baby Girl. And she told me her name.
The Castro patriarch glanced at her a second then said I know my daughter’s name.
And he got into the hearse. Before following him, the Mennonite came over to say goodbye. They bumped fists.
You going back home? The Redeemer asked.
Nah. I don’t even know if there’s anywhere to go back to.
The Redeemer approached the Unruly and said Give him a call.
She looked at him, uncomprehending.
Your brother-in-law.
The Unruly nodded yes and turned.
The Neeyanderthal accompanied the Fonsecas to their truck and placed Romeo into the box. Since they were going different directions, the families crossed each other once more, but this time no one looked. So many things had been hurled, things written in stone, that the street lay in ruins.
The Redeemer watched the hearse drive away. Who will bury that girl? he wondered. Because it won’t be them, those who wept so much and threatened so much, they won’t be the ones to dig her grave. When did we stop burying those we love with our own hands? he thought. From people like us, what the hell can we expect?
A cold breeze began, timidly. The Neeyanderthal rubbed his hands together and said What now? You got juice?
No, Neeyan, Vicky said. It’s time to go. Each of us will clean our guts our own way.
Okay, the Neeyanderthal replied, and looked the Redeemer up and down. I’d say I hope your way involves getting it on with the neighbor, but shit, state you’re in I think you’ll keel over before you can say bless my soul.
He gave him a rough pat on the back and said We’re outta here.
Vicky came to give him a kiss and, right as she was about to, turned to one side and sneezed into her elbow.
Maybe one day people wouldn’t even remember when everyone had started doing it like that, instead of covering their noses with their hands. It takes a serious scare for some gestures to take hold but then they end up like scars that seem to have been there all along. Maybe they themselves would one day be nothing but someone’s scar, nameless, no epitaph, just a line on the skin.
Because like everything, this too would pass, and the world would act innocent for a while, until it scared them shitless once more.
The two of them left, and the Redeemer entered the Big House. He tried to remember a good mantra but the only thing that came to mind was Let them burn me and turn me, mark me and merk me — and that wasn’t what he wanted.
Three Times Blonde opened the door and the Redeemer walked in.
She took a look at his split lip and stroked the scab on his head.
People are fools, she said. They spend their whole lives getting stuck with pins and act like nothing’s wrong, they just leave them there, and then one day they go and scratch someone’s eyes out.
The truth is, the Redeemer said, maybe we’re damned from the start.
What truth? Three Times Blonde looked at him like he was an idiot. I don’t buy that crap, that Look but don’t touch stuff. Tell me, what truth? Maybe someone out there knows, but it’s not me, so I call it like I see it.
And she poked a dieresis into his chest.
The Redeemer placed a hand on her back and ran it all the way down and over the curve of her ass.
Plus, she went on, they said on TV people are getting better now, that they really know what it is and there’s no reason to die.
They pressed up against the wall and the Redeemer kissed her a bit of his blood. Suddenly Three Times Blonde cocked her head and said Listen.
A wavering windstorm was blowing outside the Big House. Maybe the clouds are gone, she said, and let go of the Redeemer.
The Redeemer observed her profile, so luscious and tuned-in to the sounds on the street. Talk and cock is all I got, he thought. And sometimes fear.
I’m tired of being cooped up, Three Times Blonde said.
She walked out into the hall and then onto the street and the Redeemer followed, but before he caught up to her at the front door, la Ñora’s opened.
Are your visitors gone?
They are, señora, thank you for your discretion.
Young man, said la Ñora. You knew, didn’t you?
The Redeemer had known, but he also knew sometimes it was best not to say. So he said nothing.
He got mad and left, la Ñora went on. And I thought I’d never hear from him again, that’s the way it is these days, people just disappear, but someone called from the courts, a young lady he told to phone me. I don’t know why they’re holding him. He says he’s black and blue but they’ve stopped beating him now.