Mundo Cruel (4 page)

BOTELLA

I told Caneca to leave the front door unlocked so when I got there I wouldn't have to shout from the street late at night, drunk so I could face the old man, who pays good but stinks of rum no matter how much he bathes. As usual he forgot and I had no choice but to shout Paco, his name is Paco but I call him Caneca, like a bottle of rum, even though he doesn't know. I shout Paco, Paco, and he hears me and I go in and he gives me food and a line of coke and sucks my cock and today I want him to make me come in his mouth—he makes me come like nobody else—so I wouldn't have to fuck him because I really didn't feel like fucking him that night, but I couldn't come and then he said to fuck him and I fucked him and I said I was coming, but I wasn't, and I screamed and said he was mine and the old man came and I laughed because it was funny that he was such a faggot.

I went home but the door was bolted and there was a note on the door saying this time she meant it, that I was abusive and I should leave for good. I knocked on the door and her ma opened it and handed me a bag with my things and told me I couldn't come in, that the girl, her daughter, that is, my woman, didn't want to see me. I went with my bag to Caneca's house and shouted to him from the street but he didn't open up. I checked the door and it was open, I shouted again, but not a peep out of the old man.

I went straight to the fridge and drank some water because the coke was making me thirsty, and the way home was long and that's when I noticed it stank like shit, and I said, the old man is shitting and I went to the bathroom to tell him anybody could come in and kill you with the door open like that, and when I get there Caneca is sitting on the toilet with his tongue hanging out and a cord around his neck.

I was so scared I almost shat myself and I said fuck this, I'm outta here, and I left. But almost at the beach where I was going to see if I could find another old man or a gringo, I remember the fingerprints and go back to Caneca's.
The door was the same and I take off a sock to erase the prints from the lock and wipe them off the fridge and the glass and the whole place, and almost the whole house and I wonder if fingerprints stick to hair because I grabbed Caneca by the hair when he was blowing me, but I don't think so and forget that and put the sock back on and go to the beach. The smell of shit stays with me and the whole way there I keep checking under my shoe to see if I stepped in a turd since the smell won't go away.

I go to the beach and there is not a soul and I find a newspaper and start reading and I remember the DNA in the old man's body and I go back to his house but buy bleach before I get there to pour it over Caneca and erase the DNA, which you erase with bleach.

I buy the bleach and the old lady who sells it to me looks at me like what does this guy want bleach for at this hour. I get to the old man's house and go in. First I pour bleach on his lips: I take off the sock, put it on like a glove and open his mouth to pour it inside. Then I push him with my leg so he falls into the bathtub and I throw more bleach on his butt which is all dirty. I open him wide and pour it inside until the bottle is empty and I turn on the shower and leave him there.

When I was about to go, I remember the empty bottle and go back to get it. I go out again and there's not a soul on the street. I go back home and apologize to her and she forgives me. She wants us to do it but between the coke and the scare I can't get it up and she tells me I smell like bleach, that I smell like a motel, and she kicks me out again and her ma gives me the bag with my things and I go for a walk thinking where can I leave the bag because I can't go back to the beach with the bag and I decide to go to the house of a professor I used to fuck but who doesn't want to anymore and I ring his doorbell.

He opens the door and says I smell like bleach and I make something up about being in a pool and ask him to let me take a bath and he lets me. He goes into the bathroom with me because he says I rob him every time he leaves me alone and it's true because I stole some CDs from him that no one wanted to buy from me because they were weird. I take a shower and he watches me but doesn't do anything and I wash my dick so that he notices it to see if he's up for it, but no. He gives me coffee and lets me lie down for a while but then he has to go to mass and wakes me up and tells me to leave. I pretend to forget the bag and leave it.

I go by Caneca's house and everything looks calm from outside. No patrol cars or anything and I decide to go to the beach to see what's going on. On the beach I run into this guy who nobody goes with because he never has money and only pays with things. Bejuco, a thin tall guy who's eleven inches long, once got a television out of him but it was too much effort to sell it at the beach and he had to take it home, but he left it on the street halfway there because it weighed too much. The guy looked at me and offered me a cigarette and I went with him to kill a few hours.

He paid me with flip-flops and a shirt and I put them on and went to Caneca's house. Nothing, no police.

I thought I better call and say that someone died in such and such place. And I call and talk fast and the policewoman told me I have to call another precinct, that they don't have a patrol car and I hang up, but first I give them the address for Caneca's house again.

I go to the Metro theater and fall asleep because I don't like movies and the cold makes me sleepy but the movie ends and I buy another ticket and sleep again, but the movie is over and I have to leave the theater but it's already night and I go back to the beach and now there's more people.

They killed Paco, I'm told by Niebla, or Foggy as he's called, another guy who hustles and knew the old man. I asked him what happened but he said he didn't know, that someone strangled him and then threw bleach all over him and I remembered that I left the empty bottle in the bag and head back to the professor's who was already back home.

The bag was on top of the table and he had opened it and asked me about the bleach and I said it was to clean myself afterwards, that it kills the AIDS and he tells me that they killed Paco and that they poured bleach all over him, and he asks me if I knew anything about that and I say no, I don't, that it was a coincidence.

He looked at me funny and then I strangled him with a cable so he wouldn't talk.

I took his wallet and it had about six hundred dollars and I said I'm buying a ticket and going to Mexico but at the airport they ask me if I have a passport and I say no, and I better buy one for Boston instead, a sister of mine lives there. But I remember that I didn't have my voter's ID on me and I go home and she gives it to me but forgives me, and I stay and miss the flight. In the middle of the night she wakes me up and asks me where I got those flip-flops and the shirt and she says she's not fucking stupid and kicks me out and I go to the airport and tell them I got there late but there's no flight until the next day, and then I go to the beach but it's full of police and not much business. From there I go to Río Piedras and cops everywhere. I run into Rabbit and he tells me two guys were killed and the police are looking for the guy who did it and that it was a hustler for sure. I ask him if he knows anybody at all who will take me in and he says I should go over to the beauty parlor guy because the beauty parlor guy had been around and fled when he saw all the police.

I take off for the beauty parlor guy's house and he lets me in and I fuck him. I fall asleep and he lets me sleep because he falls in love with guys and takes them in to live with him. The next day he made me a bath and made my breakfast and put out clothes for me so I'd be comfortable. I stayed in my underwear and I made him blow me after I ate. I stayed three days, but on the third day he had me fed up with the smell of hairspray and I went to the beach and met up with Botella.

His name isn't Botella, but I gave him that nickname because he always had a little bottle full of bleach on him to wash up after fucking and kill any weird shit. I remember Caneca who always said these marks are battle scars. Botella tells me that they're after him or suspect him because of the bleach and I tell him I'll give him a plane ticket so he can go to my sister's house because she was alone. And he said that's a good idea and we went to his house and from there to the airport and they tell us you can't change the name on the ticket but that's when I recognize a guy from the trade and I signal to him and he looks nervous but comes over and I explain and Botella explains that he's going to marry my sister. The guy tells us to talk to him in private.

We get something to eat. After a while I tell Botella to follow me and we go to the room, the guy's there and we're so grateful that we're already hard, but the guy says what he wants to see is us going at it and we go at it and I stick it up his ass cause that's what the guy wanted but I came too fast and he kinda wanted more but Botella came in my mouth and the guy changed my ticket and Botella left. He cried, the motherfucker. It wasn't me, he said, and he left.

I went off to the beach all worked up and because I'm staring off into space I step in some shit and it's from some goddamn junkie tecato and I go down to the edge of the water and wash the flip-flop but the smell doesn't go away and I sit down and wait for the flip-flop to air out in the sun, and I think of Caneca who had his flip-flops on when I threw him into the bathtub and I think of Botella, who's a fugitive from justice, and my sister who lives alone, and the girl who's always kicking me out but I know she'll take me in again.

I pick up the flip-flop and sniff it and it still smells like shit and I don't know why but I start crying like that motherfucker Botella.

SO MANY
or How the Wagging Tongue Can
Sometimes Cast a Spell

Two worried—extremely worried—neighbors meet on opposite sides of the fence separating their respective homes and set to badmouthing everybody. One is a schoolteacher and she's well off. Her house has window bars, a solar water heater, a satellite antenna, and a two-car garage. The other lady is on her second marriage and this one is a keeper, God willing, and, if not and they break up or if he lets her down, she's not going to marry again: live with somebody yes, but no more marriages. She doesn't live as well as the teacher, but she makes an effort to keep up appearances. The two are worried and, looking around constantly, they broadcast their alarm. Very alarmed and super worried, they unbosom themselves as best they can, and, when you think about it, they should be worried.

Worried Mother:

I'm sorry to say this, but that kid of Alta's is turning out to be a fag.

Worried Mother Too:

Isn't he though? I was saying the very same thing to my husband and he told me that we should make sure my Yanielito knows what's up and if that kid touches him or makes any moves, to give him a good punch and then come and tell us.

WM:

No, and they say it's not contagious! Kids get confused you know. I'm constantly saying “ick” or “fooey,” “how disgusting,” and “that's not right,” but Alta acts like nothing's wrong. She doesn't do a thing to straighten him out.

WMT:

My husband says the same thing, that he'd grab him right away and give him a good hard smack. One day when we were shopping Yanielito suddenly wanted a stuffed animal and my husband hit him. He gave it to him good but usually he never lays a hand on them. I didn't say a word because after all he's the one who raised them and has more right than the sonofabitch real father of my kids who never even comes to see them. Every so often he warns me about it: Honey—he calls me honey—if I see anything weird going on with the kid, I'm going to fix him good.

WM:

The other day I was in Alta's house paying her for some products and the kid started crying because his dad turned off the soap opera on TV. If you could see him, girl, crying like a Magdalene and Alta says to her husband: “Take it easy with the boy, he hasn't done nothing to you, and if you're coming home all worked up, don't go taking it out on him.” . . . and she goes and turns on the TV again. Goodness gracious, I feel sorry for that man. I bet she married him for the green card.

WMT:

No, those people are like that though.

WM:

But listen to this, I say to her: “Look, Alta, I'm sorry to say this, but you're overprotective with that kid. He's a boy and dads have to be firm with them and treat them as if they were men. I know it's hard because you're the mom, but that kid of yours, he needs his father more than you right now. I'm sorry for saying this, Alta,” I say to her, “but that kid of yours likes the soap operas way too much and you got to remember that he's a boy.”

WMT:

And she got mad at you, right? Look, those people, they're hard workers and all that and it's true they have it hard in their country, but if you ask me they've got inferiority complexes. You can't say anything to them. That's why my husband can't stand them. He even wants to leave Santurce and he was born and raised here.

WM:

But listen to this. She says to me, the ingrate, “Don't worry, neighbor, that boy is just fine and he's being brought up without any delusions. And whoever doesn't like it,” talking real loud so that the husband hears her, “it's enough that he has a Dominican mother and has to put up with all the prejudice here.” And I said to her: “That's exactly why I'm telling you, because later on it's going to be worse for him.”

WMT:

Well said. “Prejudice” my ass.

WM:

No, and she said thanks but she knew what she was doing, that she had a degree in counseling.

WMT:

Probably from Santo Domingo.

WM:

Nena, she got it here. Don't you know they're getting all the scholarships? But we're supposed to keep our mouths shut. I said to her: “Sorry, honey, if I offended you, but that wasn't my intention.” That's her problem.

WMT:

Some psychologist, she only got to come here because her husband met her at a pool tournament over there and fell in love and sent for her. My husband tells me that at work there's one who says she doesn't get involved with married men because she wants to become a citizen. My husband gets all worked up about this because it's like he says: they come here and take over absolutely everything. Just go by Barrio Obrero, or Villa Palmeras, or Río Piedras. The farmers market is filled with Dominicans and you can count the people who are actually from here.

WM:

I'm telling you, girl, it really gets me, but that boy is going to suffer a whole lot because people are prejudiced. There was one working at the school as a librarian. We gathered signatures and complained to the school board until they got rid of him. He was cool and the students loved him, but, honey, there are a lot of lawsuits now and, you know, it's not good for the kids.

WMT:

No, it's just like my husband says. Now the fags seduce men in broad daylight, right on the street. He tells me that in the men's room in the Plaza Mall a guy was looking at him and looking right down at it and he punched him so the fag would respect, and then said to him: “Now go call the police 'cause I don't give a goddamn fuck.” You know how he is.

WM:

They're filthy! Those pigs. Lord, forgive me, since I have sons, but I tell my students that it's not natural and even though some say no, I tell them they can get help for that. Yes, honey, in Caguas there's a church that sends them to Florida and they go to a camp there, and they come back nice and straight. The son of the lady who works for the Department of Public Works was sent to that camp and he already has a fiancée.

WMT:

Yeah, but you can still kinda tell.

WM:

And what do you say about my husband's brother? He's that way, that's why he lives in Philadelphia because people don't accept that here and when he comes we welcome him with the American and all, but he knows better and they stay in a hotel.

WMT:

My husband tells me about Margot's son and how he's like that too, and that everybody knows about it and they've seen him come out of one of those clubs with another guy. He tells me if he ever saw him on the street he wouldn't offer him a ride.

WM:

And the son of the people who own the store too, the fat one, who you could tell right away and is always reading
TV Guide
and with the poster telling people to vote for Victor, the one on
Who's Got Talent
? That one's a fag. And what do you think about the second son, the cute one? Him too. So handsome and macho-looking. But him too.

WMT:

Ay, Holy Mary Mother of God! So many, right? I'm tellin' you, my hair stands on end just thinking about it, and we haven't even mentioned the women.

WM:

Hush, girl! Don't say another word, the tongue is a witch.

Then there is silence. One woman, the
WORRIED MOTHER
, has to call Alta to tell her what the
WORRIED MOTHER TOO
said about her kid. The other one, the
WORRIED MOTHER TOO
, is going to call her husband on his phone to find out where he has gone all dressed up, because she's no fool. Each one goes home. We see them from a distance, and we can sense Santurce overflowing with that sweet threat that disturbs all the extremely worried and alarmed mothers. From what we can tell, it's no small matter.