“Are you going to see him again then?”
“I haven’t decided yet.”
“You have such good times.”
“Well, you know, once in a while,” Maite said modestly as she thought about her weekend spent doing a crossword and watching the bird in its cage.
Diana wanted more details about her new quasi-boyfriend, so Maite invented suitable interests and hobbies—he had taught himself to play the guitar and liked watching Japanese films—she even shared some of his imaginary charming comments. She eventually grew weary of the charade and was glad when they crossed the street again and returned to work.
On the way back home she felt tired, her head pressed against the window of the bus, as she watched with indifference as a couple of young men tried to pinch the ass of a teenage schoolgirl, who valiantly warded them off. She closed her eyes. She didn’t want to see any of that. There was such ugliness in the world.
After making herself dinner and feeding her parakeet a treat, she knocked on Leonora’s door, but no one answered. She let herself in and saw that the apartment looked just as it had the day before. The girl was not back yet. On the couch, the fat tabby lifted its head and looked at Maite. She fed the cat, guessing the girl would arrive later that night. She wanted to try on that shearling coat she’d seen in the closet, but instead she rummaged through the girl’s toiletries and sprayed expensive perfume on her wrists.
She’d read that you ought to place perfume on the pulse points. She sniffed at her wrist, wondering what a lover would think of this scent.
Leonora’s perfume was sickly-sweet.
Back in her apartment she readSecret Romance. She chewed a nail, wondering when Beatriz would realize her lover was hidden away in an isolated house, deep in the jungle. It was early, but she fell asleep on the couch.
She dreamed of it. The jungle, with tall palm trees and an errant, sensual moon. With orchids and a jasmine perfume. The beating of drums late at night and the distant music of the waves against the shore. She dreamed she was dressed in a black beaded dress that trailed behind her and that she walked through the jungle, moving closer to the place where people played the drums.
Drums like a beating heart, drums making the earth quiver.
She pushed aside the foliage to emerge onto a clearing, and in the middle of the clearing there was a stone slab, and on the stone slab there was Leonora, laid up like the victim of some ancient Aztec sacrifice as shot by a Hollywood crew, dressed all in white, her eyes fixed on the moon as she awaited the arrival of a warrior-priest with a knife.
Maite looked down at the girl, but the girl did not see her. The girl saw only the moon. She was caught in a spell, in a trance, like Jorge Luis in his coma.
Maite stepped aside; she left the drums behind, she left the girl on the stone slab, and descended toward the beach. Crabs bit her feet and stones scraped her skin, and she smelled this rich scent, like salt and sulfur and brine. The world had smelled like this in the beginning, during creation, when the ocean raged and the creatures in the water multiplied, making the ocean teem with life.
When Maite awoke it was late, and her neck ached from sleeping in a strange position. She rubbed it, dragged herself to bed, and tried to rest a little longer.
5
MAITE EXPECTED LEONORAback on Tuesday, but when she knocked the girl didn’t answer. She opened the door to the apartment and fed the cat before heading to work, irritated by the thoughtlessness of her neighbor. She wondered what Leonora could be doing that was keeping her so busy. Well, she probably didn’t have to guesstoohard: partying. Since Leonora had moved into the building, Maite had heard loud music coming from her apartment late at night more than a few times. The super had complained the girl threw large get-togethers even though the building was supposed to be a “family” building.
“You know, young girls,” the super said, shaking her head. “But she always pays the rent on time, which is more than I can say of certain people.”
Maite had wanted to tell the super that she was also a young person, that she too could turn up the music on her console, make it play really loud and invite friends over for drinks. But that would have been a lie. So she nodded in agreement.
Maite spent most of her morning wondering if Leonora was still partying and if so how exactly. Perhaps Sunday had bled into Monday and then into Tuesday. One long, orgiastic celebration with champagne and truffles. Perhaps it was something more earthy. Pot, the strumming of a guitar, the sort of hippie nonsense university students dabbled in.
She wondered why the girl hadn’t invited Emilio Lomelí to go with her. If Maite had been the girl, she would have phoned him immediately and asked him to accompany her. Perhaps Leonora had access to men who were even more interesting and good looking than Emilio Lomelí.
Some people had all the luck, didn’t they? Leonora was young, beautiful, she had no money woes. Maite frowned, resenting all the precious, perfect people who went around with no care in the world and who couldn’t be bothered to return to their homes, to feed their damn cats.
When Maite reached her apartment, before she had the chance to take off her shoes and put on her slippers, the phone rang.
“Hello,” she said.
“Maite? It’s me, Leonora.”
“Leonora, I thought you said you’d be back on Sunday. Monday, at the latest.”
“I was delayed,” the girl said. Her voice sounded a bit odd, as though she was holding the receiver very close to her mouth. “I need to ask you for a favor. I’m not coming back for a while, and I need you to bring me a box with my things and the cat.”
“Bring you?”
“Please. I can’t stop by the apartment right now. The box is above the garbage can. The cat carrier is under the sink. Could you meet me in half an hour? I’ll give you an address.”
